“I said, are you all right?”
I flinched at Draw’s touch and his words; he was clearly repeating himself.
Others were drifting out of the generals’ tent and I fought to compose my face. Draw drew me to the side, an arm circling my shoulders.
“What is it, Dottie?” he said more gently.
I gestured. I couldn’t speak or else I would burst into tears. It was my job to keep Draw safe, make sure he had a life after the book closed. He was more than the queen’s solicitor, more than a sacrificial character. I had to save him.
When it came to words, Draw was not patient. “Did seeing the body today upset you?”
My face crumpled.Oh God, that poor man.
Draw pulled me in. I nodded into his chest. His sigh enveloped me. I strained for the beating of his heart.
“Come on.” He pulled me along behind him. Tears blurred my vision, but I sensed we were leaving the crowd behind. Their voices were muted and tired, only looking forward to sleep. They had no idea what was coming. Who else would die in the coming battle? Jerrald? Amelia? Meg’s Westly? They weren’t mentioned in the books—for all I knew, they very well could.
I’d put effort into shapingLandsome Roads, but it didn’t feel like enough. There was no putting off the fact that we were here and heading to Spectral Peak. Draw had pointed out all the lives I’d saved by cutting the battle campaign short, but what did it matter when it did nothing to forestall our march into the face of evil?
We stopped moving and I blotted my eyes, sniffing. Draw held aside the opening of his tent and led me in. He made short work of settling me on the bed with a blanket wrapped around my shoulders before fiddling with the oil lamp. A soft bloom rose over his face as he adjusted the flame. I could barely make out the green in his eyes, but his dark eyebrows and the cut of his nose were stark in the low light.
He looked me over, as if assessing me for damage. For once he was quiet.
He came and sat next to me on the bedroll. I shifted and leaned into him, the blanket still snug around my shoulders.
“It’s not just Manse Peters, is it? What else is going on?”
Half a day earlier, I wouldn’t have thought it possible to be angry with Draw, but I bristled. “Don’t test me.”
I sat up straight, no longer willing to lean on him, and batted the blanket down. When he’d asked if it was the body, he knew that wasn’t all that was upsetting me—he was checking to see if I’d tell the truth.
“I’m not testing you. I want to help.”
“It’s...it’s all of it. I don’t know what I can do.” I was deflecting.
“Dottie.” Draw’s voice was patient but firm. He knew I was holding something back. I don’t know how he knew, but he knew.
“What?” I said to buy time.
A pause hung in the air between us. Far off, a snatch of conversation drifted as someone made their way to bed.
“Dottie.”
“What?”
“You said that already.”
“Well, so did you. Stop saying my name.”
A small smile appeared on Draw’s face, easing the severity in his eyes. “Why would I when it’s the most beautiful name of two worlds?”
He leaned down slightly—a question.
I answered with a kiss. Shallow but real. I stopped when tears wetted my cheeks again.
“Tell me, Dottie.”
“No!” The romantic moment snapped. I turned my face from him. “I don’t have to tell you everything.” I sniffed. “Can’t, in fact.”
