When he looks up, his gaze is searching. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
My heart gives a painful lurch, as my first thought is for the prophecy, and the role I believe he is to play—the role I don’t think he would understand, not without reading the scroll, not withoutfeelingdestiny for himself.
Then it hits me, and I gulp a breath.
“You mean, that I am a goddess among my people?” I buy myself a little time with the question, half-distracted by the way his fingers circle the edge of the cup again and again. I open my mouth to answer him, but nothing comes.
Noticing where my attention is, he holds out the cup in return, for me to take it back. “I have a guess,” he says, as my fingers close around the rim of the cup, which has been warmed by his touch.
But when I would have taken it back, he holds on to it, making me look back up at him. He’s watching me, an odd look on his face—his thick eyebrows are drawn in, the brown eyes curious. His expressive mouth is curved just a little in a kind of interested fascination I’ve never seen before.
“I think I must be the first person you’ve ever met who didn’t instantly know who you were,” North goes on, holding me captive by my grasp on the cup—though I could let go, I don’t, and the smooth brass under my fingers is electric. “I think you don’t have many people who treat you like a person, rather than a goddess. It would be easy to assume you were hiding things from me for some sinister reason, but … I wonder if maybe you were just hiding them because it was the first time you could.”
With both our arms outstretched, it’s almost like we’re holding hands—except, of course, the surface under my fingertips is metal. I swallow. “The way you spoke about magic—the way you dismissed it—I knew you could not understand what it means to be divine, not then. You would think me a fool.”
“I didn’t exactly make it easy for you to tell me,” North admits with a thoughtful squint. “I’m sorry if I made you feel … It’s clear magic is a thing in your world. I can’t say I believe in it the way you do, but I don’t think you’re a fool. I definitely don’t think you’re a fool.”
His voice is always warmed by amusement, but just now, it doesn’t feel like he’s laughing. If anything, he’s more solemn than usual. When I fail to reply straightaway, he draws breath to speak, but then halts, meeting my eyes.
“The strangest thing,” he murmurs, scanning my features, intent. “Sitting here with you, I almost could believe in it. In all of it. There’s something about you I … can’t explain.”
My thoughts are racing, along with my pulse—I wish I had that scroll, I wish I could know he was divine, I wish I couldknow, so I could …
We’re closer than we were a few moments ago. Whether he’s drawn me nearer by the cup held between us or I pulledhimcloser, I cannot say. But as soon as I realize it, I flinch and release my grip with a gasp. That makes North recoil too, and the cup goes crashing down onto the stone.
North mutters something that must be a swear word in his land, whirling away from me to fetch one of the towels I’d used to dry myself. I haven’t the heart to tell him, as he begins sopping up the spilled wine, that the material is worth a small fortune and that the wine will stain.
I haven’t the heart, because my own heart is still racing.
North’s muttering to himself still, and I catch only fragments—clumsy as a fledgling—as I stare at him while he cleans up. It isn’t until he’s gotten most of the wine and sees my face that he stops.
“Nimh?”
“I can explain,” I manage.
His brow furrows. “Explain what?”
“You said there was something about me that you could not … I can explain it, North. I think … Ibelieve… your coming here, to this land, was prophesied long ago. You and I did not meet by chance.”
His eyebrows shoot up, though for once he doesn’t seem to be dismissing me altogether. He is willing to wait, and to listen.
I manage a breath with an effort, drawing on all my training at diction and speech.
“I believe the prophecy brought us together. North, this is our destiny.”
SIXTEEN
NORTH
For a moment, the sounds of the party on the other side of the screen—music, distant laughter, the hum of conversation—fade away. I’m caught staring back at Nimh, no ready reply, too riveted by her serious dark eyes and her earnest expression to think.
“Destiny,” I echo, buying myself time. “Like … fate?”
She nods, and while I’m ready to laugh at the obvious joke, there’s no hint of a smile on her face. “Prophecy plays a great role among my people. I believe I was meant to be there that night and see you as you fell.”
My mind flashes to the cut lines on theSkysinger. My crash wasn’t destiny. It was sabotage.
“I–I’m certainly glad you were there,” I respond tentatively. “The thing is … you know I don’t believe in … This whole magic thing in general is … hard to swallow.”
