Page 36 of Fearless

Kitt smiles, more freely than he has since my arrival. “Time will tell.”

“I want to earn your forgiveness. Your trust.” My hand finds his, surprising the both of us. I hadn’t planned the movement, but here I was, fingers splayed across his skin. “Let me try to do that.”

His eyes are still on our linked hands when he nods. “I suppose it’s only fair I give you the chance.”

“Thank you,” I sigh out.

With a small smile, he returns his gaze to the plate of cooling food in front of me. “Now eat. Please. You need all the energy you can get for your Trial tomorrow.”

Relieved to be speaking less formally, I groan while shoveling a forkful of mashed potatoes into my mouth. “Don’t remind me.”

“Everything will be fine.” He takes a bite of ham. “Ilya will be wowed.”

I snort. “Only if I die. Perhaps they will even clap.”

“Even if you did, no one would be there to clap for it.”

The fork hovers in front of my mouth. “What do you mean?”

“Just like the Purging Trials, these ones won’t take place in the Bowl,” he offers graciously. “Well, not all of them, at least.”

“Really?” My stomach twists into knots. “Will there be Sights dragging at my heels?”

He lifts a glass of wine to his lips. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

“Well, if the court came up with these Trials for me, I can’t imagine they’d be anything short of perilous.”

Those green eyes roam over my face, and when I finally meet them, it’s a contradicting mixture of emotions I see within. “The two landmarks you haven’t yet had a Trial at,” he finally says. “That is where you will be.”

My gaze falls to his chest, where I know Ilya’s crest lies inked into the skin beneath his collared shirt. The sideways diamond represents the four landmarks surrounding us—two of which I have already survived in the Purging Trials. That leaves—

“The Scorches and the Shallows.”

He nods slowly. “The desert and the sea.”

“Great,” I say cheerily. “I barely survived the Scorches the first time.”

Crossing lean arms over his chest, Kitt adds, “This first Trial is all about bravery. And fears come in many different forms.”

I study his stoic expression. Then, a hurried question surprises my tongue. “What fear would test you in this Trial of bravery?”

“That is a bit personal.” He says this accusingly despite his expression being tinged with amusement.

“That’s the point,” I counter.

“Failure,” he says finally, simply. “Insignificance.”

I don’t tell him that this makes perfect sense considering the way he was raised. Instead, I extend that olive branch in the form of understanding. “That is an admirable fear to have.”

Kitt huffs, and I think it might have been a laugh in disguise. “And yours?”

I shrug. “Too many to count.”

“It doesn’t seem that way.” He takes a sip of wine. “Not even when you were in the Purging Trials.”

“I’m good at pretending.”

“I’ve gathered that.”

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