Page 152 of Cursed Shadows 3

“My plan is do anything,anything,” I add darkly, dropping my hands to my sides, “to be free. And when I come back… I will be with you.”

Eamon strokes his soft fingertips down my cheek. “In Kithe?”

I nod, firm. “I will flee these prisons—and be free with you. But to do that, you must be alive.” I swat at his chest. “If you are dead from some meaningless honour duel that wears no true honour, how can I be free with my brother?”

His voice is soft, “You will not be ashamed?”

“Sometimes it takes courage to be a coward,” I say with small smile, and I feel the relief in my chest, the uncoiling of a tight knot that loosens throughout me. “So you will flee?”

Eamon nods, his touch tender on my cheek.

Lord Braxis can, of course, renew that honour duel when Eamon returns to the Midlands. But at that time, the Sacrament will be over, and there will be many options for a second. Dare might stand in his place, or Rune or Samick, even Daxeel and Caius. Each one of them, formidable.

“There is something I have not confessed to you, my Nari.” He tugs gently on a strand of my hair, watches it as though it’s so fascinating, but I know he just can’t meet my gaze. “Ronan approach me some time ago.”

“And?”

Still, he doesn’t look at me. “He insisted I kill Daxeel and Caius before the second passage begins.”

My mouth flattens.

Ronan flickers in my mind, memories of the same request presented to me.

I don’t need to ask what Eamon said. The outrage, the rejection glimmers like fire embers in his eyes.

“And if not them—then you,” he finishes in a whisper.

My nostrils flare.

A hot, enraged sensation sways me.

I bite it back. It is no surprise—and yet, it is. Because while Ronan might be only a messenger, he is still familiar.

“Ronan made it clear,” Eamon says, “that if do not fulfil this task, I will not be welcomed back to Licht.” His smile is bitter. “Such is the life of a halfbreed.”

To belong nowhere.

And so he must take up residence in Kithe, now.

It’s no more a dream to stay here.

It’s the Midlands or Dorcha. And in Dorcha, he cannot be a same lover without banishment.

“Then flee,” I say with a swallow, “and when you return, I will join you here in Kithe. I make a promise.”

Eamon slips his hand around my back, then draws me into him.

My lashes flutter shut the moment my brow presses to his chest.

He curves around me in the embrace.

His murmur presses to the crown of my head. “I will leave within the hour.”

A silent tear falls down my cheek.

The relief is a breathed sigh from a tight chest—but the ache is a hollow pit carving deeper and deeper into me.

This moment might just be the last time we see each other.

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