“I don’t mind if the Crossroad wants to think of me as a random bit of magic that drifted up on the side of the road.”
I smiled, because thatwashow the Crossroads thought of him.
“We’re linked too, Card,” I said, tired of beating around the bushes. “The tattoos...well, I guess we’ve always been linked because of the tattoos, but now even more so.”
He nodded, his hand landing over his wrist, clasping the ghostly lock tattoo there.
“What do you think about that?” I asked.
“I think it’s your call. You know I’m not always...reliable. You know I have to move, have to visit my tree. I tend to get mixed up in some pretty heavy shit. Lose track of time.”
“Obviously,” I said dryly.
“The wizards on both sides of the war are going to want my head on a pike. Or want my magic to bend to their will. Now that Stel found me here, there’s nothing to keep other attackers away.”
“I’m here. I’m not afraid of wizards.”
He slid me a smile. “Obviously.”
“If it’s up to me,” I said, “I want you to stay, if you want to stay. I might still be in love with you, so you should take that into consideration.”
He held his breath for a moment. I knew he was surprised at my admission, but had heard the peace offering. More than that, had heard the truth in it.
“Well, I might have never stopped loving you,” he said quietly. “So. For your consideration.”
“Consider it considered,” I said.
He nodded, then we both just stared out at the tree, letting those declarations settle between us.
I thought he was right. The tree needed a windchime.
“How big’s the shop gonna be?” he asked.
“Don’t know yet,” I said. “Plans keep changing.”
He pushed away from the sawhorse and moved to stand in front of me. “Want any help?”
Lachesis had said I might not like some of my allies. But she hadn’t told me that I might instead love one.
“Yeah, yes,” I said, clearing my throat. “I think it’s time for you and me to get to know each other again, Card. When we aren’t being chased by wizards and seers and rougarous.”
“And the tattoos?” he asked, catching one of my hands and linking our fingers.
“Yeah, you’d better keep those. With all the trouble you get into, someone in this world should know where you are.”
“Is that someone you?”
“That someone is me.”
“Good,” he said. “That’s all I need.”
“Don’t know what you’re smiling about,” I said. “I’m gonna make you man the shovel and post hole digger.”
“Do I get paid in lemonade?”
“Weak lemonade. Without enough sugar.” I stood, and we were in each other’s space, neither of us wanting to move, neither of us looking away.
It was good.
