A Throne of Blood and Ice by T. A. Lawrence

Author:T. A. Lawrence [Lawrence, T. A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: T. A. Lawrence
Published: 2023-07-04T22:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 30

BLAISE

Nox lets me win most every round.

I let him ask extra questions on the rare occasion he allows himself to score.

We keep most of the questions light, skirting just around the hard truths. I learn that Nox’s favorite color is the green of the swirl in the center of the aurora. I learn that his sister was his twin (though Gunter’s already told me as much) and that the village children excluded them from games, believing twins to be cursed.

I learn that Zora’s hair was fair to Nox’s dark, her skin kissed with the sun whereas his never seemed to absorb it. I learn that she trampled through the world as if she owned it, running headfirst into trouble while Nox stayed back and observed, watched for any danger that might befall his sister.

I don’t learn what happened to her.

How she died.

I don’t ask.

It’s not that I don’t wish to know, that I don’t ache in my last few hours to absorb every last morsel of Nox’s history, to hoard every crumb of information I can get.

But there’s a reason Nox isn’t telling me. Perhaps the queen has bound him to secrecy. Perhaps it’s part of their deal, and if he tells me what became of his twin, he’ll forfeit the safety of his family.

So he doesn’t tell, and I don’t ask.

I tell him of Ellie, of our fencing matches on the palace lawn, of how her presence commands the attention of everyone in the room, even though that’s not her intent.

I tell him how much it hurts that she hates me.

I tell him I don’t blame her for it.

Then there’s Evander, and when I speak of him, there’s a tenderness that tugs deep at my heart, but it pulls in a different direction than it did just a few months ago and I wonder if this is how Evander feels toward me.

I tell him of Jerad too. Of how I cried and cried when the courier came back with news of the prince’s death.

And for a while, it seems as though we could go on like this forever, because Nox seems normal. He teases me when I send the paper ball flying over the edge of the dais. When I tell him a story, he perches his elbow upon the surface of the dais and rests his chin on his hand, listening intently, those breathtaking eyes locked on me the entire time.

But occasionally his forefinger clenches, and then he’s tapping on the side of the dais, sometimes even pinching his side.

The shadows beneath his eyes darken.

I stop in the middle of a story about Jerad because I realize there’s something I need to tell him.

“I forgive you,” I whisper, and I can’t stop my voice from shaking.

Nox averts his gaze. “You shouldn’t.”

“I want to. Really, it’s not even forgiveness. Because I don’t hold it against you at all. It’s not you, Nox. It’s him.”

Nox rubs at the bridge between his nose, then pushes himself off the dais and crosses the room.

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