Page 51 of A Court of Masks and Roses
“Sounded like a bone breaking?” Trace offers, ignoring my shaking head. “Or the crack of a whip?”
“Stop it.”
He brings his lips close to my ear. “Or that ringing in your ears when—”
“Stop it!” I press the heels of my hands into my eyes, the obsidian wall blocking my memories shuddering precariously. My face heats, my racing heart ferrying a sudden burst of energy through my limbs. “It was a loud sound, no more, no less. I’m tired and I want a little leeway to bloody shudder at a sudden noise.”
“Is that all?” Trace’s voice has a growl to it, which vibrates his chest.
“What do you want to hear?”
“Start with the truth and we’ll go from there.”
“What truth?” My head pounds, words rising in my throat and demanding escape. A torn abscess spilling puss. “That I was stupid and reckless and overconfident? That I got caught and endangered people and failed to rescue a soul? That you had to come save my sorry hide?It’s all true and I know it, and I’m sorry. All right? I’m sorry.” The thin tremor running its course through my body grows violent. “I’m sorry.”
Trace says nothing.
I breathe deeply, ordering my body to quit its relentless shaking. When the order fails, I try digging my fingernails into my palms instead. Then stealing my breath altogether. Nothing works. But Trace never lets go of his hold.
“I was sixteen when Viva captured an infantry company that I’d recklessly led into Sylthia,” he says after a stretch of silence. I shift in his arms to see his face and brace myself for the coming deserved scolding. But Trace isn’t looking at me. Or at anything. His unfocused gaze stares only into the past, and his words are soft. “I’d never been in true combat before. I chafed for glory and I’d disobeyed orders to go into the zone in the first place.
“Viva thought I had information they needed, and that I’d give it to them if they hurt me. They were right.” The apple of Trace’s neck bobs as he swallows, and the muscles anchoring his cheekbones tighten with tension that I long to brush my fingers across. Trace exhales. “It didn’t take them long. I told them everything, even when I knew my information would kill people. And it did. People died. More died getting me out, and I think they were glad to give their lives just to stop the damage I was doing.” He shakes his head, his gaze refocusing. “I did everything, anything, just to stop the pain. But even when that stopped, the fear didn’t. Not even when I got out.” His voicegrounds, reclaiming its usual hard timbre. “Which is to say that I know a thing or two about arrogance. And about flinching at sounds.”
Not the response I expected. Or deserve.
I wait for shock to ripple through me, but it never comes. I’ve always knownsomethinghappened to Trace, and in the wake of the last two days, I can believe many things.That day early on, when I told him off for trying to whip Kal into telling on Wil, Trace asked for Kal’s age. And when I said sixteen, Trace went silent and abruptly ended our training session. I understand now. Truths that would have once shattered my whole view of the guardsman are now just other strands woven into the rope of confessions and secrets that ties us together. And in my gut, I know that he knew as much before speaking.
So instead of gasping or staring at him with wide, shocked eyes, I simply nod. “When does it stop?”
“I’ll let you know when I find out.”
My hand rises to rest against Trace’s face, my thumb rubbing small circles over the coiled muscles of his jaw. “Deal.” The skin beneath my fingertips is rough with stubble. “I hope you know soon.”
“As do I.” Trace shifts me again, once more nestling my back into his bare chest, and adjusts the cloak that’s slipped down from our shoulders.
“You know, if Raza saw us right now, she might get the wrong idea,” I say. I mean the words as a jest but it sounds flat even to me. I beg the stars to keep Trace from hearing my heart pounding.
Trace sighs. “It’s more complicated than you think.”
“That’s impressive, because I think it’s plenty complicated already.” I pause. “You really love her, don’t you?”
“Yes.” Trace answers with no hesitation. Just as before.
My chest tightens. “And she loves you.”
“Yes.”
I turn my face up toward him. “So why not leave with her? What is there for you in Dansil but a guardsman’s post?”
Trace shakes his head and shuts his eyes. “It’s more that there is little good I can do in Everett. As I said, it’s complicated. You’ll have to sleep at some point. Try to do it at night.”
27
KALI
Iwake with Trace’s arm still around me, my head nestled in the hollow of his muscled shoulder and—stars take me—I’ve somehow shifted from sitting on the ground to beingonhis lap in my sleep, Trace’s muscled thighs hard beneath my rear. Flushing furiously, I pull away from him and use the wall to help me stand. My body roars in protest, but holds. Trace’s shirt falls down to my mid-thighs, the chilly air brushing my bare legs. I wrap my arms around myself, the previous evening pulling my insides in different directions.
Trace saved me. Healed me. Held me.
