Page 27 of The Enemy's Daughter

I attempt to roll over, but heavy blankets hold me down. I pat them. Someone’s been here. Fear ricochets through me as I fight to push myself up onto my elbow, and I spot the likely culprit sitting on a chair that wasn’t by the door before. Tristan. His head is in his hands. He’s not moving. Is he asleep?

The blankets feel like they’re filled with rocks for how much I struggle to move them aside.

Tristan startles. Runs a hand through his hair. “Are you okay?” His voice is groggy.

“What are you doing here?” I rasp.

“I... was hoping we could talk, but I didn’t want to wake you.”

The little bit of light from the hallway highlights his white T-shirt, and I eye him skeptically as my vision adjusts. Is he really here to talk, or actually guarding the door? Are we back to being enemies?

He kissed my neck.

“I need some water,” I blurt, desperate to stop any reaction that memory of his kiss might cause.

“There should be a cup next to you on the side table.”

With effort, I sit up and feel around the table beside me. There is a cup, but it’s empty. My head drops. Walking to the bathroom tap right now feels like it’d be as fun as crawling naked over the sharpneedles of an empress pine. Another wave of nausea hits, overpowering my need for water. I fall back on the pillow. “I could sleep for another week. Maybe two.” Why isn’t Tristan as exhausted as I am?

A warm, gentle pressure nudges my mind. With a start, I realize it’s him. Tristan and I may not be fully linked anymore, but he’s still able to reach out to me. Some framework of the bridge we built remains.

“Sorry,” he says gruffly. “I didn’t mean to do that.”

I’m not sure I believe him. How do you do something like that by accident? Last time it took a lot of concentration and opening up and... touching.

My cheeks heat at the memory of how close we had to get to create this tether between us. It was personal, and bewildering, and more intimate than anything I’ve experienced with my own betrothed. Perhaps worse, I didn’t hate it—at least not that part. Not like I should have. Roughly, I kick at the blankets, annoyed I can’t even make things right since I’m currently still in Tristan’s bed. “I need to go home. My people are likely searching for me.”

“That... won’t be possible.” There’s something different about his voice. Is he angry?

My head snaps in his direction. “Why not?” My voice goes hard, matching his. “Am I your prisoner?”

“You’re... one of us now. Not to mention you know our secrets. Your leaving could put us in danger.”

“I—I wasn’t even conscious when I arrived. I know nothing of your people, the layout of your land, your soldiers.”

“You know about the connection.”

His magic. And I have a million questions about that—although I can hardly ask them now, if my very knowledge of the connection is the reason he won’t let me go.

He stays silent, but again his presence presses against my mind. He huffs. “I’m sorry, I don’t know how to stop... doing that.”

“So that’s it?” I say. “Because I said yes to some crazy last-ditch effort to save my life, I can never leave this place? I can never see my family again?”

“You’re alive. Isn’t that enough?” His voice is tired.

Not if it means losing everything. “You know, before your soldiers showed up and shot me, I was going to let you go.” The memory of it flashes in my head.

Tristan flinches like I’ve hit him in the nose with my empty cup.

I tense. “What just happened?”

His head cocks to the side, his face intrigued. “You... sent me a memory, I think.”

Panic erupts. My memory appeared in his head? “But we’re not even touching!”

“Don’t worry. I can’t seem to get it to show me anything. It’s like you’ve sent me a letter in another language and I’m waiting for the translation. For the full transfer to work, I think we’d need to be more connected first.”

Not a chance. “You think? How come you don’t know?”

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