Page 73 of Song of the Dark Wood

“And your brother?” Rowan asked.

Conor looked away. He didn’t want to think about that now. Perhaps it was superstitious, but he did not even think his brother’s name. It was easier to think of him as a vague shadow that lurked at the back of his memory.

“My brother is gone.” Saying it aloud felt like a dare. He could practically hear a hint of dark laughter echoing in his ears. His brother’s voice saying, “Then why don’t you ever sleep?”

He cleared his throat and focused on Rowan. “Have I earned the right to hear about yours now?”

“I suppose. I’m the youngest of five, and we were destitute,” Rowan said. “When my mother figured out what I was, she only hesitated a moment before turning me over. I don’t see them much, and it’s easier that way.”

Conor could hardly breathe around the fury as he tasted burnt sugar on his tongue. “That’s a lie.”

Rowan sighed, brushing a stray hair from her forehead as she leaned forward. “Fine. I don’t know what’s easier. I only know what I’ve experienced, which is that it is hard to listen to them talk about the lives of luxury that they enjoy for my sacrifice. I don’t like feeling contempt toward them. Maybe easier isn’t the right word, but neither option would bring me peace. If they are around, it’s exhausting, and if they’re not, it hurts.”

They sat quietly as they exchanged a few more moves in their game.

Rowan waved her hand dismissively, as if trying to shake off her hurt. “I don’t blame them. It’s hard to love what you know you will lose.”

“You excuse them?” Conor asked.

“No—Iunderstandthem.”

“Why are you so content to be invisible?”

She recoiled. “What do you mean?”

“You scrub your dresses like you’re afraid of leaving the slightest mark. You touch my books with a delicacy reserved for holding an infant. You deny yourself connection so the loss of you won’t hurt the people you love. Are you content to disappear so easily?”

He wasn’t mad at her; he was angry at the world, and the rage made him itch for his piano. He stretched his fingers toward phantom keys.

Rowan swallowed hard and blinked rapidly.

Conor froze. She was going to cry, and he felt an unnatural panic when that happened.

“I don’t see what’s wrong with controlling what I can.” Her words were clipped.

“So it’s about control?” he asked.

“I suppose.”

“You don’t like to feel out of control.”

Rowan nodded.

How would she like Conor taking control? Would she enjoy it if he showed her how good it felt to let go, to let him take charge, to feel blissfully out of control?Demon’s breath!He’d love to see her reaction to that. He wasn’t sure if she’d slap him or give him one of those angry, heated looks of hers, all while letting him do whatever he wanted. He lived for those looks.

Rowan wrung her hands uneasily. “You judge them, but you don’t even know them,” she snapped, dragging him from his filthy thoughts.

Conor reached across the table and tilted her chin up. “I judge anyone who would look at this face and see only a payday.”

“As if you see something different. All anyone sees when they look at me is what I can do for them. Don’t pretend you’re different when you just look at me like I’m your next meal,” she scoffed.

Rowan’s eyes burned with fury and a familiar heat spread through him. He wanted all of that rage. He could practically taste it. Her lies were sweet, but her anger was like a sharp spice that tingled on his tongue. He wanted to lick every smart word from her mouth. He needed some distance, or he would do something idiotic.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly.

She was more startled by that apology than anything else.

He pressed on. “For presuming to know your life. I should have let you answer. Tell me about them.”

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