Page 32 of I Summon the Sea

I don’t want your kindness, I mouth at him.

A wince tightens his features, gone in the next blink, shrugged off just as effectively as I shrugged off his cloak, and although I’m not easily cold, I long to pull it over my shoulders again.

I fight the urge.

This is the fae king’s right hand, the fae male who gathers up humans and throws them into cages, then makes sure they aredelivered to the Death Games. I wonder what he does for the rest of the year. Snuffing out rebellions, I’ll bet. Snuffing out lives. Kicking puppies for fun.

He may be less of a monster than his king, but he’s a monster nevertheless, no matter how pretty.

His hands clench and unclench at his sides, reminding me of the blood dripping from his fingertips before.

“You know what torments him.”

When he glances up, I follow his gaze as if mesmerized and find the darakin hovering over us, shockingly close. It gleams in the early dawn, the light shining through the light gray membranous wings, playing on the white scales of its neck. Darakins have no crest, unlike the draks, but they do have spikes on their wings.

At least, I thought so, but this one doesn’t seem to have any…

“His coloring matches yours,” he says softly, and I find his dark gaze back on me. “White and gray. It’s as if he belongs with you.”

He?I form the word.

“It’s a male,” Athdara says.

I wish he’d go away. He’s distracting me from my focus on the imminent games. I press my hand against the skirt of my ruined dress to feel the dagger. Hard, cold iron.

Yet I want him to stay. I want to be distracted.

He’s a wedge in my concentration. With those thick dark brows and the sharp cut of his jaw, softened somewhat by the long-lashed eyes and full mouth, with the long neck, tousled dark hair, and powerful shoulders, he’s any girl’s dream.

And yet, for all that perfection, he seems half-shade, half-magic and power, all swagger and disdain. A fire elemental, dealing in smoke and shadows. It makes some sort of twisted sense, I think, that fire and shadows go hand-in-hand, though he seems more shade than light, more night than daylight.

Can you… talk to him?I tap my lips, my ear, and then point at the small dragon.

“Yes.”

That has to be beautiful, but then I remember how much I dislike this fae man, how dismally he’s treated me, and I look away.

“Listen,” he says softly. “And you may hear him, too.”

I shake my head and scoff, my gaze reluctantly returning to him. I’m not a dragon speaker. Why even try?

Something flashes through his dark eyes. Disappointment? “What happened to your voice?”

I shrug. With my toes, I poke at the cloak pooled around me, then bend and lift it up for him to take it.

He does, his mouth flattening.

The guards who fell asleep on the deck and inside the hold are stirring, murmurs and soft laughter wafting up to us. Standing here with Athdara, with the Pillar glowing and the water splashing against the barge, it’s hard to think this may well be the last day of my life.

To think of what lies ahead and how to beat the odds.

“Be careful during your stay here,” he eventually says, slinging the cloak over one broad shoulder. “Keep your head low and mingle with the other human nobles. Stay away from the sacrifices and the games, do you hear me?”

I show him my teeth.

And now he looks amused. He leans over me, his mouth tilting up on one side in a crooked smirk. “You may snarl all you want, but you don’t really hate me. You feel the tug, too.”

Keep dreaming, I think, and I hope he can read as much on my face. I feel no tug whatsoever.None.

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