Page 101 of The Stolen Throne
Cain
After we’re done with the queen, her servants escort us to our rooms. I’m in mine maybe ten minutes before there’s a knock at the door.
I swing it open and blink. Because it’s Reven. Alone.
We stare at each other. He opens his mouth, then closes it. Huffs what I’m pretty sure is a self-derisive laugh. “I checked on Cain. He’s awake, if you want to go see him.”
That’s what he came here to tell me?
“Oh.” Oh? I cringe at myself. Of all the inane replies I could have come up with, that’s the worst. Could he hear the disappointment in my voice?
After another second, he nods, then walks away. I listen as his footsteps echo off the stone floors. I wait until he’s gone before I leave. It doesn’t take long before I bump into a servant who shows me where Cain is.
“You don’t have to be here.” Pella’s voice sounds on the other side of the door, muffled but clear enough.
I pause with my hand on the cast-iron doorknob. Is she talking to me? I didn’t think I made a noise, and the wooden doors in this place are thick.
“Don’t you need to eat or piss or something?” are her next words.
Definitely not talking to me.
I press my lips together to contain a sudden snigger, because I have a feeling I know exactly who is in there with her. Hakan may not be much of a talker, but he says a thousand words with a look. And he looks at Pella a lot.
Before we’d left the zariphate, I would have probably stood out here grinning and settled in for a long listen at her expense. That or walked away. But Pella isn’t who I’m here to see, so I push my way inside. Sure enough, Hakan is standing across the room from her, right by the door. I’m not sure who she’s glaring at harder now—me or him.
She points out the door. “Both of you just leave us alone.”
“Pella…” The threadiness in Cain’s voice makes my stomach clench. Even when I was five and he was seven, he’s always been the strongest person I know. Nothing makes Cain weak.
Walking through the portal and to here, even with help, must’ve taken it out of him. Pella leans over her brother, her ear close to his mouth to hear him, and I have a decent idea what he’s saying, because her expression goes from solicitous concern to lemon-sucking irritation.
“Fine,” she snaps. “It’s on your head, then.”
She stomps out of the room. “Come on,” she tosses at Hakan, who follows her out silently. She doesn’t bother to look my way as she passes. I sigh when she slams the door behind her. As heavy as those doors are, she really had to put some heft into it.
Cain clears his throat. “Sorry—”
“She’s worried about you. I get it.” I make my way to the chair Pella was sitting in at his bedside.
He’s propped up on cushy-looking feather pillows, bare chest bound tightly in linens, which are pale against his bronzed skin, but I can still see the pallor underneath. At least he’s still awake. “You look awful.”
He huffs a laugh, then cringes. “Don’t spare my feelings or anything, Mer.”
“If you wanted soft and cuddly, you should have asked Tziah to take care of you.”
Another huff, though with a confused frown. “That’s exactly what Pella said earlier.”
Really? “Where is Tziah, anyway? I thought she was here?”
“She went to her rooms to bathe and sleep. Don’t change the subject.”
“We were on a subject?”
“Yeah. You and Pella.”
“I don’t think that’s what we were talking about.”
“Uh-huh. What about you being all understanding about my sister being angry just now,” he muses. “What’s going on? You two are never on the same side.”
