Zander’s deft hands take over, adjusting its position to sit a bit lower on my hips. “Did no one ever wear these where you’re from?” His tone is softer, conversational, but I hear his fatigue.
“Yeah … like, a hundred years ago.” The tiny knife I used to strap to my thigh was done so with a tidy nylon band that slipped on like a garter.
He tests the belt’s tautness, his palms smoothing over my hips. The simple touch stirs memories of the times he’s gripped my body like that but for different—intimate—reasons.
Zander’s hazel eyes meet mine. He must have caught that spike in my pulse, but unlike in the past, there’s no teasing smile to go along with his awareness, no hint that he might feel the same. His expression is stony, unreadable.
This wall between us keeps growing higher; I just can’t be sure which of us is faster at stacking the bricks. Part of me desperately hopes he’s changed his mind about leaving me, that he’ll stay by my side. But then I replay our conversation as we ambled through the castle’s secret passage, when he blamed me for him being blind to what Atticus would do, for not being able to think straight. In essence, Zander blamed me for him losing his kingdom.
And so quickly after, he was ready to cast me aside.
I clear my throat and with it, the heady thoughts. “Now people mostly use guns.”
“Guns?” He frowns. “What are those?”
“Weapons that shoot bullets.”
His frown deepens.
“Tiny metal objects that fly out of a chamber and move through the air really fast. All you have to do is point and shoot. Anyone can do it.” Every horrific news story of a toddler stumbling upon their careless parents’ loaded pistols has proven that.
“It sounds like any idiot can be lethal in your world.”
“You have no idea.”
He gives the belt one last tug. “All you need is a blade.”
I nod toward the karambit at his side. “I’ll take that.”
He reaches for it, but his hand stalls.
“I know how to use it. Abarrane trained me.” For all of an hour, and not to her satisfaction. And all I want is to hear the daunting commander tell me what a useless fighter I am. I hope she survived.
“It’s not that. It’s just, this won’t be enough.” A decision skitters across his face and then his hand drops to his hip to unfasten the scabbard that holds his merth dagger. The one he had thrust into my hand in those few frantic moments after Atticus declared the throne his and me the enemy. I returned it to him as we were leaving the castle.
Zander affixes it to my hip. “This will seriously maim or kill any immortal in your path.” Collecting my hand within his, he closes it over the hilt. “It is now yours. Always keep it with you.”
He could have given me any of the dozen blades he just strapped to his body, yet he’s given me the one I’ve always sensed holds value to him beyond its deadly composition. Warmth blooms in my chest at the gesture.
Whatever else he might think about me, he still cares for my safety. He wouldn’t have shielded me from the arrows on the boat if he didn’t. And maybe that water shield I created to protect us—him—wouldn’t have been so strong if I didn’t care deeply for him.
But why is he giving me this dagger now? Is it a token to ease his guilt before he abandons me?
What’s going on inside that head of his?
He studies me, and I know he’s trying to get a read on me too. The problem is, he’s far more skilled at it than I am. I’ve always thrived at hiding my pained thoughts behind a veil of indifference. I can’t hide them from him, though, and I hate it.
“Thanks for the dagger.”
He dismisses the act with a shrug. “It suits you better, anyway.”
I smooth my thumb over the black stone on the hilt. “I thought so too. That’s why I tried to steal it that night in the tower.”
“Yes, it certainly wasn’t to slit my throat so you could escape,” he murmurs dryly.
“Even if I had succeeded, I wouldn’t have killed you. I’ve never killed anyone,” I admit.
“By the way, what manner of larceny did Romeria Watts partake in, back in her world?”