found the idea of fighting a dragon with a sword ludicrous. Even with a flier, how would a person ever get close enough to hit it?
Tolemek ducked through the low hatchway and invited Cas inside. She wrinkled her nose at the chemical scent, or maybe she was noticing that there weren’t any chairs. He usually stood up when he worked, so he had barely noticed that the bed was the only place to sit. Maybe if he moved some of the gels he had running, they could sit on the counters. He eyed the low ceiling. If he hunched.
Cas did not comment on the lack of seating. She walked past the counters to the inner bulkhead that held the built-in bed and sat on it. She leaned her elbows on her thighs, clasped her hands together, and looked up at him. Her expression made his heart ache. Usually, she seemed older than her twenty-three years, serious rather than playful, confident rather than uncertain. For the first time, she appeared younger than her age, small and lost.
“What is it?” he asked quietly, sitting and mirroring her position on the opposite end of the bed.
“I thought I wanted to be alone, that it would be torment being on the airship and surrounded by so many people again, but with that sword here… I’m afraid of being alone. It’s like I can feel it, the way Sardelle says she can feel magic. It makes my skin crawl, and I can’t stop thinking about everything, reliving that day. Over and over. If I close my eyes, I see it, the queen, the explosion, the floor falling away. Apex’s death.”
“Cas.” Tolemek wanted to reach out and pull her into his arms, but she still had her hands clasped, her shoulders hunched, as she stared at the floor between her boots. “Why did you volunteer to deal with it again?”
“If something happens…” She flexed her hands, her gaze shifting to her palms. “I didn’t want anyone else to have to have anyone’s blood on their hands. Not a friend’s blood.”
“So you’re going to sacrifice yourself?” he asked, feeling incredulous. That was what had prompted her decision?
“You can’t sacrifice someone who’s already dead.”
“You’re not dead.”
“Part of me is,” she whispered. “And the rest… it’s not fair, is it? When fate spares one life and takes another without any weight given to who might deserve life more?”
Tolemek scowled, both at the idea that she believed she was condemning herself to more blood on her hands and at the idea that Apex’s life might have been worth more than hers. “It’s not fair, but you can’t blame yourself for being the one who survived.”
“No? Not even when the person who died did so by my hand?”
“Not when a magical blade guided that hand, no.”
“I picked that sword up. I knew it was… strange, but I didn’t hurl it into the sea, like I should have.”
“You didn’t know. You should blame the asshole who made such an idiotic weapon in the first place. Some thousand-year-old version of me who didn’t think through what he was creating and ended up making something that could kill friends as well as enemies.”
For the first time, Cas looked over at him. Yes, she wasn’t the only one who’d had innocent people die because of choices she had made. She should blame him for his past every bit as much as she blamed herself for hers, but she never had.
“Why can you accept faults in others that you can’t accept in yourself?” he asked softly, barely aware that he had spoken the words aloud.
“I don’t know,” she whispered back, her green eyes glistening with moisture. “It’s a flaw.”
He scooted closer. This time, he spread his arms to hug her without hesitating. She squinted her eyes shut and leaned into him, burying her face in his shoulder.
“It’s a strength.” He kissed her neck, then rested his face against her hair. “If you don’t let it kill you.”
“I’m afraid,” she said into his shoulder. “I’m afraid it’ll happen again. I’m afraid I made a mistake. But
Tolemek ducked through the low hatchway and invited Cas inside. She wrinkled her nose at the chemical scent, or maybe she was noticing that there weren’t any chairs. He usually stood up when he worked, so he had barely noticed that the bed was the only place to sit. Maybe if he moved some of the gels he had running, they could sit on the counters. He eyed the low ceiling. If he hunched.
Cas did not comment on the lack of seating. She walked past the counters to the inner bulkhead that held the built-in bed and sat on it. She leaned her elbows on her thighs, clasped her hands together, and looked up at him. Her expression made his heart ache. Usually, she seemed older than her twenty-three years, serious rather than playful, confident rather than uncertain. For the first time, she appeared younger than her age, small and lost.
“What is it?” he asked quietly, sitting and mirroring her position on the opposite end of the bed.
“I thought I wanted to be alone, that it would be torment being on the airship and surrounded by so many people again, but with that sword here… I’m afraid of being alone. It’s like I can feel it, the way Sardelle says she can feel magic. It makes my skin crawl, and I can’t stop thinking about everything, reliving that day. Over and over. If I close my eyes, I see it, the queen, the explosion, the floor falling away. Apex’s death.”
“Cas.” Tolemek wanted to reach out and pull her into his arms, but she still had her hands clasped, her shoulders hunched, as she stared at the floor between her boots. “Why did you volunteer to deal with it again?”
“If something happens…” She flexed her hands, her gaze shifting to her palms. “I didn’t want anyone else to have to have anyone’s blood on their hands. Not a friend’s blood.”
“So you’re going to sacrifice yourself?” he asked, feeling incredulous. That was what had prompted her decision?
“You can’t sacrifice someone who’s already dead.”
“You’re not dead.”
“Part of me is,” she whispered. “And the rest… it’s not fair, is it? When fate spares one life and takes another without any weight given to who might deserve life more?”
Tolemek scowled, both at the idea that she believed she was condemning herself to more blood on her hands and at the idea that Apex’s life might have been worth more than hers. “It’s not fair, but you can’t blame yourself for being the one who survived.”
“No? Not even when the person who died did so by my hand?”
“Not when a magical blade guided that hand, no.”
“I picked that sword up. I knew it was… strange, but I didn’t hurl it into the sea, like I should have.”
“You didn’t know. You should blame the asshole who made such an idiotic weapon in the first place. Some thousand-year-old version of me who didn’t think through what he was creating and ended up making something that could kill friends as well as enemies.”
For the first time, Cas looked over at him. Yes, she wasn’t the only one who’d had innocent people die because of choices she had made. She should blame him for his past every bit as much as she blamed herself for hers, but she never had.
“Why can you accept faults in others that you can’t accept in yourself?” he asked softly, barely aware that he had spoken the words aloud.
“I don’t know,” she whispered back, her green eyes glistening with moisture. “It’s a flaw.”
He scooted closer. This time, he spread his arms to hug her without hesitating. She squinted her eyes shut and leaned into him, burying her face in his shoulder.
“It’s a strength.” He kissed her neck, then rested his face against her hair. “If you don’t let it kill you.”
“I’m afraid,” she said into his shoulder. “I’m afraid it’ll happen again. I’m afraid I made a mistake. But
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