Page 45 of Cursed Shadows 1

I’m so desperate for the familiar embrace of the honeywine that I have tugged out the cork and lifted the bottle to my lips by the time Eamon speaks—and his tone has darkened, his smile vanished.

“Taroh.”

That’s all he says and it’s enough. I watch his darkening eyes run me over, taking in the dishevelled state of my hair, the tear streaks on my cheeks, and the small rip in my forest-green skirt.

Aleana is quiet for a moment.

She considers me. Her posture—better than my slumped one with my legs splayed out and a bottle to my lips as I gulp too eagerly—is prim and upright. Yet the fatigue lives in her somewhat sagged shoulders, as it does in the shadows under her eyes, and the dryness of her hair. I think of her brother, his hair that glistens like ink, like tar, like it’s forever damp, eternally caught in a light drizzle of rain.

Then Aleana asks, her voice like silk, “Why not tell your father?”

I drop the bottle from my lips with apopand anahh. My weary, bloodshot eyes turn on her.

The smile that steals my lips is bitter. “Maybe I don’t want to know what he’ll say.”

Will you still sell me to Taroh if you know what he does to me? Will you love me and keep me safe—or choose the tocher, the connections, the alliance?

Maybe I fear the latter so greatly, I can’t so much as imagine telling father about the assaults.

Aleana just looks at me.

And I stare back.

Can feel Eamon’s gaze sliding back and forth between us, feel the tension that ripples through his muscles as he leans forward on his cushion just slightly, but enough that he’s ready to pounce between us.

Is that what this is? Are we to fight, to not like each other?

We are certainly sizing each other up, and I wonder if we should have met on a fighting mat out in the battle blocks, rather than a tower that stands some ten levels above ground.

Her eyes narrow. Daggers carved from diamonds.

My lashes lower.

Her head tilts. The blunt cut of her muted black hair sweeps over her shoulder like a sword’s kiss. Not dull exactly, but there’s no shine to her hair. No warmth to her tanned skin, it’s washed out and ashy like the shadows around her eyes.

How weak are you, Aleana?

I blink at her, slow and considering. She’s still pretty.

Does everyone around you—like those around me—underestimate you? Do they look at you and see sickness, and only that?

They look at me and see half human—and so they don’t listen when I lie to them, they don’t see when I scheme.

I don’t think I should underestimate you.

Her mouth twitches at the corner.

Her thoughts are mine—we wonder the same about each other.

Could we be friends? Do we share enough light and dark within us to bond?

I mirror the gesture. An almost smile we share.

Then, at the exact same moment, both our faces split with a grin. Hers wears sharper teeth than mine, but both are delighted.

Eamon relaxes. It’s so slight that if there was any human around, they wouldn’t notice it, but I do. Out the corner of my eye, I see his muscle ease beneath his white stringed shirt, his boots rest gentler on the stone, and his back reclines just an inch.

He turns his amber eyes on me. “We’re waiting on Dax,” he tells me. “He’ll be finished here before the Quiet starts, then we’ll head to down to Kithe.”

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