But when she finally gathered the courage to look up, his expression wasn’t contemptuous. It was thoughtful. Calculating, almost, like he was working through a problem.
“But you did expect to run into me.”
It wasn’t exactly a question, but she nodded.
“My uncle has connections in all of the surrounding villages. We’d never be able to escape him there. But no one will look for us here.
“And you want more vines.”
Also not a question.
“Yes.” She straightened in her chair, trying to project a confidence she didn’t entirely feel. “I was hoping… If you would allow it… I’d like to gather and process more of the sunvines. Enough to make a larger section of cloth. Enough to?—”
To what?She hadn’t fully thought it through. Had been too focused on escape to plan what came after.
“To trade,” she said slowly, the idea taking shape as she spoke. “For Dani’s medicine. The real treatment, not the scraps Gerhard doles out. And maybe…” She hesitated, then pushed on. “Maybe enough to start over somewhere else. To build a new life where he can’t reach us.”
The words hung in the air between them. A dream, perhaps, but saying it out loud made it feel almost possible.
Tarek was quiet for a long moment. His gaze had gone distant, fixed on something she couldn’t see.
“It’s a risk,” he said finally. “The sunvines aren’t easy to harvest. They take time to process and to weave. And if your uncle learns where you’re getting them?—”
“He wouldn’t dare to come up the mountain.”
“The prospect of wealth makes people do foolish things,” he said dryly and she couldn’t argue.
“I know.” She leaned forward, hands pressed flat against the table. “I know it’s dangerous. I know I’m asking too much. But I don’t have any other options, Tarek. I can’t go back to that village. Can’t go back to being his puppet while my sister dies in front of me.”
Please,she thought.Please understand.
Something flickered in those emerald eyes that she couldn’t read.
“The vines are in my territory,” he said. “I am willing to give you permission to harvest them.”
Her heart stuttered. “Does that mean?—”
“It means there’s no rush.”
She blinked. “What?”
He pushed off from the wall and crossed to the fireplace, crouching to add another log to the flames. The motion put his back to her, hiding his expression.
“The mountain isn’t going anywhere,” he said. “Neither are the vines. Your sister needs time to recover, and you need—” Hepaused, seeming to reconsider his words. “You both need rest. Proper rest. Not a few hours of sleep and then back to working.”
“But—”
“No rush.” He turned to face her, and his expression was firm. Final. “You can stay until she’s stronger and you’ve had time to make a plan.” A slight hesitation. “To decide what you actually want.”
She opened her mouth to argue, to explain that she couldn’t take advantage of his hospitality, but the words wouldn’t come.
Because he was right. She was exhausted. Bone-deep, soul-crushingly exhausted in a way that went beyond physical tiredness. She’d been fighting for so long. Fighting Gerhard, fighting circumstance, fighting the slow decline of her sister’s health. The idea of stopping—of actually resting without the constant pressure of her uncle’s demands—was almost too much to comprehend.
“You’re sure?” she asked, and hated how small her voice sounded. “About letting us stay?”
His gaze held hers, steady and unwavering.
“I’m sure.”
