Page 78 of The Dead Saint

“What if you came with me?”

The question crystallized around them.

Sorcha’s eyes flashed up, filled with an expression he couldn’t read but longed to understand.

“What do you mean?” she asked quietly.

He spoke slowly, careful with each word. “Come with me.”

Her eyes were glued to his face, pupils wide, taking everything in.

“I have land to the east, a gift from the prince for expanding his empire. It’s beyond everything. We can leave for it as soon as things are finished.”

We.

The word buzzed and vibrated in his head, shooting along each nerve. He’d never once felt the desire to say we to anyone. Not in this way, not with the idea of running away from it all and pretending the world didn’t exist if it meant this woman would accept all his darkness.

“We,” she repeated.

He didn’t nod, didn’t move, couldn’t bring himself to show any kind of emotion as he gave her space to consider the offer. If she refused, they would go on as they had been—killer and priestess. A pair of fools collecting the relics of a mythical saint so a prince might be pleased with their service and spare their lives. And when it was all over, Adrian would continue to burn cities to the ground. Would do whatever it took to forget her.

Her silence was killing him. He wanted answers, he wanted a reaction, he wanted anything from her other than that flat look she was giving him. He wanted to make as deep an impression on her as she had him. He thought he had. Sometimes, when she looked at him, he caught something else in her gaze. But he couldn’t be sure she would act on it even now. He couldn’t be sure she would trade everything she knew for a monster.

He knew what he wanted her answer to be.

“Adrian,” she began but stopped. His heart twisted. “I don’t know what will happen when all the relics come together. The things I see...”

He waited for her to say more, but she remained silent. She didn’t speak about her visions, and he hadn’t pressed for information. Each night, she woke screaming, following memories of the past or visions of the future, shivering in the dark. When they arrived tomorrow night, would she come to him then? Would she slip into his bed as easily a second night? Or was this it?

Sorcha took his face in her hands, smoothing back his hair, and curled her arm around his neck. She kissed him gently, brushing her tongue against his. Sorrow tainted her kiss, bitter on his lips. But he held her close, as if holding her might be enough to keep her with him.

“Sleep,” he urged.

She could make no promises, and he could ask for none.

She nodded, rolling over onto her side. Adrian tucked her against his body—her back to his chest, his arms around her—and listened as her breathing slowed. Dawn was only a few hours away. In the morning, they would find another relic. Soon, he would hand her over to Prince Eine, and whatever he hoped for would change.

Chapter Twenty-One

“We aren’t blind, Adrian. Or deaf. Do you think the prince will be?” Ivo threw his hands in the air—an electric mix of frustration and fury. “He will kill us all because you’ve displeased him.”

Someone tried to quiet him, several voices pitched low, soothing and making promises to discuss this later.

Magnus put a hand on Ivo’s shoulder, his eyes locked on Adrian’s sword hand.

“No! I’ve had enough of this.” Ivo shook Magnus off and pointed at Adrian, his eyes wild. “You value the life of a witch more than that of your men? More than the empress?”

Adrian let out a deep breath. His chest felt tight, and pressure was building behind his eyes. Ivo had been with him since taking the city of Oro. He was much younger than the rest. When he’d been made a Black Tomeis, they’d drunk half the night away and woken up before dawn to kill a city. Ivo never faltered, never hesitated. He was one of Adrian’s best men. He’d even trusted Ivo enough to be Sorcha’s guard on occasion.

“Are you still loyal to Prince Eine?” Ivo asked, voice shaking.

“Idiot,” Magnus muttered, stepping away from Ivo.

Are you still loyal? The question throbbed in the air—caught in Adrian’s ears. For all his life, he’d valued loyalty over everything. Did he still? Could he still claim it was important when he’d chosen Sorcha over his men in his heart?

Ivo watched him, expression guarded, shoulders tense while the rest of the Tomeis’ kept their faces neutral. The accusation throbbed between them all, a shared open wound. It could not be ignored.

He drew his sword, pointing it at Ivo.

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