Page 74 of Grim and Oro
Finally, anger.
Anger.
“What happened?” she demands. Her eyes narrow. “Are you—are you looking for the sword without me?”
Ah. She thinks the wounds are from the dragon.
“I’m not.”
Of course, she doesn’t believe me.
I give her a look. “I am the ruler of Nightshade. Do you truly believe working with you is the only opportunity I have to be wounded?”
“Yes,” she says. “Because only in the cave can you not use your powers. With them, you just do ...” She makes wild, dramatic motions in front of her.
I frown. “I dowhat?”
“You know what I mean,” she says, though I absolutely do not. I’ve never made motions like that in my life. “Shadows. Death. Stuff. You know.”
Shadows. Death. Stuff. I’m so glad that’s what the woman I can’t get out of my head thinks of my powers.
I have the sharp urge to show her everything I’m capable of, if only to see if I might finally impress her.
Instead I sigh. “Well, the creatures I face often are mostly immune toshadows. Death. Stuff.”
There it is. I’ve told her yet another thing I should keep secret.
“Grim,” she says, and the way it feels to hear her say my name is indescribable. I want her to say it again. I want her to gasp it. I want her to think of me as much as I think of her. “What is going on in Nightshade? What could possibly be strong enough to wound you like this? Why do you need the sword?”
All valid questions. I can see her concern. I study her, trying to find some indication her feelings are false. I find none.
“It is treason if I tell you. It is one of the greatest secrets of our realm.” No one knows how weak and vulnerable Nightshade is right now. How close to ruin.
She just looks at me, and whispers, “Everything about this is treasonous.”
She’s right.
Us, in my bed.
Me, thinking about her in my bed, almost every waking moment.
Her ... caring about me.
Me, caring back.
“I suppose you’re right,” I say. Then, after she’s asked me countless times over the last few months, after I’ve refused to answer, I finally tell her. “Centuries ago, after the curses were spun, a scar opened up across Nightshade. Winged beasts began escaping from it. They look like dragons, but smaller, and their scales are nearly invincible. They’re called dreks, and they have already killed thousands.”
Her concern widens. “Do people live near the scar?”
I nod. “Near the parts that are inactive. The attacks have been concentrated to one area in the last century.”
For now.
I rub a hand across my forehead. I haven’t slept well in years. The safety of my realm, and people, its future, is on my shoulders. Before I know it, the scar will rip completely, and there will be nothing I can do.
I could portal my people away, but where would we go? The only place with enough power to sustain us is Lightlark.
And it’s gone, inaccessible until the Centennial.
