Page 15 of Enslaved

“Khas and Lir and . . . and all the members of your household.”

“And?”

“And the whole gods-blighted city!” I toss up my hands and storm on ahead, desperate to put some space between us. I march all the way to the fountain and lean against its basin. The water bubbles and froths, sparkling in the sunlight. “They may hate you,” I continue, little caring if he can hear me over the fountain’s gurgling voice. “But they need you. They simply don’t realize what it is you do for them.”

He approaches slowly, his pace lazy and unrushed. He perches on the edge of the basin, ankles crossed, arms over his chest. “It sounds to me, Darling, as thoughyouare the one who cares so much.”

I grip the lip of the basin. “I do care.”

“Do you?”

The hope in his voice is like an arrow straight to my heart. Hastily I shake my head and level a stern frown his way. “About Vespre! About these people. I care about all of them and want them to be safe.”

He is silent for a long moment. His eyes slowly move, taking in every detail of my face. I’m careful to betray nothing, to keep my scowl firmly in place. Finally, hetskssoftly and shakes his head. “Tell me, does this mean you’ve changed your mind?”

I blink. “I . . . What do you mean?”

“Are you giving up your mad scheme to save Doctor Gale from his Obligation to my cousin? Are you going to let him lie in the bed he made for himself and commit your efforts to this city you claim to care for so deeply?”

All the sunlight in this chamber seems to filter away, leaving behind a world of sickly gray hues.

Danny.

Oscar.

Their faces swim before my mind’s eye. To save the one, I must save the other. This is a fact so firmly planted in my heart, it’s taken root and spread through every part of me. Sometimes over the last few weeks I’ve tried to ignore it, even to forget it. But always it’s there, clinging to my spirit. A terrible growth, a parasite. Sucking the life from me.

You’re not seeing rightly . . .

I close my eyes, grind my teeth. I feel the weight of their lives—Danny’s and Oscar’s both—pulling me down like two great millstones hung around my neck. But in the Prince’s words, I hear possibilities. Of freedom. Of safety. Of change. I want it. I want it so badly. I long to reach out and accept everything he offers.

I press the knuckles of one hand against my forehead, suddenly woozy. If I didn’t know better, I’d say it was fae glamour, working to confuse my senses. I’m not thinking clearly. Until I’ve had a good long rest, I’m not sure I’m capable of clear thought. “Never mind,” I growl, turning away and putting my back to the Prince. “I shouldn’t have said anything. This was foolish. Please, forget it.”

I start to leave. But his hand on my elbow restrains me. Even that light touch sends a jolt of heat rushing through my body. He tightens his hold, draws me back to him. I ought to resist. I ought to pull away, put some distance between us.

Instead I lift my lashes, peer up into his face. His face which is suddenly so much nearer than it was before. His one hand remains firmly gripping my elbow, while the other lifts to my cheek, fingers sliding into my hair, around the back of my head.

“Clara,” he breathes. Nothing more. Nothing more is needed to make me lean toward him, lips parting. Drawn to his gravity with irresistible force.

Then abruptly he lets go. Backs away. His fingers withdraw from my hair, and he puts both hands firmly behind his back once more, his face falling into the habitual lines of a lazy smile. “If you need me,” he says, “I’m easy enough to find. Unless I’m much mistaken, I’ll be dining with a passel of troll children tonight. Until then.”

With that and a polite tip of his head, he turns and disappears into the greenery with a swish of his long coat. And I’m left standing there, leaning back against the fountain basin, my heart pounding like a hammer against my breastbone.

She doesn’t want me to die. That must count for something I think.

I step into the quiet of my study, close the door behind me. For a moment I stand still, staring before me into that space. At the work mounding my desk. The books, scrolls, papers, quills, piled up on every conceivable surface, all awaiting my attention. But I see none of it.

Instead my mind’s eye is taken up with that vision of her. Shining in the light of the solarium. Gazing up at me with those doe-brown eyes of hers. Eyes ordinarily so soft and demure, now sparking with that secret fire which blazes hot in her core.

“You can’t put yourself at risk like that. Not when so many people need you.”

I rest my head back against the door, breathe out through my nostrils. Am I really such a fool? Am I seeing only what I wish to see? Most likely.

But there’s a chance. A chance I’m not mistaken. A chance that what I glimpsed in her eyes wasn’t just a reflection of my own feelings.

Gods damn it.

I march to the desk, drag the chair back, and take a seat. I lean back, then frown at the odd lump in my pocket. Reaching into the front of my coat, I withdraw the little purloined frame with its dangling string and bits of ripped canvas. Somehow, impossibly, it still shimmers with magic—strange, inexplicable troll magic, so unlike any other in all the worlds. Deep inside, the Noswraith strains and pulls, yet the magic holds. It’s held for hours now, far longer than I ever would have thought possible.

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