He gave her a pointed look. “Are you trying to describe yourself or me? Because I’m confused.”
She rolled her eyes. “You like children and let them hang all over you with their sticky hands and snotty noses.”
“So do you.”
She shook her head. “I don’t.”
“Right… Never…”
“You’re too tall,” she blurted. She had no idea why. It was ludicrous, and a flush crept up her neck and cheeks, her burns heating again.
Carver’s brows rose. “So what’s your solution to that, princess? Should I cut off my feet?”
Her nostrils flared. “Don’t be stupid. Yoursomewhatquick feet have proved useful now and then.”
His low laugh ignited a warm pressure inside her. “That might be the most backhanded compliment in the history of all the worlds.”
Bellanca lifted her chin. “You want one that’s not backhanded?”
Carver sobered. His gray eyes lost some of their luster. “Sure,” he eventually said.
She held back a sigh. It was no secret how bad she was at saying nice things, but did Carver realize how bad he was at listening to them?
Suddenly self-conscious, she turned her wrists back and forth, testing the pain level now that the cold bandages had worked their magic. “This.” Her eyes flicked to her wrists and then back to Carver. “You know how to treat a burn. I don’t. Hoi Polloi from back home have all these useful skills because Thalyrian Magoi spent so long depriving them of any magical help.”
His mouth quirked with wry humor. “Should we conclude that rampant prejudice is helpful to the masses?”
His reply was so unexpected and absurd that she laughed before she could stop herself. “‘Adversity builds character’ might sit better as a catchphrase,” she said as he poured the rest of the stone-chilled water onto her wrists, finishing the pitcher. Most of the excess dribbled into the basin. The rest rolled toward her elbows, tickling her arms and puddling on the table. “But I’m serious. If you dumped me in the woods, I wouldn’t know how to build a shelter, hunt for food, string grass and leaves together for clothing…”
He chuckled. “At least you’d never be cold, even if you were naked.”
“It’s not funny. I’d die.”
“You wouldn’t die.”
“Why not?”
“BecauseI’dhunt and cook and build shelter.” He nodded across the table at her. “You can start the fires.”
She gave him the evil eye. “Who says you’ll be there?”
“Isay I’ll be there.”
She hmphed. “Then you’d better know how to sew clothing.”
His eyes dipped over her, heating. “Sorry, princess. No needle skills here. Or hide tanning. I guess you’ll have to figure out that grass-and-leaf thing.”
Warmth tumbled through her, and the image of Carver covered only by a fig leaf suddenly wouldn’t exit her imagination. Him sitting across from her shirtless—again—made her wayward thoughts even more vivid.
She glanced down, inspecting her bandages. “What’s next? My wrists already feel better.”
“We take off the cloths, let your wrists air dry, apply a layer of honey to help fight infection and accelerate healing, then wrap your wrists back up so you don’t stick to everything.”
She frowned. “That’s it? It sounds rather basic.”
“I could hop around and sing chants, but I don’t think they’d help.”
“Do the chant.”
