When I look up, his eyes are fierce again.
And they’re meeting my gaze—boldly, firmly. Like he’s determined and not ashamed and defensive.
For the first time since the priestess arrived.
And for the first time since she left, my lips smile.
Not my heart, though. And the movement is a bitter one.
“You have only known me for a day,” I remind him.
“You are right,” Kovan says slowly. “But I have seen enough. You haven’t seen enough ofmeto believe me, though—and nor should you, after what I’ve shown you so far. But Iwillchoose you, Tasa. And everything that means.”
What in the worlddoesthat mean?
Oh gods, if he’s going to just take onmyconscience as his moral compass in place of the priesthood’s ideals, that is not a responsibility I want.
Maybe that makes me a hypocrite, that I’m not willing to be in charge of his choices either. But that’s because they should behis.
But also absolutely because I of all people could not be trusted with a sage’s power.
I start, “That’s not what I meant—”
“Do you have a basket?”
I pause. “What?”
“A basket,” Kovan repeats. “A bowl. A bucket. A vessel to hold items, ideally that one could carry—”
“Yes, I know what a basket is, thank you. Why?”
“Because you are right,” he says again.
My heart thumps.He doesn’t say things he doesn’t mean.
“Because this is my problem to fix—myburden,” Kovan says, “not yours.”
“And you... need a basket.”
“If you don’t have one, I will find another—”
“No, that’s not—oy.” I cross into the kitchen, throw open a few cabinets until I find it, and haul it back to him. “Here.”
“Thank you,” he says, too seriously.
It is abasket.
But maybe—maybe it’s also a choice.
And helping someone be able to make it.
When Kovan finally, finally moves—it’s toward the front door.
“Are you going to go down the mountain?” I ask softly.
He pauses, turns.
His golden eyes are fierce.
