That sting piercing my heart refuses to stop.
Keeper.I try to figure out the word on my own. I spend an hour every morning with Mistress Elayne, my tutor, and she makes me do this all the time. I knowkeep, and considering Sephran’s attitude, it’s not hard to make the leap from there.
I pull the hot shoe off the anvil and thrust it into the waiting bucket of water. “Tycho is notkeeper,” I say darkly, as steam flares around me.
“I know.”
I pick up the horse’s hoof, still annoyed. “And I notkeeped.”
His mouth twitches, his eyes lighting with amusement. I realize I’ve said something wrong.
“Tell me,” I snap.
Sephran has the decency to look contrite. “Kept.” He pauses. “Notkeeped.”
That makes me scowl, though it probably shouldn’t. Silence falls between us again, only interrupted by the lighterplink- plink- plinkas I hammer the shoe onto the horse’s hoof. That lock of hair falls back into my face, and I blow it angrily away.
Sephran steps forward to tuck it behind my ear again. His touch is lighter this time, but somehow more deliberate, too. My hammer freezes midstrike, because I truly don’t know what to do with this. Sephran has always been kind. Always thoughtful. When I first came here, he was the only person to notice that I needed a bench to help support my weight while I was shoeing horses— and the only person who tried to remedy the problem. Are these light touches more of his usual kindness? Or something entirely different?
He sighs, and his voice drops. “I’m sorry, Jax. You just . . . you don’t seem happy that he’s back.”
I don’t know what to say to that either.
I hammer the last nail into place, then set the horse’s hoof down. I pull the lead rope to slip the knot from the tether, but Sephran doesn’t step back. It leaves us standing very close.
He was on duty all day, so he’s still trussed up in gold- and- red-trimmed armor, every weapon buckled into place. He’s a little taller than I am, and definitely broader, especially with his gear. He’s got sandy hair and a ruddy, freckled complexion that usually bears an easy smile.
There’s no smile now, though. His somber eyes are searching mine. “Do you understand me?” He speaks slowly and deliberately, then taps me in the center of my chest. The weight of his hand is heavy and warm, even through my tunic. “Youare nothappy.”
I swallow, because he’s not wrong. “I understand.”
Movement flickers behind him, and I glance up. I recognize the blond hair, the brown eyes, the striking combination of features that nearly took my breath away on the first night I ever saw him. It’s doing the same right now. My heart kicks.
“Tycho,” I say in surprise.
Sephran stiffens. His gaze ices over.
Then I realize how close he is. How he was touching me. What hejustsaid.
I have no idea how much Tycho heard or saw— if anything at all. His eyes flick from me to Sephran and back, and even though there’s nothing between us, warmth sparks on my cheeks.
“Jax,” he says. His voice isn’t cold, but I’m not sure I’d call it warm. His gaze bounces between us again, settling on Sephran. “Lieutenant.”
Sephran takes a step to the side, his frame rigid. An emotionless soldier, standing at attention. “My lord.”
I hate this.
“You are here,” I say to Tycho, trying to keep my voice light to makeup for the fact that Sephran is all but staring daggers at him. “I think tomorrow.”
“I rode hard so I could make it back quickly. I had to report to the king first, but—” He breaks off. “Ah, sorry.” He makes a face, then begins to repeat everything in Syssalah.
“I understand you first time,” I snap in Emberish.
A line appears between his eyebrows as if I’ve startled him. He inhales like he wants to say something, but then his mouth clamps shut. He draws back, suddenly as cool as Sephran. “I . . . forgive me.”
We stand there glaring at each other for a long moment. I know he was translating for my benefit, and I should probably be grateful.
But I didn’t need it. If he spent more time here, he’d know that.
