A shadow in the ember

“And you, liessa, are very brave.” His thumb moved, sweeping over the curve of my jaw. “But, sometimes, one can be too brave.” The dusky silkiness of his words wrapped around me. “To the point it borders on foolishness. And you know what I’ve found about the foolishly brave? There’s a reason they often rush to greet death instead of having the wisdom to run from it. What is your reason?” he asked. “What drowns out that fear and pushes you to run so eagerly toward death?”

His question threw me. Sent my pulse racing. Was that what I was doing? Rushing eagerly toward death? I almost wanted to laugh, but I thought about that not-so-hidden part of me that…just didn’t care. That overrode restraint and sound judgement. “I…I don’t know.”

“No?” The word rippled from him.

 “When I get nervous, I ramble. And when I feel threatened or am told what to do, I get angry,” I whispered. “I’ve been told on more than one occasion that my mouth would get me into trouble one day and that I should take heed.”

“I see you took that advice to heart,” he replied. “Always meeting a threat with anger isn’t the wisest of choices.”

“Like now?”

The god said nothing as he continued holding me against his chest, his thumb slowly sweeping back and forth, back and forth. With his strength, he wouldn’t even need to use the eather. All it would take would be a sharp twist of his wrist.

 It was then that I realized I might have come to the end of whatever goodwill this god had regarding me.

My mouth dried, and the dread of what was sure to come settled heavily in my chest. I was teetering on the edge of death. “You might as well get on with it.”

“Get on with what, exactly?”

“Killing me,” I said, the words like wool on my tongue.

His head lowered a bit. When he next spoke, his breath coasted over my cheek. “Killing you?”

“Yes.” My skin felt inexplicably tight.

He drew back his head far enough that I could see that he had one eyebrow raised. “Killing you hasn’t even crossed my mind.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Surprise flickered through me. “Why not?”

He was silent for a moment. “Are you seriously asking me why I haven’t thought about killing you?”

“You’re a god,” I pointed out, unsure if he was being truthful or just toying with me.

“And that is reason enough?”

“It’s not? I threatened you. I pulled a dagger on you.”

“More than once,” he corrected.

“And I’ve been rude.”

“Very.”

“No one speaks to a god or behaves toward one in such a way.”

“They typically do not,” he agreed. “Either way, I suppose I’m not in a murderous mood tonight.”

I search his tone for a hint of deception as I stared at the window. “If you’re not going to kill me, then you should probably let go of me.”

“Will you try to stab me?”

“I…hope not.”

“You hope?”

“If you try to tell me what to do or grab me again, I am likely to lose that hope,” I told him.

A quiet laugh rumbled from him—through me. “At least, you’re honest.”

“At least,” I murmured, trying not to notice the cold pressure of him at my back. The feel of him. It didn’t scare me. It didn’t even disturb me, which made me wonder exactly what was wrong with me. Because I was fighting the muscles in my back and neck that wanted to relax into him.

His hand slipped away from my chin, and I immediately whirled. He stepped back and, in the blink of an eye, was on the other side of the table.

“Be careful,” he said, lifting his hood and sending his features into the darkness. “I’ll be watching.”