Like heknows.
That I’m looking.
That I am panicking about being perceived.
This is somehow worse.
I stomp away to find something else to work on and am irritated all over again when I realize I can actually find what I’m looking for.
How dare he be actually useful when I’m mad at him?
And Iammad at him. Kovan messed up with the priest, big time. Maybe I managed to convince him of that, but he still didn’t actually apologize.
Then heleft, without actually leaving, or telling me one way or another what he’s going to do so I can’t just write him off cleanly yet.
I go to glare at him through the window—
—only to see him tying fresh, lovely wildflowers onto the handle of the basket.
My heart tries to melt in my chest.
I absolutely don’t let it.
But this is past enough.
I stalk out of the house, throwing open the front door and putting my hands on my hips.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I demand.
The sage looks up.
That golden gaze again. The light catches his eyes, making them look like they’re glowing.
All for me.
My breath freezes in my chest as Kovan walks toward me, never blinking.
And then he holds out the dead flowers.
“I wasn’t sure if you were saving these on purpose,” he says.
Stupid, stupid for my eyes to prick with tears that even after I yelled at him he still assumes by default that my opinions have value, that I think and do things on purpose and not because I’m a giant mess.
Maybe, a treacherous part of me thinks, becausehethinks.
And is also a much bigger mess than most people know.
“I meant to,” I find myself saying. “But they’re not worth anything now.”
Kovan frowns at me.
Then he sets the dead flowers on top of a veritable fortune in dragon scales.
Like they still matter.
I can’t let myself believe in him. Not again.
Even if I wish people would givememore chances, this isdifferent.
