Page 46 of Blood On His Lips

I was aware that he was under the delusion that he wouldn’t kill me—I wasn’t entirely certain of the source of this impression, only that it felt true. But he was wrong. If I became atruethreat, he would see me dead. It was the nature of any beast, to protect itself at all costs.

I assumed my therapist shared my impression. Susenne worked constantly to redirect my energies towards a more accomplishable goal for someone of my age, power, and resources. The problem was, I didn’t fear death. To force me to heel, a canny adversary would threaten someone I cared for, not me.

“You cannot trust his reactions to your grieving process to remain informed by empathy and restraint.”

“I don’t trust him. I’ve done nothing to encourage his interest.”

She nodded. “We’ll work on strategies to deflect his attention as well as maintaining your healthy internal dialogues.”

I almost told her not to bother. “At this point, nothing short of a nuclear bomb will deflect his attention.”

She gave me an inscrutable look. “It’s important we don’t backslide into our formerly self-destructive behaviors. But don’t let me take up any more of your time today! I have a lunch date with my son. I'm already late, too—we'll explore this more in our next session, hmm?”

“I didn't know you had a son. An adult son?”

“Very adult. He's going through some tough times with his father and grandparents and has also faced a recent difficulty that's forced some unexpected life changes. So I am on motherly and professional duty this afternoon.”

“He’s lucky to have you. Enjoy your lunch, Susenne.”

She leaned forward and kissed my cheek, then strode away with a final wave in Juliette’s direction.

“I don’t like her,” my cousin said. “There’s something a little off with someone that cheerful.”

You should listen to the girl.

Hush, Darkan.

“Tereille’s cheerful,” I said.

“That’s different.” She shrugged, then squinted up at the sun. “We have time to stop in the mead tent before the ribbon cutting. I don’t know about you, but the only way I’m going to get through watching you play nice with Montague with a straight face is if I’m a little tipsy.”

“You’re on duty.”

Her expression said she was at a loss to comprehend my point. “What does that have to do with anything? I can kill drunk. And, in theory, we’re supposed to avoid even fisticuffs while at the faire.” She pouted.

We stopped at a kiosk with a map, then headed towards the beer tent. There was also a wine garden, but we were steering clear of places anyone from the Courts might visit. I didn’t care about the quality of the alcohol, only the proof.

“We don’t have much time before Baba sends Numair to find us,” I said. If both males were smart—and they were—they would already suspect Juliette and I had detoured.

“Speak of the Dark,” Juliette began.

I followed her line of sight. Numair sprinted through the crowd, his movements and general bearing screaming House warrior even if he wore the discreet version of the uniform. His hazel eyes sparkled with jagged shards of green, a subtle sheen of red in his brown hair gleaming under the sun.

“No beer, Juliette,” he said with forced patience.

“We’re not anywhere near the beer tent.” She crossed her arms over her chest.

“You left Baba?” I demanded.

“The commander is with him. We need to get you to the ceremony.”

“Fine.” I gave in. “But if we pass beignets, I’m stopping and you’ll have to drag me away.”

“You can do that after the ceremony.”

“No. After the ceremony I’m leaving.” I paused, considering. “And I decided I want Faronne to leave as well. Too many potential misunderstandings.”

“Speaking of misunderstandings,” Juliette said, pointing her chin. I followed the gesture with my gaze.

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