“Never,” he said, oh so low but loud enough for her to hear, his voice a soothing rumble.“I have told no one, and I will never tell anyone.I promise.”
She bit her lip, nodded, looked away and blinked to hide how deeply that promise sank into her.“Thank you.”And look—she’d not even sounded shaky.She inhaled deeply, said with less tremble, “Thank you.I am glad, after all, that you tracked me down.To know you are not angry with me, to know you will keep my secret.It is a great relief.I should have known.You were kind that night.But I… attributed it to the potion.”
He nodded, let his hand drop, and lifted his gaze to the city below.“I attributed it to the potion as well.”
“You are… better now?”He did not seem to be hopelessly in lust with her, but then he was also being quite… soft with her.
“I’m not so sure.”
That knocked the breath out of her.“Oh, but you can’t be—I mean, the potion’s effects should be?—”
“Should you like to know what they are saying about you?About the ballrooms?”
An abrupt change of subject.But she was too curious to know what information he held to care.“Are they saying anything?”She’d not been terribly popular.People knew she existed of course, but they did not seem to particularly care.
“Your cousin has put it about that you’ve retired to the country and plan to remain there.You are ill.Gravely so.My condolences.”
Her cousin, the monster of her dreams these days.He chased her through sleep and haunted the waking shadows.
She touched the back of her head, fingers threading through her hair.The bump had gone down, but tenderness lingered.She cleared her throat and clasped that rogue hand behind her back.Clasped it tightly.The laugh she produced was strangled and too high.“Thank you, my lord.Will you attend my funeral?”
“No.”He paused, looking down at her slowly and blocking the light.The sudden shadow should have chilled her, but he was too warm for that, a walking furnace, she’d noticed behind the curtain.“I’d be too tempted to throw myself on your funeral pyre.”
Throw himself on it?His body couldstartit.“Are you always so hot?”
“All alchemists possess a higher body temperature than normal.”
“From birth?”
“No.We cultivate it.Through our training.”
“I know little of alchemists.You are a secretive lot.”
He scratched his jaw.“We are.But… I’m tempted to share something of myself with you.”
“Why?”
He shrugged.“You fascinate me.”
“Why?”
“Have a favorite word, do you?”
This time her laugh felt light and airy.She wanted to catch it in a jar to keep.She could uncork it after a nightmare, listen to it bounce joyful off the ceiling, and remember that not every moment would be suffocating darkness.
“Why is an excellent word.So productive.Ask it and an entirely new world opens up.But it is not my favorite.My favorite word ispuddle.Notwhy.”
“See.Fascinating.Explain.”
“It’s a silly word, and it rather sounds like what it is.Flat and usually muddy and with no real shape, thin around the edges.Possibly deep enough to wet your ankles.”His gaze darted to her ankles, and she rushed on.“And fun.”
“Puddleis a hardworking word to accomplish all that.”
“Just so.”
“Come here.”He nodded down the path, then strode in that direction.She could not help but follow and brush her hands along the tops of plants as he did.She did so mindlessly, but he seemed to be searching for something.He stopped.“Ah.Perfect.”
His hand hovered over an empty pot.Well, almost empty.There seemed to be no plant, though it was half filled with soil.He motioned for her to come closer, but if she did, they’d be touching.So, she glued her feet to the floor and bent a bit at the waist.
