“I know.”
She shook her head. “No, please. Listen.”
“Is Kirk right?” he asked. “Has the Prince—my brother—seduced you?”
She grabbed his tunic and yanked him closer. “I almost died fighting him to defend you while you were lying there helpless.” She unbuttoned the coat, holding it open to show him her ripped and blood-stained clothes. “Look at me.”
“Your wounds are healed,” he said softly. “And you’re alive, becausehesaved you. Why?”
She seized his chin with her fingers. “Because he wants to use me, the same way that odious little man”—she jabbed her finger at Kirk. This time, the brownie flinched noticeably—“and his master want to use you. You’re not an imp anymore, Kaelan. You’re not a Pixie. You’re an Elf and your father is the King. And he wants you dead. And soon he will be sending his assassins to make it so. Welcome to the life of nobility. Everyone either wants you dead or wants something from you. Don’t trust any of them.”
“Including you?” Kaelan asked archly.
“Especially me,” she shot back. “I’m tempted to kill you and Endreas and then myself, then what will happen to all of these so-called prophecies? Hm?”
Kaelan plucked at her arm. “You’re just tired, Magda. Why don’t you—?”
“Of course I’m tired. I told you I was tired. I almost died to defend you and for what? What is any of this for? Everyone in Alfheim is cruel and evil and a liar. They’re all guilty of something... what am I trying to save? What am I fighting for?”
Soft, furry warmth brushed her jawline. “For me.”
Tears filled her eyes and spilled over. She brushed Hero’s head with her fingertips.
Kaelan’s hand wrapped around her upper arm, firm, but gentle. “Come inside, Magda. You need to sleep.”
All the fire drained out of her and she nodded, allowing him to guide her into the dim hut. There, she collapsed onto a reed mat and into sleep.
“How long have I been out?” Drowsy still, she pushed up from the mat where she had been curled, surprised at how deeply and comfortably she’d slept.
“Through the day and night. It’s almost dawn,” Kaelan said from the other side of the room.
The shelter was little more than an underground hole, the floors laid with flat stone. A small hearth was built into one wall, dusty from disuse. Pale light shafted through a vent in the domed ceiling, which was high enough at the center for her to stand upright. Near the walls, she could barely sit up without scraping her head on the branch-work panels that covered the interior.
“What are you doing up so early?” she asked, wiping the sleep from her eyes.
Kaelan’s hands worked loose branches together in a quick, effortless motion, weaving them into a flat square.
“I can’t seem to sleep very well,” he said.
She shoved off Endreas’s coat, which had served as her blanket, and reached for a cup and pitcher sitting on a low bench near the rounded door. “Where’s Hero? And Kirk?”
“I don’t know where Hero is,” he said, one brow arching. “I can’t speak to rats.”
She drank. Gritty and warm. Nowhere near as thirst-quenching as the water Endreas had given her. Ignoring the dull twinge in her stomach inspired by the thought of him, she emptied the stoneware cup and filled another. Stretching her neck, she felt better, stronger.
“Kirk left those for you,” he said, lifting his chin towards a set of clothes and boots sitting on the hearth. “He said you should dress like a properLjósálfror you’ll be laughed out of the Spire before you have a chance to challenge Lavana. Also, he said, you should bathe.”
She sniffed, her nose wrinkling. “He’s right. I stink.”
The corner of his mouth quirked. His attention dropped again to his weaving.
“He went to check in with his master,” he said. “There’s some food here.”
He picked up a basket from beside him and held it out to her. She took it and flipped up the top. Grabbing a hunk of brown bread, she devoured it in seconds.
“You shouldn’t eat so quickly,” he said, “if you haven’t eaten in a while, which I assume you haven’t.”
She gulped down another cup of water. “I’ve been busy.”
