Page 43 of The Rook

He pursed his lips and opened his mouth before closing it. That was a first. The question was if he was debating telling her the truth or was currently thinking up another lie? He rubbed the back of his neck and sighed, a very unlike Mal thing to do. Goosebumps ran down her arm as Mal’s face contorted, and he groaned, his whole body rippling. She’d never seen a shapeshifter fully shift in front of her. She clung to the post at the end of her bed as Mal dropped to the floor—white hair deepening to a red wine.

He slowly lifted his head, and Pyre’s amber eyes locked on her.

Heart racing, she was rooted to the spot. Even if she’d wanted to run, there was nowhere to go. The kitsune stood, his lips pressed firmly together.

“Ta da,” he muttered.

Tempest gasped and rubbed at her eyes, struggling to accept what she’d witnessed. “I—you—” she stuttered. She took a deep breath, her emotions all over the place. Feelings could be sort through later. “I’ve never heard of a shapeshifter having two human forms.” It was the stuff of myths.

Pyre’s fox ears twitched, and a cocky smile flitted across his face. “It is not a common ability. But it is not impossible, either; I am proof. It takes lots of practice and a will of iron. Plus, you have to be able to deal with the pain.”

“The pain?” she murmured.

“Our cells literally reform the foundation of our body. Don’t you think that would be painful?”

Tempest nodded slowly. It wasn’t something she’d really thought about. He brushed his hair from his face, the stark,white highlight in the front of his hair pulling her attention. She’d always assumed that it was a fashion statement, another ostentatious quirk of the Jester. But the clue to who he was had been in front of her the entire time.

Her stupidity knew no bounds.

“So which persona is therealyou?” She rubbed her right temple. “Pyre the fox—the man I met in the woods who is gentle to children and loves his people? Or Mal—a hateful white-haired demon who savagely tortures his own men in the name ofjustice…and enjoys it and who deals in death, drugs, slaves, poisons, and weapons?” Tempest eyed Pyre carefully, looking for any sign of remorse from him. When he didn’t flinch, she continued, “You told me thatthe Jesterwas just a name, a mantle taken up by one person after another to keep up the ruse that the figure is immortal—someone to be forever feared—but it seems as if you’ve taken your position as the dark leader of the underworld far too close to heart.”

“No person is all good or all bad, Temp,” Pyre said tiredly, running a hand through his sweat-soaked red hair to push it away from his face.

But Tempest did not believe that one bit. “That’s a load of rubbish. That’s the kind of thing a bad person tells themselves to justify falling even deeper into evil. That’s the kind of thing you tell yourself to deal with how far fromgoodyou really are.”

“Oh, get off your high horse,” he shot back, ire dripping from his voice. He pointed a finger at her chest. “You’ve lied, killed, and stolen, same as me. The only difference is that yours was sanctioned by real evil. Stop thinking you’re better just because you believeyourjustifications are better than mine. War is ugly, Tempest. Sometimes you have to do ugly things to change the future for the innocent. And if you can’t accept thatthen you’ll never get anywhere; you’ll remain stuck to one spot, too terrified to dirty your hands to save those who need saving. And they will die, and then at whose feet will their deaths lie?”

He was not wrong. That was how the world operated.

A single tear escaped Tempest’s left eye before she could blink it away. She hated that a sliver of her agreed with Pyre. She had seen how despicable Destin acted behind the scenes—how he had no qualms about putting his own people in the line of fire in order to garner false sympathy and support for his illegal wars. If the side of evil was willing to do anything for its cause, what hope did she have of defeating it, if she always played by the rules?

You don’t have to play by anyone’s rules but your own.

“That’s not how the world should be,” she said resolutely. “If good people keep performing evil acts in the name of righteousness, then somewhere down the line, they will become the people they fought so hard to overthrow. Are you willing to become as vile as the king?” Tempest eyed him, thinking of the torment Mal had given her over the last several weeks. Her heart clenched, and she swallowed. From the beginning, she’d known he wasn’t her friend. “Or are you already worse?”

Pyre snarled and prowled closer, looming over her. An intimidation tactic. Too bad she saw right though him. Tempest tipped her head back and glared up at the ferocious male. His fiery, golden eyes that spat sparks, his sharpened canines, and his animalistic features didn’t frighten her.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“You wouldn’t know right from wrong if it slapped you in the face,” she argued.

“And you know nothing of war, sacrifice, or loss. You’re just playing the part of a soldier.”

That burrowed under her skin. She chuckled and stepped into his space. “I suppose you’re so well-versed. You can’t be all that much older than me, Pyre—”

“Age has nothing to do with it, you ignorant girl,” he shot back, inches from Tempest’s face. “As Talagans, we learned very early on about the reality of our situation in Heimserya. For generations we have been oppressed—made to feel like second-class citizens—or even worse: slaves. We have suffered for what we are, for our natural-born talents and abilities. We’ve borne hate and suspicion when none of it was warranted. We havediedfor what we are. Can you say the same?” He eyed her with disgust. “You know nothing of suffering.”

“Because you know me so well?”

“You’ve been pampered among the Hounds, and you know it.”

But she’d lost everything before the Hounds took her in. “I’m lucky to have my uncles, a roof over my head, and food in my belly. It could have gone very differently for me if they—” Tempest froze mid-sentence. She had been about to tell Pyre her own story of her mother’s death. How Tempest still heard her mother’s screams night after night. How her silence was so, so much worse than the screaming.

He doesn’t deserve your honesty and truth.

Glancing away, she stared at the door while she got her emotions under control. The Jester hadn’t earned her confidence. He was not entitled to her secrets or the pain that plagued her night and day. They werehers, and hers alone to carry. Allowing him to have any more information would be a mistake. Who knew what he’d do with it, or if he’d try to twist her into something she no longer recognized? She was no man’s weapon.

Lie. You’re the king’s weapon.

---