“Could we just keep all of it to ourselves for now? Until we’ve sorted out what this all means?”
“Alright,” Aevrin agreed, but she saw his brow furrow.
She slipped away from him to change her clothes and grab her things for the shower. Outside, Cassia turned on the water and stripped down, running her hands over herself and feeling the memory of Aevrin’s touch. Her face burned. Had he really tossed her up on that piece of furniture and pushed her legs open? Aevrin Riveker?
The water was almost warm when she stepped under the stream. It had been sitting in the barrel, in the sun, all day. She let it cascade over her body, washing his touch away with rivers of soapy water.
She was prone to worry, and there was a lot to worry about, but she found herself replaying it with a kind of giddy wonder instead of her usual suspicion about romance. He’d said he wanted her. Needed her. Aevrin Riveker! Cassia giggled, then buried her face in the crook of her arm and laughed, shoulders shaking. She’d learned a long time ago life could come at you fast.
But normally that was the bad, and the happy moments were slower, softer, subtler. She’d practiced picking out things to find joy in. Her running list of good in the world ranged from plain custard with the finest ingredients to the sizzle of onions in a pan. Comfortable clothes; seeing Rylan smile. Doors that locked and hot sweet grallo on a cold morning.
She couldn’t remember happiness ever hitting her like this, like a tornado or a stampede. Wasn’t the good in life supposed to be quiet? She set the bottle of soap back and dragged her hands over her skin, rinsing off the suds and touching her body the way he had.
“You two were out there a long time,” Sorven observed as Cassia finally bustled into the kitchen, in trousers and a tunic, her wet hair twisted up on her head.
“Uh… yeah,” she admitted. Saints. She hadn’t thought up an excuse for showering. “He showed me the old house. I hadn’t been in it before.”
“Oh,” Sorven said. “It’s kinda boring.”
“You think?” Cassia asked, her voice a little high, as she started a pot of water boiling for dumplings. “He said you all used to sleep over there as children.”
Her hands hesitated for a moment on the pot lid as she connected the sweet things Aevrin had told her to the afternoon’s start; the plot of land he’d shown her to. The way he wanted her opinion, for the house he’d build. But surely he didn’t expect—surely he hadn’t meant it would beherhouse.
“Yeah. Ages ago. Guess we stopped, when ma… well. You know,” Sorven said.
Cassia winced. But at least he seemed distracted from his initial questioning.
“Did you start those exercises Evelya told you about?” she asked smoothly instead, pulling the dough and the sauce she’d made that afternoon out of the preservation chest.
“I tried,” Sorven complained. “It kind of hurts.”
“Didn’t she say it was going to hurt?”
Sorven scrunched up his face and went back to looking at his book.
She saw Aevrin once before dinner, just for a second. She heard his footsteps approaching the kitchen, and turned to see him in the doorway, staring at her. Aevrin smiled softly, and she bit her lip and smiled back shyly.
“Hey, Aevrin, look at this passage,” Sorven said, cracking his book’s spine and waving it over his head.
“Show me later. Gonna see if they need help wrapping up,” he said, and turned and left, as if he’d taken that route through the house just to get a glance at her.
She was pulling the tray out of the oven when the backdoor slammed open and Mavek’s voice boomed through the house, mid-sentence. “Course it’s not a problem,” Cassia heard him say. “We’ve got plenty.”
Cassia carried the large, heavy tray into the dining room with her oven mitts. Sheriff Boone was coming through the backdoor after Sath Riveker. He was the same mustached man Cassia remembered from her first day in Dawn Ridge. He scuffed his boots on the mat as Aevrin held the door behind him, waiting to come in.
“Sheriff Boone. What brings you around these parts?” Gramma Prisca asked, coming out of her study and heading towards them.
“Just catching Sath up about those rustlers,” the sheriff said, sweeping his hat off his head. “Them boys invited me to supper. I don’t want to intrude…”
Rustlers. Had they found Rylan’s hideout? She drew a deep breath through her nose.
“Nonsense. There’s plenty. Right, Cassia?” Gramma called. Cassia set the baked dumplings down on the trivet with a nod.
“Of course,” Cassia said, fighting to keep her voice even. “Just let me set another place.”
“You look well, Miss Clarek,” the sheriff said with a sharp eye. The last time he’d seen her, Cassia remembered, she’d been bruised up and wearing an infirmary dress.
“Thank you.” Cassia quickly turned to grab the sides off the stove before he could launch into any questions.
