“Ready to go?” he asked, dropping the bag onto the low table before the sofa.
“I’m not going anywhere today,” she replied simply.
“Come now,” he scoffed. “You’re going to let your anger with me keep you locked inside all day? Didn’t know I had so much control over you.”
“You don’t,” she spat.
“Mhmm,” he hummed. Then he flicked the paper bag with his fingers. “I brought you something.”
“I don’t want it.”
“Lia,” he growled, swiping a hand down his face. He pushed out a harsh breath. “About what I said yesterday.”
She scoffed. “I’m sure I just ‘took it the wrong way,’ right? Because I don’t understand common interactions?”
He let those words hang in the air, understanding that such an explanation had likely been used against her in the past.
“It doesn’t matter what I meant. What matters is how you perceived it,” he replied.
She finally peered over her shoulder at him. “What?”
“It doesn’t matter how I said something or my intention behind it,” he repeated. “What matters is howyouheard it and how you interpreted it.” When she only stared at him, he pushed, “I know what it’s like to be alone. To feel like your singular purpose is to be used by others. I didn’t mean to imply that you are just a job. I was…” He let out another long breath, not used to having to explain himself. Not used tocaringenough to explain himself. “I was trying to tell you that youaren’talone. That I’m here to help you. Not because it’s my job but because I understand loneliness. I understand how we come to find peace in solitude because we are forced to spend so much time there. Because others don’t understand us, despite some trying. Eventually they?—”
“Stop trying,” she cut in, taking a few steps closer. “And they start trying to figure out how they can use you.”
Razik nodded once, his jaw taut. “Or force you into doing what they want.”
Her head canted to the side, a tentative curiosity in her eyes. “I can’t imagine anyone forcing you to do anything.”
His answering smile was devoid of anything kind or cheerful. “I could say the same for you, yet somehow, here you are.”
Anger flared once more. “Are you saying this whole arrangement is my fault?”
“Of course not,” he said dismissively. “You’re far too clever to fall for such a thing.”
She hummed, coming closer, but she was still a few feet away when she pushed onto her tiptoes, trying to peer into the bag.
“It’s not going to bite,” he said, rolling his eyes and shoving it closer to her.
She snatched it up, pulling a handle on each side to open it wider. Reaching inside, she pulled out a roll with cinnamon and frosting, still lukewarm from the freshest batch.
“These are Cethin’s favorites,” she said dubiously.
“I think they’re also yours,” Razik retorted dryly.
“Perhaps,” she said, sinking her teeth into the pastry.
He debated asking how she’d gone three centuries without having such a thing, but he’d dug his way out of one hole. He wasn’t about to jump into another.
When she’d finished two of the four rolls and had set the rest aside for later, he asked, “Any place in particular you’d like to go today? Into Aimonway?”
She was quiet in that unnerving way she had. She never shifted or fidgeted while she debated things, making it increasingly hard to read her. It was ironic, really. She may be challenged in understanding social interactions, but in turn, she was a challenge to understand herself.
Finally, she said, “If you’re still willing, I would like new books to read regarding Avonleya.”
“Of course,” he answered.
She hesitated before adding, “And anything you might have regarding Ash Riders.”
