Page 90 of Nemesis Mine
“For what I did.” Max tipped his chin up a little. He was trying very hard to sound casual, as though he didn’tcare about Cyrus’s answer in the slightest. If this was his great performance, it was not very good. “They were my people. I killed them.”
Cyrus stared at him, but Max just looked right back at him, awaiting an answer. He was serious about this.
“Max,” said Cyrus slowly. “You are aware that I’m a wrongdoer, right? And you’re aware that all the while you’ve been working as a champion, saving people and trying to make their lives better, I’ve been doing my level best to cause mayhem and misery and—”
“You don’t kill people,” Max interrupted. Cyrus fell silent, staring at him. “Usually, at least. I noticed that. Can I ask why?”
Cyrus thinned his lips, frustrated as always by Max’s observational skills when it came to him. “Because it’s messy.”
“Is that the only reason why?”
He shrugged. “Lot of cleaning up after. Blood gets under your fingernails.”
“Cyrus,” said Max.
Cyrus groaned. “Fine. Yes. I just... I prefer not to. It seems so unnecessary. It’s notcreative. There’s a lot of mayhem you can cause without dragging someone’s guts out of their nose.”
Max winced. “Nice and vivid.”
“I could drag someone’s guts out of their nose if I wanted to,” muttered Cyrus.
“I know you could,” Max soothed. He was aiming for comforting, but he just sounded amused. At least he was feeling brighter, even if it was at Cyrus’s expense.
But the pensive look came swiftly back, troubled andunsure. “If you prefer not to and you think it’s unnecessary, then—”
“Of course I’m not judging you, you idiot,” said Cyrus, exasperated. “Nor would I ever. I was—” And,ugh, Autumn’s withered balls, he was going to have to say something genuine and earnest andsappy. He took a deep breath in preparation and stared down at Max’s knee, forcing the words out. “I was... awed by what you did. Honoured, I suppose. That you’d do that. For me.”
“I’d do anything for you.”
Cyrus’s head rose. The words were a statement, freely offered. Max sounded matter-of-fact about it, but when Cyrus met his eyes, he gave him a small smile.
“Anything,” Max repeated, sincerely.
There it was again, that fleeting sense of awe. It made Cyrus feel small, almost childlike, faced with something too enormous to comprehend.
He probably didn’t need to say it back. Max had just witnessed him topple the Federation’s castle for him. But Max had put that feeling into words. Cyrus could match him.
“I would do the same. Anything,” he said, soft but certain. “For you.”
Max nodded. Then his face cracked into a proper smile, even though it probably hurt. “I know,” he said, indicating the discarded rag on the ground by their feet. “You ripped up your clothes for me.You.That’s when I knew.”
“Funny,” said Cyrus, “you’re funny. Aren’t you supposed to be asleep right now, anyway, rather than making your little jokes?”
“Suppose so,” Max said, lightly, as though the shadowsunder his eyes weren’t threatening to overtake the bruises from a champion beatdown. But he truly did seem brighter, and Cyrus was helpless to the rush of affection that coursed through him.
They had much to face and many decisions to make. But they would get through it together. Of that, Cyrus was certain.
Chapter Twenty-One
Putting distance between them and the Federation inevitably meant heading further north. They had not yet talked about where exactly they would end up, probably because neither had a solid answer. Somewhere away from the Federation; away from people who might recognise them and bring trouble down on their heads. The quieter north, with its thick woodlands, was enough of an answer for now.
But soon enough, it became clear that they were going to pass close by Ranragh.
Returning to the town where everybody knew to find him—and by extension, Max—was obviously dangerous. Still, Cyrus’s bruised body longed for his home comforts. Avoiding towns meant sleeping on hard ground, putting up with rain, and making do with freezing dips in the Roasham river. It was not the lifestyle to which Cyrus was accustomed, and thoughts of his luxuries taunted him as they travelled. A hot bath, peppermint oil rubbed into aching muscles by Max’s sure hands. His finest pillows, the ones that cradled his neck just so.
Max didn’t comment as the terrain around them grew more familiar, swapping barren grasslands for lush woodland, dry dirt tracks for wetter, muddier ground. Cyrus sometimes caught him glancing around with a furrowed brow. Usually, his eyes would slide towards Cyrus, as though wondering when that argument was going to happen.
He didn’t need to wonder. Cyrus was under no illusions; returning to his—their—old life was not an option. He didn’t have the answer for what they would do instead, or where they would go, but he would not tolerate leaving Max so vulnerable to the Federation’s revenge.
