Ruling Sikthand (Clecanian, #7)

by Victoria Aveline

Sikthand hadn’t watched her. Suspended in time, he’d beheld her. A goddess carved from the moon itself. Even if she left tomorrow and he never saw her face again, that vision of her would live with him until the day he joined the sky.

“No. I don’t bend.” Sikthand’s eyes drifted to the mirror. Truth rose like acid in his throat. “But I could break for her.”

“People need something to be upset about for their happiness to be real,” he explained, voice emotionless. “We only notice the day because there is night. We’re only truly quenched by water after thirst sets in. They need the negative, even if they manufacture it. It’s the only way they understand the value of the positive.

“My life has been…wrought. Each day is filled with dread and suspicion and fixation.” He glanced at the floor, his brows knitting. “She brings me silence.” Sikthand swallowed down the tightness in his throat. “The clouds are not so heavy when she’s near.”