Page 50 of Return of the Vengeful Quee

Her jaw went numb. It felt as if a horse was sitting on her chest, and it was impossible to move. Impossible to breathe.

The ship spun in the opposite direction, and Charis spun with it, limp as a rag doll. Tal strained to hold on to the table as he pulled her back to his side.

“Hey.” His voice was low against her ear. “Stay with me, Charis. I’m right here.”

But he wasn’t. Not really. His heart was in Montevallo, and it always had been.

She was utterly, impossibly alone.

“Take a breath, please.”

She couldn’t, even if she wanted to. Lights danced along her vision once more, and she welcomed them.

Let her fade into oblivion while the storm raged and keep her there until the wound inside her stitched itself back together.

Vaguely, she was aware that she was sliding across the mess hall and into the kitchen, only there was a pressure under her arms, as if she was being dragged. And then, without warning, a sharp, acidic odor was thrust beneath her nose.

The darkness parted, the lights at the edge of her vision vanished, and she was left sprawled across the kitchen floor, blinking up at Tal, who knelt beside her holding a rag soaked in vinegar to her nose.

“What are you—did you drag me?” She tried to sit up, but her head spun, and the room seemed unaccountably crooked.

“I pulled you. Vigorously.”

She pushed the rag away with trembling fingers and glared at him as if she was seated on her throne, not lying on the floor. “That’s the same thing.”

“We can argue semantics later.” He placed the rag at his feet. “First, let’s discuss why you were in the mess hall, alone, in the middle of a raging storm, when you’re obviously unwell.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I’m not unwell.”

“Right. Because healthy people pass out twice in the space of five minutes.”

“I’m fine.” The lie fell from her lips with practiced ease, leaving bitterness in its wake. “Just got a little sick from the ship rolling around.”

He crossed his arms over his chest and gave her the look that used to send little sparks of warmth racing through her blood. It was an invitation to match wits with him. To spar outside the practice arena, using nothing but her mind as her weapon.

Leaning forward, he said softly, “Liar.”

She bared her teeth. “You would know all about that.”

“Indeed I would.” He sounded pleased, as if she’d conceded a point.

She frowned.

“I know you’re lying, Charis, the same way I know you aren’t eating or sleeping. The same way I know you’re putting too much pressure on yourself and are in danger of collapsing.” His voice softened. “I know you’re lying, because I know you.”

“You don’t know me anymore.”

“No?” The ship rocked violently, and he grabbed her arm to keep her from hitting the cabinets. “Then tell me what’s changed.”

“I’m not telling you anything.”

“Why not?” he asked as if this was a perfectly reasonable question. As if he hadn’t betrayed her and broken her heart only two months ago.

She opened her mouth, snapped it shut, and glared at him as she struggled into a sitting position, her back against the cabinets.

“Do you think you have to be strong for me?” He tilted his head as if trying to figure her out.

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

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