"Yes." She flexes her fingers, testing the fit. The gloves adjust automatically, tightening slightly for perfect comfort. "They're... very warm. Thank you."
"You're welcome." I step back, creating space before I do something foolish like not stepping back at all. "Now you can play monster for as long as Amisra demands without freezing."
"Lucky me." But she's almost smiling. Almost.
Amisra, blessedly oblivious to the charged atmosphere, grabs Keira's newly gloved hand and tugs. "Come on! The dragon is getting away!"
Keira allows herself to be pulled back into the game. I should leave. Should go home like Daryn suggested and get rest and stop standing in gardens watching women who I shouldn't want play with children who aren't mine.
But I stay. Just for a few more minutes. Just long enough to watch moonlight catch on Keira's hair again, to hear her laugh when Amisra makes a particularly ridiculous roaring sound, to see her look back at me over her shoulder with something in her eyes that might, possibly, be the beginning of trust.
Just long enough to let myself hope.
7
KEIRA
The morning light filters through Amisra's window while I braid her hair, silver strands slipping through my fingers like moonlight made tangible. She's chattering about the flower she found yesterday, something about how it smelled like honey and sunshine, and I'm only half-listening because my mind keeps wandering to leather gloves that fit my hands perfectly.
I'd tried to give them back this morning. Left them folded neatly on the table in the sitting room where Valas would find them. Cowardly, maybe, but safer than facing him directly. Than admitting how the memory of his fingers brushing my palm keeps replaying in my head at the most inconvenient moments.
The gloves were back in my room an hour later with a note written in elegant script:You'll need these again. Keep them. —V
I'd stared at that note for longer than reasonable. Traced the curves of his handwriting with my eyes and told myself the warmth in my chest was just gratitude. Nothing more complicated than appreciation for a kind gesture.
I'm an excellent liar, but apparently only to other people. Not to myself.
"Keira, you're pulling too tight." Amisra squirms under my hands.
"Sorry, Ami." I loosen my grip, focusing on the task instead of thoughts that have no business occupying space in my head. "Almost done."
"Is Uncle Val coming today?" She asks it casually, like the answer doesn't matter, but I can hear the hope underneath.
"I don't know." My fingers work through the final section of the braid. "He usually visits in the afternoon."
"I hope he comes soon. I want to show him my flower."
"I'm sure he'll be very impressed." I tie off the braid with a ribbon, smoothing down any flyaways. "There. All finished."
She hops off the chair, spinning to make her skirt flare. The movement is so purely joyful it makes my chest ache. This little girl deserves better than watching her father fade away. Deserves a childhood full of spinning and flowers and uncomplicated happiness.
"Can we have breakfast outside?" She's already moving toward the door. "It's sunny and Papa says sunny days are special."
"Let me check with your father first." I follow her out, catching her hand before she can barrel down the hallway. "Walk, Ami. You know the rules."
She slows fractionally, though her enthusiasm remains undimmed. We find Daryn in his study, bent over correspondence he's probably too tired to actually read. But he looks up when we enter, and the smile he offers is genuine despite the exhaustion in his eyes.
"There's my little bird." He opens his arms and Amisra rushes to him, careful now in a way that breaks my heart. Aware, on some level, that her father is fragile. "Did Keira make you beautiful this morning?"
"She braided my hair." Amisra touches the plait self-consciously. "Can we eat breakfast outside? Please?"
"I think that's a wonderful idea." But he's looking at me when he says it, something knowing in his expression that makes me uneasy. "The gardens should be lovely this morning."
So we arrange breakfast in the garden, carrying out plates and cups while Amisra dances ahead of us, narrating an elaborate story about flower princesses. The day is beautiful—autumn sunshine filtering through leaves just beginning to turn, cool air that doesn't quite bite yet. The kind of weather that won't last, that makes you appreciate it more for its impermanence.
We're halfway through breakfast, Amisra explaining the flower princess hierarchy in excruciating detail, when footsteps crunch on gravel behind us.
I know who it is before I turn around. Know from the way my pulse jumps, how awareness prickles across my skin. Valas, because of course it's Valas, appears around the garden path looking unfairly elegant in simple dark robes that catch the light like oil on water.
