Page 63 of Angel in Absentia
“No.”
“Then just one, but any one of my selection.”
As soon as the words left his lips, Clea knew from the start that this had been his true request. Her eyes flickered over to Dae, Iris, and Catagard, who were watching them intensely.
They all seemed to know which healer he spoke of, and Clea thought of the narrative. The Insednians taking their queen into the woods? Scandal. The queen, laying down her life to preserve her city? Martyrdom.
She glared back at Ryson because even now, he was cultivating a narrative she could consent to, negotiating almost on her behalf, and she resented every second of it. He was giving her every reason to say yes.
She realized then this was another game for him, and it lit something through her body.
“No,” she replied.
This seemed to humor him. He raised an eyebrow. Retracting everything else she’d said before, she put his words to the test and added, “I don’t negotiate with Insednians.”
He seemed to notice the vast distance she’d just placed between them, eyes reading hers.
“How very unreasonable of you,” he replied.
She offered her wrists. “Put my shackles back on. I’m a prisoner, or kill me,” she declared and could almost feel the power shift between them. In bearing his own feelings, if they had all been true, if this was still Ryson, then he had also shown his cards.
Now it was her turn, and she wasn’t sure where it would lead, only that she wanted her power back. In offering her wrists, in the strangest way, she took it.
Ryson breathed out slowly and stepped back, eyeing her wrists as if disappointed.
“Go on,” Clea said, pushing them toward him. “Imprison us, torture us. You’re all awful creatures. You said you’ve been lenient. Give us your worst.”
His eyes were sharper now, flickering up to hers. Something in the room shifted, the energy darkening, shadows expanding as he whispered, “The lines I draw are just as much for your benefit as for mine.”
“Clea,” Dae warned as the shadows around the room began to stretch.
She offered her wrists again. “Do it,” she demanded, feeling the power in her voice now and knowing she was provoking him. “Alkerrai al Shambelin,” she added, using the forest pronunciation and declaring in that sentence that he would never use the name Ryson again. She hoped he sensed that defiance, and as her eyes watched his, perhaps he felt it in the bond of her traitorous heart.
In the moment, logic and reason no longer mattered, only the power tottering between them. She hadn’t found a way to releasehis heart, but now she was determined to carve it out, one sharp word at a time.
“All right,” he breathed, looking disappointed for only a moment. Then a lightness returned to his expression if he’d wanted this from the start. “Let’s do this the hard way.”
Chapter 20
Negotiation
LEA RATTLED HER chains against the bedpost, gritting her teeth as the iron cuffs cut into her wrists. The room was silent but for her shallow breathing and the faint whistle of wind against the cracked windows. She had counted the hours by the fading of the light and the settling cold. No guards. No footsteps. Only silence and solitude—and the slow throb of fury beneath her skin.
That negotiation had been a game to him, giving power to take it away and give it again. It was a fun and simple throw of a ball only to see if she could hit it back to him. It only further cemented his position, though she supposed it was more gracious than outright making her beg him, unless that was next.
That wasn’t Ryson. It was a version of him, a charade, playing on her feelings until he grew bored with the game and was ready to slit her throat.
She had to get out, to find some way to get the upper hand.
Her mind sorted through every vulnerability she could imagine, and after several hours, she settled on a rather odd one.
She closed her eyes, reaching into the quiet of her thoughts. She wasn’t sure if it would work, but it was worth a try. It had worked before.
Prince.
The word wasn’t spoken aloud, only shaped softly in her mind. A ripple passed through the air, and when she opened her eyes, he was there.
The figure drifted into view, pale and translucent with a painted white mask. He hovered above the floor, the edges of his spidery form fraying into mist.
