Page 53 of Tempting the Fae Lord
“Obviously,” says Ezra.
“Hush, I didn’t ask you.”
“She isn’t,” says Petru without opening his eyes.
“Then why are you so thin?” Maybe it’s rude to ask a stranger such invasive questions. Rude to keep him from his rest. But my thoughts circle round and round with no easy conclusion. Ezra is right. We need to know what he knows.
He sighs, then answers in a shaky voice. “I’ve been starving myself. Our agreement was that all my family’s life debts would be paid in return for a lifetime of my service. If you’d made such an agreement, wouldn’t you also consider shortening your lifetime?”
Air catches in my throat. Not Sonja’s doing, but his own. How utterly tragic. My heart cannot stand it.
Sticky silence stretches between us as I ponder his question. Would I take such drastic measures?
I don’t think I could.
Petru continues, “She’s on to me. At least I think so, though she hasn’t ordered me to take better care of myself. I doubt she wants me beyond her obsession with him.” His eyes flick open and land on Ezra. “She hates you. Wants to cross through the gate, and after that, she wants you dead. My hope is she leaves me behind.”
Why?Why does she hate Ezra? But I already know. He stole the life she was meant to live. His duty to the fae realm demanded it of him, but when one is wronged, what care have they for excuses?
He stole her from her family. Her homelands. Her rightful future.
Same as he did to me.
Chapter Sixteen
Gale
Petru is passed out cold,as dead to the world as the unholy soldiers he was forced to raise. By the slow, rhythmic sounds of his breathing, he’s so far under, his dreams are having dreams.
I, on the other hand, am tired, but there’s no way I can sleep. It’s too damp, too barren, too creepy. I shiver, thinking of the weight of the dirt and ice above us.
At least Ezra is around to keep my company. I couldn’t stand being alone down here all night, sleeping sorcerer notwithstanding. We sit side by side on the second cot. He doesn’t seem to be in a chatty mood, but the silence squeezes in on me like earth on a grave.
I have to say something, if only to hear my own voice. “Are you angry with me?”
He opens one eye and peers at me. “For what, Mooncalf?”
I’m thinking of an answer when he continues, “Stealing my blood?” He holds up a hand and uses his fingers to tick off more reasons. “Crossing the gate I forbid you to cross? Befriending my nemesis, then barring me from killing her? Or perhaps forcingme to provide food and shelter for an indentured death mage? Hmm, I’ve run out of fingers on this hand. Shall I switch to the other?”
I cringe, but weirdly, he doesn’t sound mad. I’m tense anyway. Presented with such a list, there’s actually more for him to be irritated with me for than I’d realized. “Erm, sorry?”
He chuckles lowly and closes his eye. “Relax. I’m not angry.”
I resist the urge to ask why. Best not press my luck any further lest it finally run out.
As if he overhears my thoughts, he answers anyway. “I won’t be angry with you for being who you are. Curious, stubborn, kind, generous, willful. I admire those qualities in you. Even when they’re working against me, apparently.”
That amused tone I’m familiar with threads his voice, and I’m comforted to hear it.
“I’m relieved you’re all right,” he says, gaze full of concern. “When I saw you with her… I feared the worst.”
“And I’m relieved you’re all right. I grew more and more worried for you with each passing night of your absence.”
“We are a pair. Scaring each other witless. Shall we try not to do that again?”
“I will if you will.”
He stretches out a hand.
