Page 47 of City of Snakes
My eyebrows rose. The old texts told stories of the Shadow and Death Origins being brothers. Caym and Desidero.
Those were stories.
“Be serious,” I warned.
“Oh, I am serious,” he answered. “I’m not the Source of Death. But I am the Shadow Origin—the fifth heir of Desidero.”
His willingness to disclose this disarmed me. All of my steam and anger came crashing to a halt. He hadn’t balked at telling methat he was a fuckingSource Origin—as though it were common knowledge, as though that shouldn’t rock the ground I stood on.
I shook my head, unable to believe it. The Origins were fables and fairytales—not living, breathing, growling, frowning men.
“Let’s pretend I believe that for even a moment,” I began. “Why do those prisoners think that the Death Origin rises? Why do they think I have anything to do with him?”
“Because he is, and you do.” He stared down at me intently, searching my face for a reaction while offering me no glimpse into his stakes in any of this.
I rested my hands on my hips. “What are you trying to say? Use more words.”
“Only if you explain why you didn’t tell me there was a third person in your room last night.”
“He was just a child,” I defended. I couldn't blame the boy, who had been pale with shock and fear.
I’d witnessed people I loved being hurt.
I’d stood by and done nothing when my father’s hands landed on my mother.
There was a remorse that I’d recognized in that boy’s stare. He did not belong strung up in a dungeon with those men.
Krait pushed off from the doorframe and stalked forward. I took a few steps back. The hallway was narrow, and my back soon pressed against the cool mixed-tile wall before he stopped. I didn’t love the idea of being backed against a wall in most contexts...but something about the way he moved was both intimidating and alluring.
He wasn’t touching me, but his proximity brought an intoxicating smell—the same warm spice and smoke of his pillowcases. It made me want to step closer.
“It pains me to tell you that it doesn’t matter if that boy was a toddler. He sold you out. Like it or not. I can’t keep you safe if you omit information.”
“I’ll remember that next time someone in your court tries to kill me. Since my safety seems to beveryimportant to you.” Tilting my chin up to meet his smoked-gray eyes, I narrowed my gaze.
“There won’t be a next time,” he said.
“Because I am this ‘Daughter of Isleen’?” I retorted—wanting to know what that meant but not wanting him to sniff out my desperation.
He nodded and grunted a muffled, “Mhm.”
“What does that mean?”
He swallowed hard before he said, “It means you are descended from Isleen, a daughter of the First Reverist, Isolde. You are the last full Reverist aside from Caym himself—who took Isolde’s power. It means you are the only one who can continue Isleen’s line.”
I searched his face for any hint of a lie. Even if I couldn’t hear his thoughts, he would give something away.
He added, “You will be a target of Death because of it.”
When he spoke, I could feel his breath on my cheek. He still made no move to touch me, despite leaning down into my space. I could slip out past him on either side. Barely.
My heart clenched. I’d always known that an heir would strengthen my claim over the Central Corridor, but I’d never considered that I would pass the magic that coursed through me to them.
Once upon a time, I’d imagined a life with children—before my mother’s death, before the glum reality of what being a royal in Henosis meant had dawned on me.
What he was saying was a weight I wasn’t ready to bear and one that I’d never wish on another.
“Which is why no one touches you…” he whispered.
