Page 73 of Daughter of No Worlds

“He is,” I said, hoarsely.

“I hope you did it, and I hope it hurt.”

My stomach somersaulted. And Max’s eyes flicked to me again, bearing a particular kind of knowing look that made me wonder what else he saw — whether he knew what I had done. “And I hope,” he added, quietly, “that you don’t regret it for a second.”

He knew. He had to.

“He would have killed me,” I whispered.

“He would have.”Clip. Fire. “Fucking monster.”

“Not always. He was…” My voice trailed off. How could I even describe what Esmaris was to me? All of the twisted, uncomfortable shades of our relationship? “He was kind, sometimes. I thought he cared for me, in his way.”

And yet, that man who looked at me with such sparkling affection was the same one who stripped the skin from my back, lash by lash, with every intention of continuing until I was nothing but a lifeless sack of flesh. “But it was only at the end that I realized,” I said. “He loved me as a thing belonging of him. Not as a person.”

It hurt more to say it aloud than I thought it would.

Max’s jaw was so tight that I could see the muscles flexing even in the moonlight. “He deserved it.” He cast me another sidelong glance. “And what about the blond man?”

Gods, how much did he see? My surprise must have shown on my face, because he gave me a tiny smile. “You weren’t exactly mentally prepared, and you were stillinmy head. I had a front-row seat.”

“My question now,” I said, instead of answering. “The girl with black hair. Who was that?”

Max’s expression hardened. He was silent for a long moment.

“That was my sister.”Clip. He looked away as he spoke again, in blunt, removed sentences. “To answer your next question, yes, she died with the rest of them.”

War casualties, he had said, with that same choppy finality. “You had more?”

“Siblings? Yes. There were seven of us. And my parents.”Clip— faster and sharper. “It was a loud house.”

Seven. How horrible and eerie it must have been, to go from a family of that size to… nothing. “Tell me of them,” I said, quietly.

“About my family?”

“Yes. What were they like?”

I watched Max’s hands pause, the corners of his mouth tightening ever so slightly. And I watched his eyes go far away, as if dipping his toes into memory. “Too much to say. My father was loud and friendly. My mother shy and reserved.”

Cli-ip. More slowly.

“I had three brothers and three sisters. Brayan, Variaslus and Atraclius. And then the twins, Shailia and Marisca. And then Kira.”

Six siblings. I imagined a young Max tucking himself into corners to get away from the ruckus or squabbling with siblings over everyday mundanities. No wonder he was so particular about his things. He probably grew up having to defend them constantly from a house full of people.

“You were probably…second most old,” I guessed.

Old enough to hone the sense of protective vigilance that I caught hints of here and there. Young enough to have to prove that vigilance by joining the military.

He glanced at me, revealing a faint glimpse of surprise. “Good guess.”

I pressed my finger beneath one eye, pleased with myself. “I see you, Max. You are no great question.”

Only partially true. It was a nice sentiment, but there were definitely still many questions.

He gave me a smirk that said he knew this, too. “In that case, all-knowing one, I can stop answering yours.”

“Tell me about the sister I saw.”

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