“We,” he repeats, lowering his hands, not looking at me. “There was a girl who knew a boy.”
“His name was Thaelan.”
“You loved him.” Not a question, just a fact. North rubs at his chest, still looking at the ceiling.
“I wanted to marry him,” I say softly.
North nods, swallowing hard. “I was never going to love the woman I married,” he says. “It would be too much of a liability.” He struggles to sit up and I kneel to help, sliding my arm behind him until his back rests against the frame of the bunk. He grunts thanks and winces, adjusting his weight.
“You remind me of him, a little,” I say, as the samovar begins to steam. Grateful for the distraction, I pour a cup of hot water and pass it to North.
“Only a little?” he asks, not meeting my eyes.
“More than enough. I wouldn’t want you to be the same.”
North’s ears turn pink as he looks into the cup, tipping it back and forth before his eyes meet mine, dark and shadowed. “No sugar?”
“If you can find any,” I say with a forced laugh, gesturing to the mess around us. But there’s nothing funny about a life reduced to rubble, and I immediately sober. “Try to sleep,” I say, voice cracking. “Baedan and Perrote might still be looking for Bryn, if they haven’t already found her. We’ll leave as soon as you’re able.”
“Faris.”
“I’ll take first watch,” I say, ignoring the way he looks at me.
“Faris,” he repeats.
“Don’t,” I warn, but it’s too late. He touches the back of my hand, swollen knuckles and sandpaper skin.
Closing my eyes, I curve into his arms and they fold tight around me, pulling me in against the hard edges of his chest and the rattling hum of his breath. I clutch the back of his shirt, inhaling the smoky-sweet-sweat smell of his body, counting the wild beats of his heart. Tears fall, soft and silent, prompted by the simple act of being touched, of being human.
“I have to let you go,” North says softly. His voice echoes in his chest.
I squeeze my eyes shut tighter. “Why?”
“I can’t—the poison inside me feels the magic inside you and it wants to spread,” he says. His fingers thread through my hair; despite what he says, he doesn’t let go. “I can’t hold it back forever, Faris. Not now, not like this. I’m not strong enough. Or maybe you’re too strong and it makes me weak. I don’t know. My head hurts.”
Forcing a laugh, I release his shirt and pull back, drying my cheeks on my shoulder. Avoiding his eyes, I press a hand to his chest. “Sleep.”
“Stay,” he says, fingers caught on the sleeve of my coat.
I stare at Darjin, at North’s swollen hands, at the way his shirt clings to his body. “I need to keep watch.”
“The wards will hold for a little longer. Miss Dossel made them strong.”
“North—”
“Please.”
I duck my head. “What about these wards?” I ask softly, touching the crook of his elbow.
His eyes are liquid fire. “They’ll hold.”
I should argue; I should be strong.
Instead, I retrieve North’s coat and help him back into it, an extra layer of separation of my skin from his. North shifts his weight to make room and I curl beside him.
“Sometimes falling makes us stronger,” North murmurs, half asleep.
But sometimes when you fall, it’s because you’ve been defeated.
? ? ?
When I wake, it’s dark outside, later than I expected. I don’t move at first, transfixed by the way North traces the back of my hand with the barest tip of his fingers before his little finger curls through mine.
“You let me sleep,” I say at last.
“I’m a bastard,” he replies. His cheek rests on top of my head but I can hear the smile in his voice. “You can’t expect anything better.”
I briefly tighten my finger around his, content to sit another moment, locked together like this. But then North sighs and releases me before any damage is done. “The wards have started to fray,” he says. “It’s time to go.”
Reluctantly, I stand, pulling faces. My body feels as craggy as the mountains. “How far to the city?”
“Half a day by horse,” he says, picking through the detritus on the floor, scanning the spines of his books as he separates them into piles on the table. When he picks up my mother’s, he adds it to the stack closest to him.
Biting the inside of my cheek, I look toward the door, to the glow of the Burn backlighting the landscape. Half a day’s ride in the dark is a long time with no perimeter stones. “Can you reuse the wards at all?”
“No. The spell is too loose. I wouldn’t risk it.”
I don’t miss the way his tone shifts, turns guarded. The wards are gone and so is the magic.
I roll a stone in my hands. “You know the magic I carry is meant for Corbin. For you.”
“And you know that as I am now, if I tried to take anything from you, the infection in me will likely bleed back into you,” says North. He pulls his bag from its hook on the wall and starts shoving books inside. “You haven’t had a chance to recover yet, and if I flood your veins with poison again, even if I extract as much as I can afterward, your body will have a much smaller chance of fighting it back on its own. You could be infected for the rest of your life, meaning anytime you come in contact with magic”—his movements turn sharper, more hostile, and I wonder if his thoughts are the same as mine: anytime I come in contact with him—“it could be aggravated. You’ll need to be excised again and again and again and it is not easy, and it will hurt, and I will not do that unless you fully understand what you’re offering me.”
“Spoken like a gentleman,” I say, forcing a smile to hide the unease his warning brings.
He scrubs his face with one hand before sighing, his own smile incongruent to the shadows darkening his eyes. “A handsome one?”
“A misguided one,” I say. “What difference does my blood make if you’re dead before we reach New Prevast?” Giving him a withering look, I slide his father’s ring off my thumb and set it on top of the table. The magic under my skin brightens immediately, no longer muted by the iron, before sinking back out of sight.
“Make me an offer,” I say.
He rests his hip against the edge of the table, fingers tangled around the strap of his bag. “You and Cadence will have the best rooms in the palace.”
I shake my head.
“All the books you can read,” he offers. “All the maps you can carry. Fresh fish every morning, and blackberry tarts with coffee. And sugar,” he adds. “We have sugar in New Prevast.”
“Not good enough,” I say. “I want more.”
“Greed costs, Miss Locke.” Arching an eyebrow, North folds his arms across his chest and rocks his weight back on one foot, appraising me. He lifts his chin. “Name your price.”
I wait a beat, but I don’t wait longer or I’ll lose my nerve.
“A kiss,” I say. “Just one. Just once.”
Surprised, his arms unfold even as my heart stutters. Heat floods my face and I look away, feeling stupid. “Never mind,” I say, “I was just—”