No lavender. She couldn’t imagine such a world.
Excitement rose above her mortification as a wild, daring thought occurred to her. “I could show you! Our lavender gardens are beautiful. I’d even say the best ones in all of Cinder. We could walk through them. It would have to be at night, though, so as not to be seen.” By the devil, she was out of control. Yet she couldn’t stop herself. “I could sneak out when Henry and Clara come back from a poetry reading they must attend in two days.” Whenever Henry had an evening event, he didn’t dawdle in his study. He always went straight to bed.
She cleared her throat, unable to bear the silence he often needed to respond. “That is … if you’d like to see them. With me,” she ended hoarsely.
Waiting for his response to the disaster of an invitation felt like the moments before an executioner’s blade hit its mark—infinite.
“That would please me,” he finally rumbled.
She let out a long breath and smiled. “It would please me as well. I can meet you at the forest’s southern edge that night.”
It wasn’t until she said goodbye and trudged all the way back home, though, that she realized she’d forwardly asked a man—aXaal, rather—to walk with her. Unchaperoned.
At night.
Chapter 10
Isobel
Isobel tucked her hair into the cloak’s hood and slipped out the back door like a silent thief in the night.
The moon was full and high, its silver light drenching the landscape in an ethereal hue. It left her feeling like she was in a novel. Like she’d stepped through a portal into another world.
Unintentionally, she’d picked the best evening for such an excursion.
The last time she was out late enough to witness the unique ambiance night created in the gardens was when she was a little girl. Her father had woken her up and lifted her from the sheets with rare enthusiasm. She’d been surprised to see Henry waiting in the hall, all gangly limbs, sleepily rubbing at his eyes. They tugged on their shoes, giggling at their secret adventure. Then, with mussed hair and all, they went outside. Spreading out the quilt their father brought, they laid out to watch the stars. She fell asleep to her father weaving a spell with his voice as he told stories she’d since forgotten, and though she’d woken up in bed, the magic of that night had stayed with her long after.
Now, she would be promenading beneath those same stars with someone from the other side of the cosmos.
Ved didn’t meet her on the forest’s perimeter. Instead, he stood at the edge of the gardens. She thought she had more time to prepare herself. But there he was, his silhouette cutting a striking image. Moonlight gleaned off his dark armor, and the high bushes framed his form, making him appear as an ancient statue.
His head moved the moment she drew closer, the only indication that he’d seen her.
“Good evening,” she whispered, excitement and nerves making her voice shake slightly.
“High moons, Isobel Nott,” he replied. And then he offered her his arm as if he were a gentleman of Dorsent.
When she could do nothing but stare, he asked, “Is this not how it is done?”
“Oh, well, yes.” She didn’t mention, however, that a gentleman wouldneverdo such a thing when walking with a woman he wasn’t married to, unchaperoned.
He was so tall that she had to reach up. Their height difference just wouldn’t do, but he seemed to realize it simultaneously because he straightened his arm so she could hold his forearm instead.
Where had he acquired such knowledge? Had he learned it from SV’s pirate book? The mere thought of him having read it still made her stomach twist in curious ways. She’d reread it just yesterday, imagining how he’d held the same book in his hands, consumed the same words.
It was a shared intimacy—like a stolen touch or lingering glance. She’d scarcely been able tofinish it.
They didn’t speak as they stepped off. He only needed the slightest press of her fingertips to correct their course before they were standing in front of the rows and rows of lavender.
“This is it,” she said, letting go of his arm and sprawling her hands out in front of her. “I make the cookies I gave you out of the extract and decorate the top with some of its flowers. The plant itself is very versatile. It can be used as an oil and in tinctures as well.”
“You make the cookies with your own hands?” he asked.
“Yes. Cook makes just about everything else, but those are mine,” she said with quiet pride.
He didn’t respond, and a companionable silence fell over them as they surveyed the bushy purple rows. Even bathed in moonlight, the color of the lavender plants was breathtaking. The flowers glowed brilliantly beneath the silver rays.
“It is part of your scent,” Ved rumbled beside her after some time.
