Page 95 of Daughter of No Worlds

“I’m not afraid of that.”

Max let out a violent scoff. “So, to you, all of this is alright? It’s alright for them to humiliate you this way? It’s alright for Zeryth to leave you in slavery even though it would have taken nothing for him to get you out? It’s alright for them to screw with your head for some stupid game? He tried to force you —literally— to your knees. That’s fucking demeaning. And that’s alright with you?”

No. Not alright. I swallowed a surge of rage.

But—

“I cannot change what they do. I can only change what they think of me.”

“Right, because Zeryth Aldris’s friendship has done so much for you, so far.”

My head hurt. Heart hurt. I pressed my palms to the ground, soaking up the coolness of the damp earth. “I need his favor. You know this.”

Max stared at me for a long moment, cold fire rising in his eyes. He stood up, paced, crossed his arms. And then turned back to me. “Do you know what I don’t understand about you sometimes, Tisaanah? Why aren’t youangry?”

That made me want to laugh. Why wasn’t I angry? I wasn’t angry because I devoted so much of myself into turning that energy into something else, stuffing it so deeply into myself that it lined the inside of my skin. “I can only control myself. That’s all. No one has any responsibility to me.”

“No.No, theydohave a responsibility to you. They have a responsibility be decent human beings.” He let out a breath through tight teeth. “Sometimes— sometimes I look at you and I’m amazed at the sheer fucking scale of how people have failed you. Just utterlyfailed you.It’s enough to make me sick, so what about you? How can you look at any of them and not want to claw their eyes out?”

“This is not about me,” I shot back. “I want to make things change. And to do that, I need to use whatever tools I have.”

“Whatever tools you have.”

“Yes.”

“And what is that, exactly? What is this tool that you’re utilizing? You are more than your value to powerful men, Tisaanah, and those people will use you and throw you away.”

I drew in a breath so sharp that it sliced me from my chin to my navel.

I heard that. I heard that shade of judgement. I knew it so well — whispered in hallways and corners and in the cloying tones of every man I danced for. I knew it so well it only had to lift its head from a mile away for me to catch its scent.

I jumped to my feet, fists clenched. “That isnot true,” I spat. “I hadnothingmore than that, Max. My value to powerful men is why I am alive. So don’t youdarespeak of me in that way.”

His face immediately shifted, lips parting. “No, I—”

“Youdo notget to tell me how I should feel about what has happened to me. And what will anger do for me? Why do I need that? So I can drown in it? So I can use it as excuse to do nothing with my life?”

His mouth closed. Tightened. I saw a flicker of hurt cross his face, then felt it echo in my chest. “I’m guessing,” he said, tightly, “that you’re thinking of someone specific.”

Silence. We stared at each other, both simultaneously wishing that we could inhale our words back into our lungs. My blood rushed in my ears. It drowned my words.

So I was relieved when Max’s came first. “I would never, ever judge you. That was an ignorant thing to say.” Most people averted their eyes when they apologized. But not Max. He looked right at me, unwavering, the corners of his mouth twisted. “I’m sorry.”

Shame was an unfamiliar shade on his face, softening all those hard-edged features. He looked…sad. Just as drained as I was.

I watched him, a question stirring.

Once, in Threll, I was walking the bounds of Esmaris’s estate and came across a dead bird in the street. It had been crushed to death by a wagon wheel — smashed right up its middle, glossy black fire-tipped wings splayed out against the white cobblestones. I knelt down beside it and examined the morbid beauty of the day-old blood against those shiny black feathers, the grotesque symmetry of the way it flattened in the street. I imagined it just standing there as the wheel rumbled over it. And I wondered,How did you get here, little bird? Why didn’t you fly away?

Sometimes I found myself looking at Max, at the aftermath of all those hidden scars written across every inch of his body and mind, and wondering the same thing —What happened? Why didn’t you fly away?

“You want me to hate the Orders as much as you do,” I murmured. “But you won’t tell me why. What did they do to you?”

He let out a quiet breath. “I can’t give you those answers.”

“You do not want to.”

He gave me a long, considering look, brow furrowed. “You’re right. I’m a mess. I know I am. I can’t argue that.” He shrugged. Its forced nonchalance only highlighted the rough weight of his voice. Anything but careless. “I do nothing because I already did everything and failed. And I couldn’t take it. Just couldn't do it anymore.”

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