Page 122 of A Promise of Peridot
“Yes?” My voice didn’t sound like my own.
“Do you want to come sit down?”
“Sure.”
A pause, and then, “You aren’t moving, though.”
I tried to remember why it was worth doing anything. Worth sitting down, getting warm. I was suddenly sure, with complete confidence, that nothing mattered at all.
When I laughed, Kane’s brows pinched together.
Crossing the room to me, Kane unlaced my cloak from my neck, his cold, wet knuckles grazing the sensitive skin at the base of my throat. He pulled it off me cautiously and took my frozen hands in his.
“Can you come take a seat over here with me?” The gentleness in his voice made me itch. I didn’t like when he was like this. Soft and kind and pliable. It meant he was worried about me. That something was wrong.
And it was true. Everything was wrong.
“I’m fine,” I said, and walked stiffly over to the white couch with its sea-hued pillows and thick, knitted blanket. I sat down in front of the now roaring fire and tucked the blanket around me like a shield.
“You’re still shivering,” he said, sitting down beside me, the cushions sagging under his weight.
“And you’re dripping on your own couch.”
Kane looked down at his soaking shirt, wet strands of hair hanging over his brow.
“So I am,” he said, and stood, slipping his white shirt off over his head in one fell swoop. His golden skin glowed in the dim firelight, a sheen of rain still coating his lean, muscled torso. Kane walked behind me, into another room, and came out a few moments later in a dry black shirt and soft linen pants as dark as thesky outside. He strode back into the sage-tiled kitchen—much too small for his rippling shoulders and considerable frame—and dug through the cupboards before he found some loose tea and two mugs.
“Here,” he said, once he had poured the boiling water into both of them and handed me one. “It’ll warm you up.”
The warmth from the mug seeped into my chilled hands as promised, and I brought the ceramic to my lips, letting the steam tickle my nose. Jasmine and chamomile. Maybe a bit of vanilla... I sipped, willing the tea to mend whatever was shredded inside of me.
Kane sat and watched me until I set the mug down on the low antique table in front of us.
“I was what made my mother ill. All those years, trying so hard to heal her.” My stomach turned. “She was only sick because she had me.”
“You didn’t know, bird. There was nothing you could have done differently.”
“I understand that, but... I also killed all those men. On the beach—”
“Men who had slaughtered an entire capital. Men who were there tokill you.”
I shook my head. He didn’t get it. “Maybe Powell was right all along. To hate me. To beat me. I was the reason his wife was suffering.”
Kane’s face was calm, but something solemn simmered behind those eyes.
“I want to tell you a story,” he said, placing his mug on the table.
When he didn’t continue, I nodded once, kicking off my shoes and tucking my knees underneath me.
“I was about the Fae equivalent of eighteen when I decided to overthrow my father. My older brother, Yale, was the first person I told of my plan. Years earlier, the seer had told our family of the prophecy. My father had hunted every day for the last full-blooded Fae after that. Had his spies and sentries look through every village, every home in Lumera. But the Fae was nowhere to be found.” He paused, his eyes lifting to mine. “So I told my older brother it was time we did something. Before he found this Fae girl, had her killed, and lived forever, slowly draining our realm of lighte, building up his wall, forcing our people into slavery.
“It wasn’t right, the way he ruled. Not just for the people, but for the realm itself. Our seas were running dry, our green fields shriveling into land so barren it cracked. My brother and I knew what the prophecy said. That only the last full-blooded Fae could kill him, but I thought prophecies had loopholes, and semantics that could be worked around. I had the Blade of the Sun—it was a prized possession of my father’s, and he kept it in his throne room beside his crown—and I had...” He looked down at his hands ruefully. “A lot of passion. I was young, angry, ready to fight—I wanted to do something worthwhile to help my people.
“So I went to every powerful person I thought I could convince to join me. Briar and her husband, Perry, took little convincing. Griffin was even easier, of course. Dagan was our kingsguard and the best swordsman I knew. He was the only mortal that fought beside us. With the help of the very seer who spelled my father’s fate, I even convinced Aleksander Hale to join us, the leader of a peculiarly savage race of Fae called Hemolichs. There were others, too. Nobles, spies, generals.”
“How?” I asked. “How did you convince them all to risk everything?”
His answering laugh was bitter. “Sheer will and a deep well of rage. I think they knew I was going to do something with or without them. Some of them probably joined out of fear. Others out of the same naive hope I had. Hope for change.”
