He huffed a soft laugh. “I don’t need you watching over me.”
“You’re right,” she snapped. “You need the entire King’s Guard watching you. I don’t understand why you won’t tell them about the symbol. Or at least tell Quint.”
“I don’t need to burden Quint with this, too,” he said.
“Still no luck finding siren hair?”
Toran made a face. “We can handle this ourselves.”
She scrunched up her nose. “Right, because we’ve been incredibly successful so far. It’s not like Damari’s killed a dozen guards. Oh wait…”
Toran met her gaze. There was something in his eyes, a curiosity that warmed her toes and made her fingers curl.
“What?”
He shook his head. “Nothing.”
“I see you biting your lip.” She poked him in the arm. “Speak. Or my finger will become my dagger.”
He stared at her and seemed to decide her threat held merit. “You’re cute when you’re being sarcastic.”
Cute. She’d always spent too much time snarling and snapping for anyone to call her cute. It felt like a word meant for someone else entirely, for someone who hadn’t spent the last two years bloodying herself up in the Ditch. Someone like the original owner of the ring in her pocket.
She pushed ahead. “Yeah, well, you’re an ass when you’re being stupid.”
She twisted, looking over her shoulder at his infuriatingly handsome face. His lips still twitched with a smirk.
She’d come close to kissing him in that desolate warehouse. She blamed the burning corpse fumes on her lapse in judgment. Even now, in her right mind, it was hard not to let herself get lost in him. Hard to remember he was a means to an end—getting her father out of prison. She had to put her father above herself. But all that felt impossible when Toran was right here in front of her, his gaze telling her he wanted her as badly as she wanted him.
Maybe she could allow it if he gave in first.
Toran didn’t move.
A motion over his shoulder drew her eye. People hurried past their little corner. More and more. Hordes of them, all headed in the same direction.
She turned slowly. Dread crashed against her when she realized where they were.
The scene was the same. The same as the one weeks ago, the same as the one that had crept into her nightmares.
Four guards surrounded a girl on a platform—newly constructed—high above the excited people. Between them, anchored below the wooden planks, a circle of cemented stone, and inside a drop into the ocean.
And the girl tied up…
Horror struck Nes—a blow so concentrated she nearly fell over—upon seeing the girl’s face.
Genna.
Nes clutched Toran’s sleeve. “Toran. Did you tell anyone? When I said I smelled magic on her. Did you tell anyone?”
His whole body was rigid, shock freezing him in place. “You—we…” His words were slow, as if he didn’t know how to string them together. “No. But maybe Fell knows.”
She dug her nails into his skin. “She’s not the Witch.”
When he looked at her, he tapped his nose. “But you said she had magic on her.”
She shook her head. “That’s not— It was a small amount. No more than the fighters in the brawlhouse get.” She tapped her flask. “No more than I carry around.”
He didn’t look convinced.
