He rubbed his chin, thinking. “Maybe a hundred? Three hundred at most.”
My heart sank. The math wasn’t mathing. Mesmoria was more than fifty miles around its circumference. Every step was carved into my memory from the Mistrun. Even with thousands of shells, we wouldn’t be able to build up a barrier more than a few inches off the ground. And the Voyager labor required to make the trips to and from the outer isles to retrieve that manywould be staggering. Not to mention, everyone else would starve in the meantime.
“Why isn’t the Ascendancy training the citizens to fight? They’ll be helpless if something like the Sanguirs makes it past the outer perimeter,” I asked.
I hadn’t even known how to fight Sanguirs until earlier today. Even with Voyager training I was receiving daily. And I’d been mediocre at fighting them, at best.
“The Ascendancy is doing…other things, to try to prepare for the eventuality of the miasma destroying the perimeter defenses,” Zevrial said.
My eyes narrowed. “What other things?”
“The less you know, the better.”
Awful things, got it.
“We aren’t waiting on the Ascendancy,” Zevrial said. “We’re using some of the Starshells we’re…acquiring to make more weapons. Not just daggers. Swords, spears, arrowheads, axes, anything that’s sharp enough to cut. We plan to distribute them to the general population.”
We?
“Who will still have no training,” I challenged. “An inexperienced person with a weapon is more dangerous to themselves than to anything else.”
“We have a solution in mind,” Zevrial stood. “Now, I told Sarina to stay in the Fitness center for at least the next two hours, so let’s not waste anymore time. We should still have another thirty minutes or so.”
That figured. He was the type to command someone to do something and just expect them to do it. Just like he was trying to end this conversation now. Which twin had he given the message to? It did explain why Sarina hadn’t returned yet.
He unclasped the bottle of dark liquid from his waist, shaking it a bit. My breathing hitched as his weight sank intothe bed beside me. He smelled like a summer storm at night. I fought the impulse to inhale deeply. “What glyphs have you decided on?”
“You’ll find out,” he gave me a dark secretive smile. Butterflies took flight in my chest. For better or worse, I trusted him.
“What…what do I need to do?”
“We have a few options, since you’re a woman,” he murmured, glancing surreptitiously at my chest. He set the ink bottle down on the top blanket, unscrewing the lid.
“No.” I felt unsteady. My emotions were balanced on a singular strand of hair, ready to tilt and fall to either side. He was my instructor, and no matter where I chose, it would be inappropriate for him to see it, to touch it; even if it was to assign me a Skinscript glyph. The problem was, the closer he was, the less I cared about how inappropriate our behavior became.
He shifted and tingles raced down my arm where our skin briefly touched. “It would be safer to have it as hidden as possible,” I said at last, touching my inner thigh. “Will it hurt?”
“Only a bit.” He reached for the hem of my nightgown and slowly dragged it up.
My heartbeat was smothering me. I put my hand on his, stilling it. “Just…give me a minute.”
He pulled my hand to his chest, knowing eyes locked on mine until both our heartbeats calmed.
“I’m just giving you some Skinscript tonight,” he said, voice low and soothing. “Nothing more.”
Disappointment shot through me. My treasonous body wanted more, even as I nodded. “Just Skinscript,” I heard myself repeat. I didn’t sound like myself. I sounded breathless. “Okay.”
His eyes were almost luminous in the dim light. He kept his right hand pinning mine to his chest as he moved the other, still holding my nightgown, up and up until it was at my waist.
I shivered, but not from the cold rush of exposed skin.
He moved his left hand down, fingertips brushing against my inner thigh as he gently pushed my legs apart. Desire licked its way down my spine. My heart drummed against my hand on his chest. I took a deep breath.
The entire time, his eyes hadn’t left mine. He flicked his gaze down, and he drew in an unsteady breath. The heartbeat beneath my fingertips hammered, and mine mimicked his against my ribs. It wasn’t just me. He let out a low noise, looking back up at me. His pupils had swallowed most of the color of his irises in darkness.
“Hold still,” he ordered. There was a roughness to his voice I’d never heard before. It made lust pool down toward my middle.
He took another deep breath, dipping his index finger into the shining ink. No brush, just raw skin. Slowly, torturously ardent, he pressed it into the crease of my right inner thigh, dragging it into a pattern against my skin.
