Page 13 of Between Two Kings

And there was so much more. Tem had barely begun to scratch the surface of basilisk culture. There were a thousand unanswered questions, and never enough time to ask them. “When will I learn how to petrify?”

To her surprise, Caspen frowned. “You will not learn to petrify.”

“Why not?” Insecurity cut through her. “Don’t you think I can do it?”

“Of course you can do it.”

“Then why won’t you teach me?”

They reached their chambers and sat on the bed.

When Caspen didn’t answer, Tem insisted, “I want to learn.”

He shook his head. “You will not learn from me.”

“But why?”

“Tem.” He looked her in the eye. “It is a terrible thing to take a life.”

“But you do it all the time.”

Darkness flashed over Caspen’s face, and Tem knew immediately that she’d struck a nerve. He looked away. “I do it only when necessary,” he said quietly.

She reached for him. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

Caspen placed his hand over hers. “I am not offended. It is true that I have had more than my fair share of kills. But you must know I do not relish it. I regret most of them, and I do not want the same for you.” He paused, staring into the fire before whispering, “I would not have you become a monster.”

Tem’s grip on him tightened. “You’re not a monster.”

A grim smile twisted his lips. “Perhaps not to you.”

The fire crackled. Neither of them spoke.

Tem tried to see where he was coming from. She supposed it made sense that Caspen wouldn’t want her to feel the same regret he did. He wanted her to retain this last strand of morality. But it was not his decision to make. And it didn’t change the fact that she wanted to learn how to do it. It was a part of her that was still undiscovered—something all other basilisks knew how to do. Tem didn’t want to be the last to know. Not again.

She waited an appropriate amount of time before asking, “Can’t you teach me how to do it on an animal?”

Caspen shook his head. “Petrification is not effective on animals. They are our peers. It is only for—”

“Humans. Right. Of course.” Tem sighed. She should have known that would be the case.

Caspen brushed a curl from her face. “I did not mean that as an insult, love.”

Tem sighed again. “I’m just tired,” she whispered. “One minute I’m doing just fine, and then the next…”

Caspen watched her patiently, his eyes softly holding hers.

“I just feel like I’m splitting in half,” she finished quietly. “It’s overwhelming.”

He leaned in, pressing his lips gently to her cheek. “Of course it is overwhelming. You are going through something of great significance. Anyone would feel as you do.”

Tem gave him a sad half smile.

“Perhaps you should visit your parents,” he murmured.

Whenever life beneath the mountain became too much for Tem, Caspen insisted she visit her parents. Kronos and her mother lived on the outskirts of the village, in a small cottage with a beautiful backyard, without a chicken in sight. It was quiet there—specifically, it was quiet in her mind when she was there. Caspen always left Tem alone when she went there, as if he could sense she needed a full break from basilisk life. Her human side craved solitude after hearing all the voices in her head and feeling too many bodies around her. Tem was grateful to Caspen for insisting she have it.

“You’re right,” she said. “Perhaps I should.”