No response.

“Perhaps that’s too specific,” Nemeth says quickly. “Ask it if anyone is sending supplies to us.”

I do, and the knife is as silent and cold as before. A knot of despair forms in my throat. “There has to be a reason why,” I say to him. “Something must be wrong. They wouldn’t cut us off.”

“They would if they knew we were mated.” Nemeth’s gaze is solemn. “If you reported back to your sister that you’d become the mate of the enemy, they wouldn’t feed you.”

I’m a little stung by his accusation. “I wouldn’t report back to her. How can I?”

“You think she doesn’t have a little blade just like this? You think she doesn’t ask about you?”

I hold the knife up by the tip, so that if the blade shivers, it’ll jump out of my grip. “Have I reported back to Erynne about my relationship with Nemeth? About anything?”

The knife doesn’t move.

“Does she know about us?” I continue.

Again, the knife is motionless.

“I am wrong,” Nemeth says in a soft voice, squeezing my waist. “My apologies, milettahn.”

“And you?” I accuse back. “Were you reporting back about me?”

He’s silent.

The knife is not. It shivers in my grasp.

Chapter

Fifty-Three

Oh. Nemeth has been reporting back about me to his people.

I let out a shaky breath. Hurt makes my chest tight and I stand up, wanting to get away from him. “I see.”

“My life is not my own,” Nemeth says desperately. His arms go around me, holding me against him. “Listen to me, Candra. Listen. Too many others have a say in things. Just because I am here does not mean that I am in charge of my life. All of Darkfell watches me, just like all of Lios watches over you.”

He’s not wrong. How many times has Erynne tried to push her wants on me? How many times did she explicitly state that I needed to kill Nemeth? “I understand, but…it’s hard to hear that.”

“My heart,” he murmurs, his green eyes desperate as he meets my betrayed gaze. “My milettahn. It is true I sent them reports of you in the beginning. Bare details enough to keep them satisfied while allowing me to feel rebellious. But as I grew to care for you, I have sent them less and less. My last report was some time ago.”

“Is that true?” I ask the knife.

It shivers.

I relax a bit with that. “Do you truly love me?” I ask. “Or is that a lie?”

He looks wounded at my doubt. “I love you, Candra. Of course I love you. Why would I ask you to be my mate if I did not?”

“Does he love me?” I ask the knife, and I’m pleased when it shivers in my grasp.

“I am not your enemy,” Nemeth tells me in a soft voice. “I meant it when I said that you and I were in this together. You are my mate, my heart, my comforting darkness.” He strokes my cheek, his eyes full of emotion. “I love you, and I mean it when I say that I came into this tower with secrets, but it has changed me, just as I think it has changed you.”

I lick my lips and then nod. He’s right. We come from warring peoples. Of course they’re going to want him to spy on me and report back. I’m surprised Erynne didn’t ask me the same. Then again, my sister asked me to kill him, so I suppose there would have been nothing to spy upon if he was dead. “I’m with you,” I reassure him. “We will find a solution together.”

“Together,” he says, and kisses me, his lips soft and coaxing on mine.

And because I’m in love, I adore that kiss as much as I adore every kiss he gives me. He’s right. I’m not the same person that I was two years ago, who entered this tower defiant and anxious to escape. I’ve changed. It’s ironic that I would happily stay in this tower with Nemeth forever, given that we had the appropriate amount of supplies.

That’s the real problem here, not Nemeth. I kiss him back and then nip at his lip. “You’re going to need to prove that devotion between my thighs later.”

He chuckles, pressing hungry, insistent kisses to my face and throat. “Later? Not now?”

“We have the knife out,” I say, even though my will is faltering under the onslaught of his kisses. Gods, he’s good with that mouth of his. Even now, he tugs at my clothing as if to undress me. “Might as well use it to figure out our situation.”

Nemeth groans, pressing his forehead against mine. “Right. You’re right, of course. Ask it about our supplies.”

I hold the blade out again, so he can see the reaction to my questions. “Have we been forgotten?”

A shiver.

I make a sound of distress in my throat. “How in all the gods’ forgotten names did they forget us?”

“Something must be going on outside,” Nemeth says, his arms tightening around my waist. “Something terrible enough that sending food to us is no longer a priority.”

This is my worst fear come to life. Anxious tendrils flare through my body, my limbs feeling cold and numb. “Has Darkfell won the war, then?”

No answer.

“Has Lios?”

No answer.

I exchange a worried look with Nemeth. “Is the war over?” I ask.

No answer.

“It doesn’t mean no,” he reminds me. “Just that it’s not a ‘yes’ to any of those questions.”

“Then the war stretches on,” I reply, fretting. “Maybe things have gotten so bad that whoever is in charge of our supplies is too busy to recall them. But surely my sister would remember to send me food, and your family at Darkfell…” A new idea hits me, and I try a new line of questioning. “Is my sister well?”

Yes, the knife shivers.

“Is she at Castle Lios?”

No answer.

That’s concerning. My sister wouldn’t leave her throne behind—or the castle itself—unless she had to. She’s worked too long and too hard to rule, even if it has to be at Lionel’s side. “Perhaps they had to evacuate,” I say to Nemeth, worried. “And in the chaos we’ve been neglected. What do we do? What should I ask?”

He shakes his head, rubbing my back in sympathy. “You won’t be able to ask it enough questions to clarify a response that will satisfy you. Ask it about our food instead. Ask it how long our supplies can last us. I’ve been saving them in case of such a situation, but I’ll have to recalculate my serving portions now that we have no new supplies of food coming in…”

I ask the knife, “Can our food last us another month?”

A shiver.

“Two months?”

A shiver.

“Three months?”

Silence.

“Well then,” I say, grimacing. “That’s our answer. Maybe someone will arrive in the next three months to resupply us.”

Nemeth grunts, but he doesn’t look convinced.

I decide to ask the knife again. “Will my medicine last three months?”

Silence.

“Two months?”

Silence.

Dragon shite. Nemeth’s hands tighten around my waist painfully, and I make a joke. “Well, the solution is obvious. You’re going to have to kill me and eat me, my love.”

He growls. “That’s not funny, Candra.”

It’s a little funny, but he looks quite upset. For some reason, his worry makes me feel even better. For all that I’ve learned today that makes me fret, I know Nemeth loves me with his whole heart. He could not feign the terror on his face. I lean forward and press a delicate kiss to his cheek. “Someone will come before we have to resort to that. Do not worry.” I pause, thinking. “Do you have any spells that can divine the future?”

Nemeth peppers me with soft, urgent kisses. “If I could tell the future, would we be in this predicament?”

Fair enough. “Then we assume the worst, and we make our supplies stretch. We make my medicine stretch.”

He leans back, eyeing me. “Like you did before? When I found you weak and shivering? It doesn’t work like that.”

I reach up and trace one of his horns idly, trying to distract him away from thoughts of my impending doom. “I did it wrong last time. I gave myself half-doses constantly. I watered them down. This time I think I should do a full dose, but only do it every other day.” At Nemeth’s horrified expression, I smile confidently. “It’ll make my medicine last twice as long.”