Page 72 of The Blood that Binds Us

“You’re a transcendent.”

His only response is a low rumble from somewhere deep in his chest.

“Is your father also?”

He turns around to face me fully now. “No.” His black shirt is unbuttoned, and I scan his bare skin for injury, but there’s not a mark on him, no sign the incident ever even happened.

I take a step towards him. “You could end this, Sin. This stupid prejudice. You could unite everyone, I just don’t under—”

“It’s not that simple, Wren,” he cuts me off. “Do you really think I can show up in the cities and shift in front of everyone? After everything the kingdom and I have done to them… showing them what I am would inspire a war far deadlier than what I’m planning. I just killed one of them for attacking a mundane, and a day later,Ikilled someone while in transition. That is not something they’ll forgive.”

“So you would rather slaughter innocent people than accept the mistakes of your own?Thatis what is unforgivable. You wouldn’t have to show anyone what you are if you didn’t want to—you could juststopthe fighting.”

“And do you understand how suspicious that would be? If after decades of the kingdom pushing against them, I just stopped. If anyone ever discovered what I was, I’d be dead before the next sunrise.”

I shoot him an incredulous look. “You’re the Black Art, Singard.”

“That doesn’t make me invincible!” he roars, slamming his glass down on the ledge behind him and then running that hand through his hair.

“I don’t understand how you are—”

“It’s not something I’d expect abloodwitchto understand,” he snaps. “Don’t pretend your problems are worthy of being compared to mine.”

Heat burns in my cheeks like a fire ignited in my throat, choking out my words before I can spit them.How dare he? The Black Art that hides behind his throne while wearing a crown of lies dares to insult my character?

My hand flies open before I can think better of it, and I slap him across the face.

A small part of me regrets it as I lower my now stinging palm, but a much larger part of me almost wants to hit him again.

A humorless smile widens his lips, and he flicks his tongue across his teeth as he rights his head to look at me again. Wrath emanates from him, juxtaposing the chilled air sweeping across my chest.

“Go,” he orders, his voice low and tone clipped, but he makes no move to strike me back.

I turn my back on the man that keeps his emotions buried so deep inside himself that I’m not sure even he remembers where to find them, and storm out the door.

Iam not ignorant to the giant target plastered on my forehead. The Black Art does not trust me, as he shouldn’t, and I now possess information that has the potential to incite riots unlike ones Aegidale has ever seen.

I am not safe. Not that I ever have been, but I certainly find myself peering over my shoulder a lot more since learning of Sin’s secret. I’ve spent the past few days training from the burning red sky at dawn to the pink tourmaline clouds at dusk, with only one of those days spent with Aldred. The Black Art’s commander has taken to integrating the Langston troops with the kingdom’s armies, ensuring every soldier has a placement.

I’ve caught glimpses of Sin as he makes his rounds through the courtyards each day, and while we’ve never made direct eye contact, as soon as my back is turned, I feel him watching me. Perhaps he’s debating if the strength I add to his army outweighs the risk of keeping a bloodwitch’s lungs filling with air. Sin promised my freedom in exchange for my alliance—a temporary truce that would hold until Legion was eradicated. But now that I’m in possession of such sensitive knowledge, I would be a fool to not be on my guard.Will the Black Art really let me leave his castle and risk me exposing his truth?

After dinner and a bath, I head to my quarters for the night. I haven’t been sleeping well, unable to turn off the thoughts that pick at my brain like some kind of incurable blight. I’ve been so furious with him. Angry at him for shoving my title down my throat as if the wordbloodwitchwas some sort of poison, and angry at myself for letting it bother me so much.Why do I even care what he thinks?

I clutch the bed sheets to my chin, and in the privacy of my room, I let the tears spill without restraint. The scarred over wound my parents left behind splits open inside me, and it feels like a thousand tiny fragments of shattered glass embed into my heart. They could not lovewhatI am—and they will never know how that influencedwhoI became.

The balcony doors fly open.

I kick my legs over the bed and grab my athame from beneath my pillow. There’s no roar of a storm outside, no howling of wind that could have blown open the doors. Gripping my dagger, I step onto the balcony and dare a glance over the ledge. I scan the gardens beneath me, but the flowered hedges and ivy terraces stare back at me with the stillness of a mural. Just as I wipe the wetness from my cheeks, movement from the tree line jerks my attention.

Peering out from the dark woods like lanterns above the nighttime sea, are two glowing yellow-green eyes.

Heblew open the balcony doors, apparently still able to manipulate the collective while in his other skin. I can barely make out the form of his dark, feline body against the night, but I watch as Sin dips his large head in a subtle summons—no, a request. If he insisted on speaking with me, he’d have simply forced himself into my room. He is giving me the choice.

I hold his stare for an extended beat, then rush to pull on a robe over my black nightgown and quickly fluff my unbound hair with my hands. I hurry from my room, down the spiral staircase, and to the part of the woods where I had seen him. My lower belly tingles as I draw near, the tether sensing his presence, even though he’s slipped back into the trees by the time I reach them.

Goddess above, don’t let this be a trap.

Sin stands in his human form—tall and bronzed and shirtless. His sculpted shoulders and chest a giveaway to years of backbreaking work, his defined obliques peeking out from the pale linen trousers slung low on his waist, a nod to his years of swordsmanship. He says nothing as I approach, and I note the primal stillness of his stance. I’ve seen it on Eldridge enough times over the years that I’m surprised I didn’t make the connection with Sin sooner. I should have known, and I didn’t.

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