Page 43 of Between Smoke and Shadow

“Is that whyyou’rehere? To practice?” I snap, unable to resist.

“I saw you were here,” he says with a lazy shrug. I shouldn’t be surprised he’s accessed my code. “I thought it best to investigate.”

I say nothing, and he waggles his brows at me. Once again, he cranes his neck to search for Rune, but I shift, allowing him nothing. Malek rolls his eyes.

“Fine. I will leave you to it,” he says. He smacks a hand against the doorframe and gives me a final, smug look. “Enjoy your rat pussy, but do some training once you’re done. First duel is in ten days!”

I grind my teeth together, forcing myself to be silent. Malek saunters from the viewing room and lets the main door clang behind him. I wait as long as I can, counting my strained breaths until I’m sure he won’t return.

Finally, I step away from Rune, slowly as if there’s any chance ofnotscaring her now. When I look at her, I’m surprised to find her eyes already on mine. Not just on me, but my eyes, staring at me with a blend of shock and confusion.

“Forgive me,” I say. The words sound funny, my breath choppy.

“Thank you,” she says, almost at the same time.

“Don’t thank me,” I say. I close my eyes, feeling self-hatred drip through my veins. “Gods, don’t thank me. I wouldneverdo that. To you, to anyone. I just…I didn’t?—”

“I understand,” she interrupts. She’s trembling, but I still at her words. “I didn’t realize he had come in. He would have…he would have?—”

“Forgive me, Rune,” I say again. Despite her gaze on me, it’s hard to look at her. I hate what I’ve just done, even if it felt like the best option. Not to mention she witnessed Malek’s mockery of me, ofher. I feel small and pathetic, evil to my core.

“I understand,” she says again. She takes the smallest step toward me, repeating quietly, “I understand, Harrick.”

I suck in a breath. This is the first time she’s willingly cometowardme.

Something squeezes in my chest, compressing until I feel nothing and everything at the same time. Rune doesn’t have a speck of power in her bones, and yet she’s affecting me in a way no one else has. Her expression is gentle and soft, filling me with the purest sensation of light.

Looking at her now, I wonder if there might be more than one type of magic.

FOURTEEN

RUNE

“I can’t believe it’s real,” Petra says.

She’s talking about the fighting dome, an enormous arena that must be half a floor’s width and several more deep. It starts on one of the lower levels of the military section, and it may very well go to its top. I stand behind Viana at the bottom of the tiered seating. We’re only feet from the glass enclosure, where soon, Harrick and Malek will fight their first duel. A rowdy crowd surrounds us, gulping nightwater and placing wagers.

I am numb to it all. I’ve moved through the last ten days in a confused fog, utterly consumed by the fact Prince Harrick kissed me.Me. A lowly servant. A rat-whore, as Malek called me. I’d never been kissed before that night, though I’m not sure this actually counts. I thought Harrick was about to kill me, and he was trying to save my life. In the aftermath, we didn’t talk much before he walked me back to my quarters.

I’m sure Harrick doesn’t consider it a real kiss.

Still, Viana would kill me if she knew. She and Saskia would string me up somewhere and take turns stoning me to death. Luckily, Viana hasn’t had much time with Harrick over the past several days, and when she has, I’ve been able to keep mydistance. As long as Malek didn’t see me that night—and I don’t think he did—I should be okay.

The lights start to dim, and I force myself back to the present. Petra fidgets with her pale dress, and beside her, Viana sits primly with her nose in the air. She’s wearing a skin-tight viridian pantsuit, touched with flecks of scarlet. She looks absolutely flawless now, but an hour ago, she was a sobbing mess.

I’m sure she’s terrified to lose her crown, though she’s yet to say a word about it. Earlier, her only concern was whether her pant legs were long enough. She didn’t like the way her exposed ankles looked, or the way her heels dug into her skin. Luckily, one of the seamstresses was able to findbettershoes. Viana had been placated and I escaped physically unscathed.

“I wonder why they don’t have shows anymore,” Petra muses. She adjusts her skirt over her crossed legs, fussing with the pleats. Her voice is soft and her demeanor is quiet, but she’s as finicky as the rest.

“They’re monstrous,” Nordan says from the other side of Viana. His face is unremarkable but handsome enough. His suit is all green, save for his blood red tie, buttons, and cufflinks. He props his elbows onto his knees and arches his eyebrow in challenge. “Fighting to the death, Petra? It’s inhuman.”

“They’re not entirely human though, are they?” Viana asks, the awe bright in her voice. “Our loves are more god than man.”

I don’t let myself react. I’m carefully positioned behind Viana’s chair, wedged between Petra and Nordan’s servants. We’ve been standing here for forty-five minutes, long past the scheduled start time. Nobody seems surprised it’s running late, and I imagine the nightwater vendors are happy for the delay. There are over three hundred royals and elites packed into this place, and most are already intoxicated.

Only the important people—the crown, the betrothed, the upper royals—fill the bottom ring. The rest of the attendees’ ranking goes down as the seating gets higher. By the fifth level, there are families of the guards, who will probably have to squint to see.

“I think it’s beautiful,” says Viana. She stares at the circular mat. It’s smaller than the Royal Training Arena, probably thirty paces by thirty paces. Glass walls encompass its floor and stretch all the way up to that distant ceiling. The barrier seems too thin to protect the crowd, but I imagine it’s been magicked to do exactly that.

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