He tucks his chin. “I like to think I’m a realist.”
“Oh, is that what you are?” I snort. “Realists don’t make many friends, do they?”
“No. I have no friends.”
At this I round on him, fist planted on my hip. “Now that is sheer nonsense! Didn’t we establish just last night thatIam your friend?” Pointing my sheathed blade at him, I waggle it at hisnose. “I wouldn’t let any but a friend teach me knife skills under moonlight. It wouldn’t be seemly.”
His eyes focus on the weapon for a moment before lifting to meet mine. “You would be wise not to befriend one such as I.”
“And why is that?”
He doesn’t answer, merely turns from me to study the view once more.
A little huff of laughter forces its way through my lips. “I won’t lie, these broody silences of yours are enough to drive any potential friend mad. Other than that, I’ve found you amiable enough.” Then, letting my tone sink into something a little deeper and more serious, I add, “It…it means more to me than you know. Having a friend here. So, if you will just…be that. A friend.Myfriend. Whether you think you’re good at it or not.”
He takes his time with answering. So long, in fact, I begin to think he’s committed to this particular broody silence for the long haul. When he does eventually speak, the words tumble out in a rush, as though he’s afraid if he doesn’t say them quickly, he never will. “It would be my honor to be considered your friend.”
Though I know it’s foolish, I feel as though a burden has been lifted from my chest. A smile breaks across my lips, big and bright. “In that case, it’s official,” I say, holding out my hand. He looks at it. Then looks at me. “It’s a friendly thing to do, is it not?” I say. “Shaking hands? Friends do it all the time.”
His lips thin. Very slowly, he lifts his hand and lightly takes my fingers. I’m struck all over again by the heat he generates, even up here in this thin, cold air. It’s not unpleasant; in fact, I might even be inclined to draw closer, to benefit from that warmth. His thumb is dry and pleasantly calloused as it plays back and forth across my knuckles, and I find my throat thickening suddenly.
“Thank you,” I say.
“For what?” His voice is husky, low.
“For the knife. For the lesson. For letting me cut your nice shirt, even though I know perfectly well you let me do it on purpose. For convincing me to free the gremler.” I tilt back my head, closing my eyes, and draw in a deep breath. “For the night sky.”
Silence surrounds us once more, broken only by the wind’s sighing. When I finally open my eyes and look at him, he’s watching me with such a strange expression, I couldn’t begin to describe it. He opens his mouth, starts to say something, but stops himself. At last, he settles on a simple “You’re welcome.”
I begin to draw back from him, but his gaze drops suddenly to my other hand, the hand not gripped by his. “What happened there?” he asks.
“Oh.” I bite my lip and put my hand behind my back, hiding the bandage. I’d almost forgotten about it in the last hour, and the pain has reduced to a dull throb. “Nothing.”
Valtar moves with that same graceful lightning quickness he demonstrated earlier, catching my arm, drawing my hand out between us. “Were you wounded by the votyr?”
“Not…exactly.”
He frowns. Before I can stop him, he unwinds the bandage and turns my palm up, allowing moonlight to illuminate the blistering burn. He studies it for a long, silent moment. Then, in a voice of absolute midnight: “Who did this to you?”
I don’t answer.
His fingers tighten around my wrist, his grip just shy of painful. “Who did this?” he repeats. “Tell me.”
I swallow. Then, in a breathless whisper: “He…he’s trying to awaken my…my flame. He means well.”
“Who?”
He knows the answer. I can tell. But he’s going to make me say it.
“Alderin.”
Valtar stands before me, rigid, as though carved from the mountain stone himself. He does not breathe, and the warmth in his touch seems to vanish in a sudden icy chill.
“Valtar?” I quaver.
As though galvanized by the sound of my voice, he drops his hold on my wrist, turns on heel, and begins marching toward the cavern tunnel.
“Valtar, where are you going?” I cry after him.
