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Perhaps that is how all men love. More with their eyes than with their hearts.
“You smell like the garden and hot summer air,”
We kill or we are killed.”
I have been eating poison since I was a child. Now I am practically made of it.”
“Why would she when I didn’t? It wasn’t like I read in books. A thunderclap. Eyes meeting. Tortured glances. With Arsinoe it was more like . . . having cold water poured down your back and learning to enjoy it.”
The open air smells of temple roses in full bloom, and beneath that, the salt of the sea and the cold, earthy essence of her beloved basalt cliffs.
The wildness and the harbor full of rickety-looking fishing boats. They bob on the water and glow with paper lanterns in the blue light of dusk.
“Will we seal this bargain with a handshake, then?” he asks. “Is that how it is done on the mainland?” “Only between men of honor,” he says, and slides his hand into hers.
“Do not be ridiculous, boy. You cannot kill what is already dead.”
Katharine turns on him, grinning with teeth full of poison, and for a moment her vision blacks out and makes his face a void, dark and bottomless as the pit of the Breccia Domain. “It does not matter. They are on mine.”
“We do not. We do our best, knowing that there is no choice and that she will have her way, in the end.”
Mirabella thinks to charge into the capital like a thundercloud. But when I am through, she will not even be able to make it rain.”
“They throw them into the Breccia for the island to eat. And may I tell you a secret?” Katharine’s lips press to Mirabella’s ear, almost like a kiss. “They are tired of it.”
It is not like Pietyr’s kisses. Not like a dam breaking.
And they face down the storm one more time as wind pushes the sails taut and the waves strike hard enough to tear at their clothes.
