Page 198 of The Spider Queen
Care to explain that logic?
No.
I liked to think I knew Thane enough by now to read his nuances. This was the Thane of old, the one who retreated, the one who thought I wasn’t ready to hear whatever it was he wanted to tell me.
Don’t probe. I beg you, please, don’t.
Grief and sadness I didn’t expect to feel blasted through our connection.
I didn’t ask.
But I wanted to know… Was I still partly human? And if that was the case, how was that possible when I’d had the human part of my heart removed?
I absently touched my chest and rubbed it.
How could it all turn so somber? For a moment, there had been nothing but the two of us, on the back of an iridescent scorpion, traveling across the desert.
And now…
Now, there was a wall between us, and Thane had put it there.
Is this your insanity coming back?
“Can we talk? I need to hear your voice.”
“Thane,” I whispered. “What happened just now?”
His arms around me tightened. “I don’t want to lose you.”
I touched his right hand. His skin was painted with plum moonbeams, but when it was daylight, he was golden.
I swallowed.
“It’s not the insanity,” Thane said softly. “It’s the stark realization that this could be the end.”
“Didn’t we know this was pretty much a suicide mission?”
“How can you be so calm about the idea of death? Of such finality?”
“I don’t know,” I whispered. “I could rage against it, I guess. But that would be such a useless emotion. What happened to your hope? That was your thing, remember?”
He fell silent.
“Well, then it’s up to me to have some hope. For the both of us.”
Thane paused. “Maybe that’s enough.”
Chapter 31
By dawn the next morning, the iron ship in the distance was once again buried. The desert scorpion we rode wasn’t nearly as subdued as I’d hoped it would be. I still detected bitter resentment that we treated it like a pack mule.
When the sun was halfway through the sky, we stopped to stretch our legs.
“I hope I never see so much sand ever again,” I said. I still spoke like we had a future, that there would be a time when Thane and I walked hand in hand, and he showed me his domain.
Thane didn’t reply. He leaned against the purplish-black body of the scorpion and removed a boot. Sand rained down.
Last night, he’d fallen silent, locked away in the corners of his mind. Whatever internal battle he was warring, he chose not to share with me. He withdrew completely, and if I hadn’t felt his body pressed against mine as we rode the desert scorpion, then I would’ve thought I’d imagined him.
