Because of course the tower would have a leak.

The goddess really isn’t making me warm up to the idea of being her sacrifice, I grumble to myself as I drag my bed frame out of the way. Once it’s moved, I can hear the plip plip plip of the water dripping down from the floor above. Lightning crashes again, so loud that it shakes the tower itself. “Yes, yes,” I mutter aloud at the displeasure of the gods. “I’m staying. Don’t worry.”

I pick up my dress, intending to slip it over my head and lace it up, then head upstairs to check out the leak. The moment I do, though, I toss the dress back down. Does it matter if I wander about the tower in nothing but my filmy chemise? It’s not as if there’s anyone to see except Nemeth, and he’s already seen everything.

Even though it pains me, I light one of my precious candles and lift it in the air, heading out to the landing and towards the steps to the third floor. Thunder crackles overhead, booming and startling me with the severity of it. It’s the season of storms, so I’m not all that surprised. They’ll shower down for a month, and then it’s harvest time, and then come the snows.

After the thunder dies down, though, I hear something downstairs. It sounds like something hitting the wall, a soft thump that isn’t made by the storm itself. I imagine Nemeth falling down the stairs below, or the storm shaking loose a brick and it landing on his head. I imagine him lying on the floor, broken and bloodied, and when the strange, soft thump occurs again, my curiosity gets the better of me.

Instead of heading upstairs, I go down to the floor below.

Nemeth’s door is closed. Another round of thunder rumbles, the stone walls practically shaking, and then I hear a crash from within. I move to his door and knock. “Everything all right in there?”

The door whips open to reveal a wild-eyed Fellian. Behind him, I catch a glimpse of crowded shelves, full of books and supplies. Before I have a chance to catch more than a quick look, Nemeth focuses stark eyes on me and then tugs me into his quarters. “Good, a hostage.”

A…what?

Chapter

Eighteen

My candle sputters as I surge forward into Nemeth’s room. He looks crazed, eyeing the walls with what looks like anger or resentment.

I’m confused. “What’s going on?”

“They are attacking the tower,” he says, grabbing me by my shoulders and eyeing the walls. “I have never heard such a din. Do they mean to tear it apart and pull us from the rubble?”

Thunder crashes overhead again and he jerks, his wings flicking out and extending in what must be a reflexing action. He pulls me against him, his claws twisting in the voluminous folds of my chemise.

Is this big Fellian warrior…afraid of thunder? Surely I am misunderstanding him. “You do know that’s a storm, right?”

His wild gaze focuses on me. “What?”

I open my mouth to speak and it thunders again. His grip tightens on me, his gaze going to the ceiling. Aw. “It’s a storm,” I say gently. “A thunderstorm. A loud one, granted, but still a thunderstorm. We’re entering the season of storms. Do you not have that where you live?”

In the light of my candle, I see his thick gray throat work. “You…this is normal? We are not being attacked?”

“It’s a very loud storm but no, we are not being attacked.”

The rain pounds against the stone walls and he flinches. He doesn’t let go of me, either.

I’m acutely aware of my candle burning, and I know I have to save it, but I also don’t want to abandon Nemeth when he’s clearly feeling vulnerable and doing his best to hide it. “If it’ll make you feel better, I’ll stay here as your hostage until it stops, all right?”

His gaze focuses on me. “You would…do that?”

“I have the time,” I tell him with a wry smile. I blow out my candle and then hold my hand out to him.

Absolute darkness falls once more, but his green eyes blink at me. “You want to sit in the dark?”

“I’m being conservative with my candles,” I lie. He doesn’t need to know that I’m down to two. “Where do you want to sit?”

He makes a sound in his throat and takes my hand in his larger one. A Fellian’s hands are massive, I realize. It’s like an enormous paw swallowing mine as he holds my fingers. Nemeth leads me forward a step or two, and then my leg bumps into a bed frame.

Oh. My face gets hot. I didn’t think about the implications of being in the dark and in his bed with him. “Sit on the edge?” I ask brightly. “Or do you have a chair?”

“A stool,” he says. “But not enough seating for both of us.”

I nod and feel my way down to the edge of the bed and sit, clasping my hands around my candle the moment he lets go of me. His large form sinks down next to me, and when thunder rumbles again, shaking the tower, something warm and leathery skims over my shoulders. A wing.

He jerks when thunder rumbles once more, shaking the bed with his movements. I set my candle to my side and offer my hand to him. “Are storms not like this where you live?”

Nemeth takes my hand in his again. “I live deep inside a mountain. I guess it is muffled where I am.” He pauses. “You are sure we have nothing to worry over?”

“I’m sure.” I pause, then add, “Now poor Balon might have a devil of a time returning to Lios, but we’re fine.”

That elicits a laugh from my companion, and I smile.

“I suppose you think me foolish,” he says after a time. “For thinking we were being attacked.”

“Not at all,” I lie, glad that I’m able to keep a straight face. “I imagine with all the training you received on how to handle living here, it didn’t cover everything. My maid forgot to tell me how to clean my laundry. She was in such a rush that we weren’t able to cover everything, but I think I’ve been managing fairly well. If you notice my gowns are excessively wrinkled, though, please do not point it out. Wrinkles were definitely not covered in my book.”

“A book?” he asks. “You have a book?”

“I do.” I pause for a moment, wondering how much he knows about Meryliese and her untimely death. “My sister was supposed to be the one to come to the tower. Meryliese was an acolyte at the Alabaster Citadel and had trained all her life in preparation for her time in the tower. But when she was on her way here, her ship sank and everyone died. I was told three days before that I was to be the one to come here. I’m not used to looking after myself so my maid made me a book with as much information as she could squeeze into it in such a short period of time.”

“I am sorry about your sister.”

“Me too. I barely knew her, but I’m sorry that I’m trapped here. I’m not supposed to be, and it’s hard to move past the resentment.”

“And you are sick.”

“Yes.” I don’t say more about that. He’s still the enemy, even if we’re holding hands in the darkness.

“The fop that visits you. He was your betrothed?”

I snort. “Balon was not my betrothed.”

“He is a fop, though.”

It’s terrible of me, but I giggle. “He’s young. Hopefully he will grow out of it. And no, definitely not my betrothed. He was just…a diversion.”

“I see.” His tone indicates that he doesn’t see at all.

“What about you?” I ask. “Were you always meant to come here? Or were you a last-moment replacement as well?”

Nemeth is silent for a span. When he finally answers, he says, “My king told me it was my duty to come here. I did not argue. I knew it was a possibility.”

“Because of the bloodline,” I agree. It was always something that had lurked in the corners of my mind, as well. I’d simply thought that since Meryliese was to be the one sent, I was safe.

Clearly I am a fool.

His hand warm in mine, I turn in the darkness towards those green eyes. I know he’s the enemy, but it’s so good to have someone to talk to. Someone that knows the frustrations that I’ve been going through. Yet I can’t say too much to him. He’s still the enemy. We’re not meant to be friendly. I should be looking for the best way to destroy him, not making friends. “Consider yourself lucky that you were prepared. I’m not having much fun learning of all the things that were missed.”