Page 65 of Nemesis Mine
Cyrus deflated. “No. They live in a little village and they think I’m a professional florist.”
Max’s bark of laughter coaxed a small smile out of Cyrus, despite being fairly sure that Max was laughingathim rather than with him. His laughter was contagious, and his eyes were fond.
“You’re ridiculous, you know that?”
“Some might say,” Cyrus allowed.
“Ido say,” said Max, sitting up. He shuffled closer and leaned in for a kiss. Any discomfort evaporated, replaced by the kind of warm tingle only Max could produce. “Ridiculous.” Another kiss, this time with a hint of teeth againstCyrus’s lip. Max’s eyes flicked up to meet his, somehow innocent and mischievous all at once. “And all mine.”
Mine, from a champion’s mouth. Cyrus should have a dagger to his throat. Instead he shivered, setting his hands on each side of Max’s face to draw him in again.
But Max had something else on his mind. “Can I ask you something?” he murmured in between the soft brush of lips against Cyrus’s jaw.
“Mmm.” It could have been agreement or a sigh of pleasure. His mind was elsewhere. When Max leaned back a little, he followed, trying to catch his mouth in another kiss.
“Florist?” Max asked.
Cyrus stilled. His stomach lurched, a counterpoint to any pleasant flip Max had ever inspired.
“You said your parents think you’re a florist,” said Max. His eyes were curious. “Why a florist?”
The question didn’t sound casual enough, like he had reason to be curious beyond Cyrus’s comment. He’d claimed he didn’t mean anything he had said to the journalist, but had he been harbouring a question at the back of his mind even so?
Cyrus sat back, putting some distance between them. “Just a lie,” he said as indifferently as he could.
It wasn’t that he thought Max would intentionally use it against him, not now, but—
But he would laugh. Just like that boy had, all those years ago. And he might not use it against Cyrus, but he would judge him. He would think of all the old tales of mother Spring and her magical children with flower garlands in theirhair, so soft and kind. The damn sprites fluttering around in his wake hardly helped. Cyrus would see the laughter in his face, even if he denied it.
“Seems an odd choice for a lie,” Max said, watching him. “You could’ve said anything.”
Cyrus shrugged one shoulder. The movement was too jerky, his voice too flat. “Happened to say florist. Can’t remember why. It was a long time ago.”
“Cyrus,” said Max.
Cyrus didn’t respond. Max knew he was lying. Neither of them had to point it out.
“We’re being honest with each other,” said Max. “Aren’t we?”
Weren’t they?
Cyrus didn’t want to be. He wasn’t used to honesty, especially about this. It felt alien, uncomfortably hollow in his chest.
But Max had been honest. He had told Cyrus about his family, his youth, the pressures he faced. He was waiting, now, for Cyrus to share something of himself in return.
Cyrus closed his eyes. It felt like an admission. Silence yawned between them, pointed and ever expanding. Neither moved.
Then Max took a breath. “Well, I’ll be honest with you,” he said. “When we fought in Heliarth, when I—when I stabbed you. Your eyes shone purple, just for a moment. But there was no earthquake.”
Cyrus kept his eyes closed. He remembered that well enough, the abrupt flare of magic in response to his pain. It had seemed to go nowhere. “I wasn’t calling an earthquake.”
“But your powers came out when I stabbed you, all the same.” A statement. Max waited. Cyrus didn’t move, didn’t react. Perhaps he could make the conversation go away if he ignored it hard enough.
“After Balthazar took you away, I had to assess the damage with some members of the council. And while we were walking around, I saw something strange. The hops in the field behind had grown wild, like something powerful had given them this great spurt. The people at the brewery had no idea what had happened—they couldn’t explain it. I didn’t put it together at first, but over the past couple of weeks, I started wondering...”
The weight of Max’s gaze felt like a stone on his chest. He squeezed his eyes more tightly closed. His magic seemed to shrink inside him, fearful of recognition.
“Look at me, Cyrus,” said Max softly. “Please.”
