Page 31 of Forged in Flame and Shadow

Her eyes flicker as she steps backward, but she’s not afraid. Even as I loom over her until her back hits the wall of a little alcove off the corridor, her face is the picture of contempt.

“Do you mean all those times you saved my life, knowing you couldn’t let me die while I was still useful? If it wasn’t because I was good for Fairon, it was about what was good for your country, right? And then when it became inconvenient for me to have power, you took it from me. So what in all that is supposed to tell me you care?”

I know that from her point of view, it must seem impossible to trust me. But from where I’m standing, it’sherperspective that doesn’t make any sense.

“I can’t let you out of my sight without obsessing about your safety,” I say, bringing my face close to hers so she can take in every word. “Every minor injury you get has me tearing my hair out, wondering how I could have protected you better.”

I risk lifting my hand, running my thumb over the graze that starts on her chin and travels up to the corner of her mouth. Her eyes are still burning with anger, but her breath hitches as I brush my finger across her bottom lip.

How I want to taste those lips again—I obsess aboutthosealmost as much as anything else—and the heat radiating through me as I touch her now makes it hard to withdraw my hand. I know she feels it too. I’m tuned in to the tiniest shifts in her body, the way her hips tilt slightly toward me, the way her jasmine scent deepens into something raw and primal as she meets my gaze.

“Most of my unit thinks I’ve lost my mind,” I say, my voice low. “And you think I’m in this state because you’reusefulto me?”

She swallows, and my eyes go to her neck, watching the muscles tighten. Something else tightens within me in response, and I force myself to look away before I throw all caution to the wind and do something else she won’t forgive me for.

“You’re a hypocrite,” she says, her voice rough. “You encouraged me to explore my powers from the beginning, and now you have the audacity to criticize how I’m doing it? As if you’re not the very essence of brute force, using your power to flatten anyone who stands in your way. How many people have died because the Nightmare Prince didn’t care about curbing his strength?”

I close my eyes, letting the impact of her words reverberate through me. I know she used the name the humans call me on purpose, calling back to another thing I’ve refused to tell her. What she doesn’t know is that event is exactlywhyI just lost it in the training room.

I straighten, pulling away from her.

“Come with me. We can’t talk about this here.”

“What do you mean?” she asks, her intense expression wiped away by surprise. “Talk about what?”

“I’m going to tell you what really happened at the Massacre of Mistwell.”

Chapter 10

Leon

Idon’t take her to my room, or hers. Some stories can only be aired out in the open. Some secrets need to be taken out in the light of day.

The private courtyard by Proctor Gallis’s office is one I remember from a previous visit. It’s nice and quiet, except for the trickling of a fountain and the chirping of the birds.

Ana sits on the stone seat opposite the water feature, her fingers picking at the lichen along the seat edge. Now that we’re here, I suddenly think this is a bad idea. I thought telling her about Mistwell would help her understand, but I could be giving her just another reason to hate me.

“You know, we had a fountain like this back in Gallawing,” she says, examining the etchings in the stonework.

I feel a rush of helpless fondness toward her. Even now, when I know she’s still furious with me, she has the compassion to give me the space I need.

“I’d watch the birds come and wash in it,” she continues. “I suppose it’s gone now. Or maybe it was only the house thatgot burned to ashes. I think I’d like it if some of the grounds survived.”

“But you don’t mind that the manor itself burned down?” I ask, intrigued by her distinction.

“No. I hated Gallawing. Everything it represents. Everything that happened—or didn’t happen—there. It’s why it’s easier not to talk about.” She pauses, then lifts her chin to me. “But I guess it’s still a part of me, something that will always be there in my past, whether I want it or not.”

She’s giving me an opening, and I straighten up, wondering where to begin.

“Even I forget sometimes how young I was when I went off to fight in the war,” I say at last. “That’s not an excuse, of course, but in human terms, I was barely eighteen. My parents didn’t want me to go, but my grandfather thought it sent the right message, and I was proud to represent our troops.”

I wander over to the fountain, putting my fingers under the trickling stream as I struggle with how to explain it all.

“It turns out I had a natural flair for soldiering. The pace of it, the way you can never rest for too long, because action could come at any moment—the long nights and bloody mornings.”

I look up, waiting for her reaction, but her face gives nothing away.

“I won’t sanitize it for you,” I say with a shrug. “That’s the truth.”

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