coughed. Her cheeks grew even redder. Hari took pity on her and lowered his gaze to his meal.
I have said and done too much. I will make her afraid.
His food had grown cold, but he did not care. He attacked it with single-minded intensity, trying to concentrate on something other than the woman seated across from him. He ate and ate, and after a time began to taste his food, the rich juices, flavors vibrant on his tongue. Only when he was done scouring meat to bone, and fruit to hard pit, did he stop to look at Dela.
She had barely touched her meal, and was watching him thoughtfully. No one had ever studied him so openly, without fear. It was a curious sensation—her eyes searching his face—and he felt himself laid open as if before a pure flame.
Even at their cruelest, his masters could never stare long into Hari’s face. He frightened them, even when on his knees, guts strung out under the sun. He made them uneasy. The razor edge of captivity—a slave in name only, never in spirit. They could feel his power, and it was threatening. No one ever forgot that.
But Dela was not intimidated. She looked deep into his eyes, as though she could summon the secrets of his heart. Hari could not fathom what lay revealed. He did not want to know.
When she spoke, he thought she might address their kiss, but she surprised him.
“I should have told you earlier,” she said slowly. “This morning, before I opened the box, someone else attacked me.”
Dela explained the market, the old woman who had sold her the box, and the strange man who had watched the transaction and then tried to kidnap her.
“It is a simple thing,” Hari said, feeling ill. “Someone knows you have me. If they kill you, I return to the box, ready for a new owner.”
Dela frowned. “Surely the same person can’t be responsible. That knife was stolen months ago. Who could foresee …” She paused, and then, “I mean, it just doesn’t make sense that the two events are related. Killing me with my own creation is way more personal than just trying to knock me off so the box changes hands. Besides, I don’t think this morning’s bad guy knew who I was.”
“Then you have two problems. My apologies, Delilah. I have added to your difficulties.”
“Hari, you saved my life.” Her voice was low, serious and earnest, a match to her stubborn frown. “Listen, we’ll find a way out of this. Every problem has a solution. Even your curse.”
He laughed, but it sounded cold, hollow. “I suppose you could destroy the box.”
“Would that set you free?”
“I do not know. It might kill me, but I think I would prefer to die, rather than continue on in darkness, enslaved.” It was a choice he had never dared voice before now.
Hari saw her consider it. He also saw her falter.
“Seems to me fighting is the better option.” Dela’s voice gained strength. “You can’t give up, Hari.”
“And what do you know of fighting?” he asked, deliberately harsh. “I have spent the past two thousand years as a belonging , enduring humiliation, torture, committing atrocities. You have no idea what that means.”
“Maybe not.” Dela narrowed her eyes. “But I know cowardice when I see it.”
Hari stiffened. “Are you accusing me of dishonor?”
“If you ask me to kill you without even attempting to find an answer to your problem, then yes. I am.”
Her words stung. Hari stood, but the room suddenly felt far too small. He ended up at the window, arms braced on either side of the thin glass. The city sprawled beneath him, unspeakably alien, strange objects moving at miraculous speeds. People, tiny at this great height, traveling in numbers greater than he had ever imagined. In that moment, he hated it all.
“What would you have me do?” he growled.
“Live,” she said, rising to stand beside him. He glanced at her.
“Live for myself, you mean? Everyone I know is dead. I am alone.”
He expected anger. Instead, Dela looked down at her hands,
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