All's Fair in Revenge

Present

Ten hours until execution.

"Here." Cian tosses me his leftover chunk of bone-hard bread. "I can hear your belly from here, luv." He insists he doesn't need the food, claims he's not hungry.

"I don't want nor need your pity."

"I'm not offering you either." Cian settles into his spot in the corner with one knee against his chest, his elbow balancing upon it. He's watching me as he sips from his tankard and I can see he's been mulling something over, something he's ready to finally say. "You hate me."

I try to break the bread into pieces less likely to chip my teeth. It's no use. I drop it into the cup and wait for it to soften. Lately, I close my eyes before slurping it down and remind myself how better foods taste. I remember the slick greasiness of chicken skin and the way it gnashes between teeth. It helps the soggy water go down. But I must be quick to push the image from my mind once it's gone. Imagination tends to breed madness in places like this. Distraction works better anyway.

"Is that a question or a fact," I ask Cian.

His face deadpans. "If I'm so awful, you could've just let me die while I was unconscious."

"I could've."

"But you didn't."

"No, I did not."

"Why?"

"I couldn't." I smirk, but there's no mirth behind it. "Imagine the smell."

He chuckles for the first time, the syrupy sound of it sitting between us for a moment until he adds, "Druvix don't die like mortals do. We're smoke and ash."

"I know." I admit it to my chest, bobbing the porous chunk of bread in my cup.

Cian runs his fingers through his hair, attempting to detangle a few of the larger knots and I wait for him to put words to the question he wants to ask, the one I'm in no rush to answer. He opens his mouth and I flinch, waiting for it to reach out and clench my heart. "Was there a time when you didn't hate me?"

My pained gaze lands on him. "Yes."

"And that's why you didn't kill me?"

"No."

"Then why?"

"Try harder to remember and you'll know."