All's Fair in Revenge

Present

One hour until execution.

Heaving, hammers, and hollering rouse me back to life. My head pounds to the beat of my slow pulse. I blink through the fog; flashes of Cian, legs crossed behind bars, observing.

"Are we even now?" he says, picking a hair off his trousers as if that's the worst of his outfit, not the stains or holes, the greasy hair or pallid complexion.

Rawness scratches my throat like I've swallowed a handful of rocks. My voice volleys off torn edges as I say, "What do you mean?"

Cian offers a limp smile. "You choked me first."

My retort is nothing more than a flat stare as he passes me a cup of water through the bars. It's the least he can do given the reason mine's empty. "You have your smoke back?"

He ignores me. "You called for Thorne while you were out."

It's not a question; a simple fact. "Did I?" I run my fingers through my hair and twist it into a matted braid as best as I can.

"Do you do that often?"

"Wouldn't know," I answer. "I'm asleep. Or unconscious. Now, what of your smoke," I try once more. As our only advantage, I need him primed and vigilant. I need him to contribute something to this mess.

His jaw twinges as if there's more to say about the man called Thorne and his smoke, but he's not ready to verbalize any of it. Instead, he looks out the window. "They've started building the platform we're to swing from." Breath catches in my chest. I press my hand to it, coaxing it out. "They've been at it for an hour but the rain's pausing their progress every now and again. Sounds like the whole courtyard's a muddy mess and from all the yelling, it seems they're behind schedule. I'm not sure if that's a bad thing or a good thing."

"How could that be bad?" I croak, holding my throat as I do. My lungs feel leaden and every muscle twinges from the convulsions that plagued me until there was nothing left in my stomach. So much for all the rainwater I consumed earlier.

I look to the last drops of water left in the cup; afraid it'll go to waste when I heave it right back up. Yet my throat burns fiercely. I test my stomach's fortitude with the tiniest of sips, then say, "In this one instance, I've decided I would like to prolong the inevitable as much as possible."

Cian's eyes swipe over me, extending beyond the haphazard window. "I'd like to get it over with."

Anger punctuates my brow. "Well, not all of us can count on surviving a royal neck breaking. Not all of us are in a rush to die. As it were, this was supposed to be temporary, but it seems we've worn out our welcome."

"Aye, I'm not in a rush either. The last thing I want to see is you swinging next to me." The tones in his voice have changed into something more familiar. The natural charm in his rasp underscores the deep rumble of each vocal cord. He urges my cup toward my mouth. "Take another sip would you, luv, before you get all worked up and vomit again."

I lift the cup to my mouth and pause. I drop it. "What did you call me?"

Cian's pink tongue slips over his fuller bottom lip. He bites it lightly as his hand reaches around to rub his neck. "You heard me," he says.

Both hands, clenched around the cup, fall into my lap. My gaze pins to him. It takes me a moment, but I speak, the sound softer than a whisper. It cracks the silence like an ember. "You remember," I say, hot tears gathering in my eyes, "You remember me."

"Aye," says Cian with a blistering stare. "But I wish I didn't."