He’s taking me on a date.
Dominic leads us through the streets of Eldeen until we reach the market square. There’s no snow on the ground this side of the mountains, and the sky is clear. The air is still icy, but that doesn’t stop the townsfolk from bustling about in the cold to enjoy market day.
The mood isn’t nearly as boisterous as it was in Nalheim’s marketplaces, where citizens shop and hawk wares with far less restraint than in unprotected villages, but it’s still more lively than I’m used to. Numerous stalls line the road, some with food, others with clothing or household items. Calvin spots a stand for cream puffs and immediately takes Harlow by the hand and drags her along with him.
Bard makes a beeline for a stand with small knives.
As soon as I’m alone with Dominic, his fingertips slip between mine. My heart stutters at his warm touch, at the too-intimategesture. Yet when he tightens his grip on my hand, I don’t pull away. I like the feel of this too much.
Way too much.
“So you don’t get lost,” he says, leaning in close so I can hear him over the clamor of the crowd.
“I think you’re just jealous of Calvin and Harlow,” I say, catching sight of them at the pastry stand, their fingers still entwined.See? It doesn’t have to mean anything,I tell myself.
Calvin and Harlow seem to have forged a bond lately, but I don’t believe it’s romantic. Not yet, at least. Harlow may speak flippantly about sex, but she’s still young. Still haunted by what was done to her by the husband she murdered along with his despicable sons. When she draws pictures of calm and safety, she still only illustrates scenes where she’s alone in nature with not a soul around her.
Gods, we’re all so fucking broken. A patchwork crew, like the heart I stitched.
I never was able to unravel the threads of my crafted heart after my dunking in the river, and I may have shed a few tears when I cut them off. The heart itself remains intact, though, and I keep it tucked in my bodice like always.
“Call it what you want,” Dominic says, drawing my attention back to him, “but until I let go, you’re my hostage.”
He leads me from stall to stall, admiring the wares. He releases my hand to purchase us small meat pies, and I take a moment to myself, waiting at the center of the market square. My eyes rove the stalls, then the surrounding buildings. It looks just like Thornfal.
No, just like Dunway.
My gaze floats above the thatched and tiled roofs to the snow-capped mountains beyond. The sight makes my blood go cold.
When I first learned we were passing the mountain range to reach Eldeen, I didn’t think much of it. The Cassia Mountains are visible from almost anywhere in this region. I even spotted them from Nalheim once, when I ran an errand for Rockefeller in the heart of the city and reached one of the highest points, where I could see beyond the silver walls.
This view, though, is almost exactly how it looked from Dunway.
Which means…
I swallow hard. I don’t want to think about how close we might be to my hometown.
A hometown that no longer exists because a Sinless lost his life there. I still don’t understand how it happened or if I’m truly responsible.
Dominic’s approach is a welcome distraction from my darker thoughts. His grin is wide and a touch wicked when he stops before me.
I extend my hand, eager to stuff my face with the meat pie and forget everything I don’t want to consider. “Give me the goods,” I say.
His lips spread wider. “In public? So shameless.”
I roll my eyes, but I rather like his teasing. “Give me the damn meat. And don’t you dare make another dick joke.”
He chuckles, a deep and carefree sound that truly makes this feel like a date. Like something regular people get to experience. A beautiful illusion.
Finally, he places something in my waiting palm, but it isn’t one of the meat pies. Instead, it’s a simple rosewood hair comb. It has no artistic embellishments, no excess ornamentation. It’s a practical accessory and perfectly suitable to be sold in a public market.
Yet my throat tightens at the sight.
“I saw you looking at it when we passed the stall earlier,” he says.
I blink up at him. “You knew?”
“I knew.” Without another word, he takes it from me and turns me around. I feel him tugging my hair, his strong hands surprisingly gentle as he sweeps messy tendrils away from my forehead on each side. He slides the comb in place, securing the top half of my hair, then turns me back around.
