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My brows rose.
“But, yes,” he said, his voice thin. “He would’ve tasted it.”
“Does my blood taste like it smells?”
He was silent as he dipped the cloth into the water. “It tastes like a summer storm and the sun.”
An unsteady laugh left me as my chest warmed. “What does that even taste like?”
“Heat. Power. Life,” he said without hesitation. “Yet soft. Airy. Like sponge cake. Like…”
I was staring at his mouth again. “Like what?”
Nyktos cleared his throat, shaking his head. “By the way, when you think I’m moving too fast? I’m not actually moving—not in the way you think.”
I frowned. He was clearly changing the subject. “Then in what way are you moving?”
“I use eather to will myself where I want to go,” he said, gently pressing the cloth to the skin around the wound. “It’s called shadowstepping.”
I stared at him, my brows raised. “Isn’t that normally called plain old walking?”
Nyktos chuckled. “It’s a bit different than that. When I will myself to move like that, I’m becoming a part of the eather—the air around us. Mortal eyes simply ca
Curiosity rose. “What does it look like?”
“A glimmer of shadow, moving very rapidly,” he answered. “And the more eather a god carries, the farther they can shadowstep, and the faster they move.”
“Is that what you did when you took me from the Great Hall in Wayfair?”
“Yes. I summoned mist to hide us first. And because you’re mostly mortal, it would have been a very painful experience for you if awake.”
I’d take his word for that, but then I remembered what he had told me about not being able to will himself from my lake. “So you can will yourself wherever you want to go…” He smirked. “How far can you…shadowstep?”
He glanced up at me. “As far as I want.”
I blinked slowly. “Then why do you use a horse? Or walk anywhere? If I could do that, I probably wouldn’t walk a foot.”
A faint grin appeared. “Just because I can do something doesn’t mean I need to.”
He’d said some variation of that before when we were at my lake. “I bet there are many things you can do that I have no idea about.”
His grin kicked up farther on one side.
“Will I be able to do that if I Ascend?”
“You will Ascend,” he corrected. “And it will all depend on how much eather you have in you. Based on what you’re already able to do, I imagine you will be able to shadowstep in some capacity. Many gods can. Though they ca
I tried to picture myself shadowstepping out of one space and into the next, and quickly decided that I probably wouldn’t ever walk normally again.
“What were you thinking about?” Nyktos asked after a couple of moments. “Just a few minutes ago when you felt as if you…wanted to murder someone.”
Caught off guard, I blurted out the truth. “Tavius.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw as he continued carefully wiping at the blood around the wound. “Part of me doesn’t want to know what made you think of him.” A lock of hair slipped from the bun he’d tied his hair back in, falling across his cheek. He was quiet as he dipped the cloth into the bowl again. “Did he hurt you before that day?”
I stared at the top of his head as he bent once more, all thoughts of shadowstepping disappearing.
“He did, didn’t he? That bruise I saw on you. It was several days old, nearly faded. You said you walked into something, and yet I’ve seen few people as sure-footed as you.” He paused. “Except when around serpents.”
The corner of my lips twitched and then flattened when I thought of the cause of the bruise Nyktos questioned. Tavius had thrown a bowl of dates at me.
“Did he harm you?” Nyktos persisted.
I started to lie but realized I was simply too tired to do so. “He wasn’t kind.”
“And what does that entail?” He dabbed at the wound gently, but I still jerked at the sting of pain. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay.” My cheeks burned, either from the conversation or his apology. Maybe both. “He could be mean. Growing up, it was mostly verbal. When I wore the veil, he wouldn’t dare. For the most part,” I said, thinking of how he’d tried to touch me the night I’d first been brought to the Shadow Temple to honor the deal.
“And that changed?” Nyktos eyed the wound.
I lifted my right shoulder.
“He touched you?”
“Sometimes.” My gaze lifted to the black doors trimmed in silver. “Most of the time, he didn’t get a chance.”
“You kicked his ass?”
My lips twisted into a smirk. “On more than one occasion. But others couldn’t always fight back.” I suddenly thought of Princess Kayleigh sobbing quietly in the woods. “Tavius was betrothed at one point, to a younger Princess from Irelone. I don’t think he was…kind to her.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” He fell quiet then, but not for long. “The day he whipped you…” he said, and my gaze flew to him. Nyktos dragged the cloth along the flesh above the waistband of my leggings, washing away the thin trails of blood. “Why did he do it?”
He’d asked that before. I hadn’t told him then. Nyktos waited, quiet as he bent his head. He didn’t look up at me, and maybe that was why I felt I could speak. “Tavius hated me. I don’t even really know why. Honestly, I don’t think it was personal. He wasn’t nice to many. He was just that kind of person, you know? Someone who derives strength and pleasure from dominating others. And when they can’t do that, it makes them all the more determined to do so.”
“I know the type,” he said.
I imagined he did. “His father—King Ernald—died the night before, and the King, he sort of…I don’t know. Reprimanded Tavius for his behavior before. I think I was more shocked than Tavius was, but with his father gone and him about to become King, it was like whatever had been holding him back was no longer there. He blamed me for the Rot,” I added after a few moments. “He thought I should be punished for failing.”
“Failing?” Nyktos’s shoulders tensed. “For me not taking you as my Consort?”
I looked away from him, focusing on the pinkish water in the bowl. “Among many other things, I’m sure. Anyway, he wanted to punish me.”
Nyktos lowered the hand that held the cloth to the desk. “And your mother? She acted as she did that day? Did nothing? Because she, too, blamed you for the Rot? Believed you had failed?”
There was really no point in answering.
“What would have happened if I hadn’t felt you that day?” Nyktos asked as my gaze shifted to his hand holding the bloodied cloth. His knuckles had bleached white. “What would he have done to you once he had his fun with the whip?”
I shook my head, my stomach churning as I recalled Tavius holding me down on that narrow, uncomfortable bed. Pressing me into the thin mattress until I felt like I was choking. I shifted, gripping the hem of my sweater until I felt the thread begi
Nyktos had picked up my glass with his other hand. “Drink.”
Knowing I’d likely hurled those stifling, choking emotions at him, I grabbed the glass and finished off the whiskey.
He took the empty glass, setting it aside once more and then returned to studying the wound. “What would’ve happened?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It matters.”
“To who?” I laughed hoarsely, and then because I couldn’t bear the silence that was sure to follow, spoke again. “He…he would’ve done something that would’ve ended with his favorite part of him being shoved down his throat. He would’ve tried, that is.”
Nyktos twisted his head to the side. A sudden charge of energy hit the air, causing tiny goose bumps to spread along my skin. A burnt smell rose. I looked down to see nothing but ash remained of the cloth he’d held—and a charred mark on the desk.
“Others had to be aware. Your stepsister?” His tone was cold, flat. Thin. “Holland?”