Page 72 of A House of Gold
“Just tired.” I force my voice lighter. “Tell me more about the hike. Where are you going?”
She launches into a description of a trail system north of campus, talking about elevation changes and scenic overlooks and whether she needs new hiking boots. I listen, letting her voice wash over me and take me home. This is why I’m here. This is what I’m protecting.
She talks for twenty minutes about classes and friends and the campus environmental group and the cute boy and all the small, mundane, beautiful details of a normal life.
When she finally winds down, there’s a pause. “I miss you.”
“I miss you too, kid. So much.”
“When does your contract end? When can you come visit?”
One year. Or I guess, eleven or so months now.
Except last night, I told Croesus I belonged to him. And he said, forever.
“Not for a while,” I say. “But I’ll call you every week. Same as always.”
“Okay.” She doesn’t sound convinced. “Take care of yourself, Raven. Seriously. You sound like you’re running on fumes.”
“I’m fine. I promise.”
We say goodbye. I hang up. Sit there in the golden light that isn’t real, holding the phone, trying not to cry.
She’s happy. She’s safe. She’s living the life I gave up everything to give her.
That’s what matters.
That’s the only thing that matters.
I spent the rest of the morning in the library, avoiding Croesus and trying to lose myself in research.
Nat found me around noon, carrying two plates of food that appeared from wherever food appears in this house. He sets one in front of me without comment.
“You look like hell,” he says, settling into the chair across from me.
“Thanks. You’re a real charmer.”
“I’m honest. There’s a difference.” He takes a bite of what looks like perfectly prepared salmon. “Heard you broke a seven-year pride contract yesterday. That true?”
“News travels fast.”
“Croesus told me. Wanted to make sure you were okay.” Nat’s hazel eyes study me. “Are you?”
“I’m fine.”
He gives me that look, the one that says he can see through the lie but won’t call me on it. “You've got a new tattoo.”
I glance down at my arm. The forty-sixth, silver and delicate, stands out against the others. “Yeah.”
“Seven years is a long time to hold pride.” He’s quiet for a moment. “Most sin eaters wouldn’t have survived that absorption. The fact that you purged it alone...” He shakes his head. “You’re stronger than you think.”
“Or more stubborn.”
“Those are the same thing, in your case.” He nods at the untouched food in front of me. “Eat. You need it.”
I pick at the salmon, forcing myself to take a few bites. It’s perfectly cooked, seasoned exactly right, probably worth more than my weekly grocery budget used to be. It tastes like ash.
“Can I ask you something?” I say after a while.
