Page 57

And everything changed.

FOURTEENTinman

The provost drops us at an apartment three blocks away from the towering statue of the Wizard.

It’s a second-floor apartment. Not great from a strategic standpoint. I doubt Dorothy can leap across rooftops if we’re ambushed from below. The me of a week ago would have left her to fend for herself. The me of tonight …

There’s no denying that the girl who dropped from the sky is an aberration. The fact that my brother, the Great and Terrible Wizard, tangled himself with her, then allowed her to live, says something, but I don’t know what. Did he know she would survive? Did he care? I’ve seen him kill for less. If he wanted her dead, I’m positive she’d be ash by now.

He’s playing with her, yes, but why?

Dorothy plops onto the sofa and tries to find a comfortable spot with the leather breastplate still on. The leather is too stiff yet to mold to her body, and it lifts away from her chest, making her look like a turtle floundering in a shell.

She sighs.

I push away from the window and grab her by the armor’s shoulders, hauling her to her feet. A surprised yelp escapes her, but once she realizes I’m undoing the straps, removing the plate, she’s immediately compliant.

“Do you always manhandle people like this?”

She doesn’t sound entirely displeased by the idea.

“Yes.”

I can feel her gaze on me.

Every time she looks at me, the hair along the back of my neck stands on end.

The thought has crossed my mind to use her against the Wizard to get Gabriel back. If he really did appear to her in the West’s castle before we left, it’s a clue I cannot ignore. I told Dorothy he was playing with her, but I think there’s more to it.

I think he sees something in her that reminds him of himself. Power and potential and bristling possibility. He likes something about her that has provided him some restraint.

And I consider myself quite capable of destroying the things he likes.

Call it retribution. Or revenge. It’s my life’s purpose at this point.

If I cut her with my axe, would she bleed?

“What are you thinking?” she asks, the suspicion ripe in her tone of voice.

“I’m trying to decide how much effort I should put into protecting you.”

Not entirely a lie.

“I don’t need your protection.”

I arch a brow at her and then move on to the last strap of her breastplate. “Lift up.” She holds her arm out straight so I can reach beneath. “You can’t even get out of your armor.”

Before I undo the latch, she slaps my hand away. “Yes, I can.” She takes a step back, out of my reach, and contorts her body trying to reach the belt’s pin. But the armor has shifted now that most of it is undone, and the strap is behind her while the heavy plate hangs from her torso.

She turns again, turns some more, struggling.

I cross my arms over my chest, watching with amusement.

The seconds tick by.

“Why are you so stubborn?” I ask.

“Why are you so mean to me?”