The Offering
Page 18

If it had been Zafir, I might not have even gotten that much. I had Angelina to thank for that, since she’d insisted on dragging Zafir to the kitchens to find him a biscuit or some sliced fruit, believing it was his empty stomach that made his scowl so ferocious.
I’d merely winked at him when he’d tried to protest, and had allowed him to be taken hostage by the five-year-old. They’d be fine together, the two of them, and I felt certain I’d made the right decision to entrust her to him.
“Look,” Brook breathed impatiently behind my back. “I get why you’re mad at me,” she said, misreading my reason for not turning toward her. “And I—I probably deserve it. I’ve been . . .” She hesitated again, and I was taken off guard. It was unlike Brook to be so unsure of herself. The Brook I knew was confident and brazen, definitely not prone to stammering.
I craned my neck to see what had her all twisted up. Her dark eyes were clouded, her delicate black brows furrowed into a tight bunch. “I’ve been confused. Ever since . . . well, since my father died.” She frowned even harder when she said the word “died,” as if he’d keeled over from natural causes. As if he hadn’t been murdered by my hand. “It’s not that I loved him, or even that I miss him, exactly. But . . .” Biting her lip, she paused, and I could read every bit of the confusion she’d just professed to.
I knew all this, of course. Brook’s dad had been the reason she’d had no qualms about taking up with the resistance. He hadn’t made her feel welcome at home, and Xander and his followers had given her a place to fit in. Taking up weapons had given her the opportunity to take out some of her aggression.
She scowled at me, and I waited for her to say something else. She opened her mouth, more than once, and closed it time and again, as if she were at a loss, as if she wanted to keep going but didn’t know how.
After a few minutes Brook sighed, straightening her shoulders and clearing her throat, and I realized our brief respite was over. “I have a message ready to go with word for the troops I have positioned near the border of Astonia. I can have them deployed and on their way to Queen Elena’s palace within hours of receiving my command.” She didn’t have to explain the geography again. She’d already spent hours with me and Max and countless ambassadors and generals pouring over the maps, and outlining where her forces were amassed and awaiting her order. I’d been so busy on the communications project that I hadn’t realized how serious she’d been about preparing for war. The very idea that we were so close to setting things into motion terrified me. “All you have to do is give me the go-ahead.” Her dark eyes studied me closely, and I felt myself withering beneath the scrutiny.
“I—I just need more time. To figure things out,” I stammered. “What things? There’s nothing to think about. Queen Elena has made her intentions clear. We saw what she did to Xander, and you said it yourself—she has no interest in negotiating.” She cocked her head. “Unless there’s something else, something you’re not telling me.”
“I’m still your queen!” I shouted the words, drawing the guard’s attention and Brook’s as well.
Her eyes went wide as her gaze moved nervously to the guard, who took a hesitant step toward us.
I shook my head at him, my heart tripping over itself inside my chest. He fell back, and I turned to Brook, taking a breath and softening my tone, finding my own voice again. “I’m sorry,” I said, hating how many times I’d had to say that recently, all because of Sabara. “But what more could there be?”
Brook exhaled as she considered my words, and my apology. She pursed her lips, trying to decide whether or not to believe me. My heart was trying to beat its way out of my chest, and my mouth went dry. After several long moments she finally nodded. “Don’t take too long. I don’t imagine Queen Elena will waver, and it would be better for the war to start on Astonian soil than on ours.”
I tried to imagine how either was acceptable, but simply dipped my head in return. Brook took the gesture as my promise to get back to her about whether I would consent to starting a war with Astonia.
She spun on her heel, and I watched longingly as she paced away from me, and I wished we could start this whole conversation over. Wished we could go back to talking about her father so I could tell her, again, how sorry I was. Wished I could tell her everything about the message from Elena, and how I felt myself getting lost in Sabara. But I was unwilling to let Brook get caught up in my plan to save myself.
I pressed my hand to the wood, feeling for something, although I wasn’t sure what that something was. The guard in the hallway ignored me; they were accustomed to my nighttime escapades. I was a restless sleeper, with Sabara waking me, and keeping me up, far too often. I’d become an unofficial member of the night watch.
Straining, I tried to sense Max somewhere on the other side of the door, to hear him maybe. But I was certain he was already sleeping, as was most everyone at this hour. I leaned my cheek against the cool barrier that separated us, wishing I could say a proper good-bye—the way I had with Angelina.
But Max was different. Max would try to stop me. A part of me wanted him to; stopping was the logical course of action, because what I was doing—me and Eden— it was crazy. Even I knew as much. But that other part of me, the part that could no longer bear sharing myself with Sabara . . .
It was worth the risk.