“Oh. Right. Of course not.”
He makes a sound halfway between a grumble and a warning. And then I’m the one hiding, burying my bracelet against my chest so he won’t see my expression. Until I realize I’ve probably treated him to an up-close view of my cleavage and yank my wrist back up.
“Wait,” he says, with a note of complaint. “Do that again.”
Warmth rockets into my cheeks. Goddess. Maybe this was agoodidea, actually. Maybe he can steady me. Maybe he canscandalizeme into getting through this room. Already, my hands feel surer, my stomach more settled.
“That view isn’t meant for you,” I say curtly.
“Actually, that view is meant foronlyme and no one else, but…that’s fine. Go ahead and keep it to yourself. At least in this lifetime.”
I look at him askance, but he softens the jab with a faint smile—the first I’ve ever seen on him that didn’t tip into sardonic. And…Ishanna’s blood. Am I seeing this right?
I bring my wrist closer. Squint.
Then jerk the bracelet away, because Amriel of the fae, king of Velindra, war veteran, enemy of humans, and outrightgrump…has dimples.
Dimples.
The warmth in my cheeks proliferates, a flush spreading to my whole body. How have I never seen those before? Where has he been hiding them?
He must catch something in my face, because his eyes narrow. “What?”
“Nothing,” I say, too quickly.
Long seconds tick by. Goddess help me, but how are both of us so hopeless?
“Look.” I stare at the ceiling—searching for strength, maybe. Which turns out to be a mistake, because what used to be the right-hand wall now hovers overhead. My stomach knots in confusion, and I pull my attention back to the orb, waiting for the feeling to pass. “I only turned this thing on because I was hoping…maybe you could distract me for a minute? Talk to me while I do this?”
His brows pull together. “What’s ‘this,’ exactly?”
I explain to him what I’m doing—the gravity, the stairs, the pebbles. This three-dimensional puzzle where avoiding a lethal fall is the best prize I can hope for.
His expression tightens as I talk. When I finish, he says, “Do you need me?” The question comes out low and fast and rough.
I frown. “Need you? Need you how?”
“Do you need me to come get you?” he clarifies. “By gyre?”
Wait, what? He can’t be serious, can he? “No.” My answer comes out too shrill, too quick. “Of course not. If you do that, you’ll die.”
“Maybe.” He lifts a shoulder, lets it fall. As if his life is worth nothing more than a simple half-shrug. “Or maybe not. It’s a coin toss.”
I nearly choke on the horror that crashes up my throat. “No. That’s not why I contacted you. At all. Don’t you dare use your gyre here. Don’t eventhinkabout it.”
A line appears between his brows. “Why not?”
“Because… Because…”
His eyes thin to slits. “What? You’re not worried about me, are you?”
“No,” I snap.
“Oh. Right. Of course not.”
I open my mouth, but have no rebuttal. Something else balloons in my chest—laughter, maybe, or a scream, because I see what he just did. And I hate him for it, except that I don’t, and…this is good, arguing with him. Being challenged by him. His voice bolsters me enough that I muster the will to roll over, propping myself on hands and knees.
Maybe if he keeps talking, keeps aggravating me, I can do this.
