Chapter 10 · One Wound, Two Bodies

"Don't touch me."

Dorian's hand stopped inches from my ribs.

The stone blade had gone through his side. I knew because my own skin had split in the same place, hot blood soaking through my shirt beneath the borrowed armor. Every breath pulled at the cut. Every breath pulled at his too.

Around us, black-boned soldiers stood with their spears lowered.

Not at the city gates.

At us.

Dorian looked past my shoulder at the army packed into the buried chamber. His jaw tightened. Blood ran down his fingers.

"We have about thirty seconds before they decide whether to stab us or kneel again," he said.

"Then stop standing there like you're waiting for a vote."

"I need you in the archive shaft."

"You need me where you can lock me up."

His eyes cut to mine. Gray. Cold. Too close.

"I need you alive."

"Funny. You said that the night you dragged me into chains."

A black spear scraped over the stone floor.

Dorian grabbed my wrist.

I twisted hard, but his wound opened wider. A sharp flash tore across my ribs, and his face went white.

"Let go."

"Mara—"

"Let go before I break your fingers.