Evera.
My heart thundered. She’d claimed to be a healer. Even the scent of the shop was reminiscent of her. How had I not made the connection immediately? Around me, the world moved at its own pace. Her name replayed in my mind until it became too sweet not to taste on my tongue.
“Evera.”
The door to the shop sounded, and I withdrew into an alcove where the shadows concealed me. The cobbler and apothecary carried a sizable empty barrel between them.
“You sure you don’t have a use for this anymore?” the cobbler asked.
“I’ve patched it repeatedly, and it still leaks.” The apothecary adjusted his grip. “It’s time for a new one. If you can make use of it for your supplies, it’s yours.”
The pair left, walking toward the cobbler’s shop. My heart thundered in my chest. It was an opportunity, a chance to learn something about the woman—about Evera—and about myself. Yet if I were discovered, it could hinder my chances of contacting Harlan discreetly. I had only moments to consider.
I will be quick.
Drawing a breath, I turned from the alcove and reentered the apothecary’s shop. It was quiet, no sign of another within. A curtain at the back stood as a divider, and I pushed through it. Scanning the back room, I skipped up a few short steps to a study.
Bookshelves lined the walls. Heart in my throat, I turned in half a circle, taking in the countless books along the shelves and the mess of scrolls atop the central table. When Evera mentioned she read, I assumed the literature would be simpler to find. So few people kept books, and certainly not this many, at least not among the lower classes, where literacy was less prominent.
A side door opened, and I spun, basket of goods still held in my hands. I froze. Cinnamon hair blazed bright in the light from outside the back door, and when Evera stepped in and closed it behind her, my breath caught. She turned and saw me. Her eyes narrowed. She crossed the room and scaled the few short steps up to the study, not slowing until she stood before me.
I retreated a step, backing roughly into one of the bookshelves. My head throbbed at the impact, and a few books fell to the ground.I’d known the shelves were there, but her presence had drawn all my attention, lending me to a state of clumsiness I was unaccustomed to.
“I specifically asked you,” Evera said, supporting herself with one hand on the table and bunching her skirts up, “to leave.”
I cocked my head to the side, watching as she revealed the bare skin of one of her legs to me, smooth above her boot. Longing ached at my groin, accompanied by a fleeting hopefulness and excitement. Then I remembered the dagger.Struggling with the clasp, she drew it from its sheath at her calf.
“That’s a bad place to keep a weapon,” I told her bluntly. I could have easily overcome her in the time it took her to wield it.She stepped to me, skirts falling back around her ankles, and pressed the blade to my throat. The heat of her body met mine, and I sucked in a breath. Her closeness was intoxicating, even as she added pressure with the dulled edge. The smell of my own blood mingled with her scent.
Her eyes lowered, then rose again. It was brief, but I caught it. She hadn’t meant to cut me.
“You didn’t hurt me,” I said to reassure her.
She adjusted her grip on the dagger, the anger in her eyes faltering. “I told you to leave,”she repeated coolly.
“You did,” I admitted. When I swallowed, the blade’s pressure stung.
Her brows scrunched, and she scraped the dagger upward with slow and measured pressure, forcing my chin up and to the side. It scratched at my short growth of stubble, and I let out a hiss of air.
Fuck. She’s intense.
“You know something you aren’t telling me,” I said.
Evera took in a deep breath, then released it. “It doesn’t matter.”
The statement was hollow, and my heart lurched at her cool indifference. “It matters to me.” The words escaped my lips barely more than a whisper.
Her lashes fluttered, and she worried at her bottom lip.
Though I could have overpowered her at any moment, I held back. For some reason, I felt she needed to believe she had control over me. I would give her that. If it came to it, I would let her cut my throat if she truly wanted to. The realization was bitter in my mouth.
No, this is all wrong. How is my resolve so easily lost to her allure?
A muscle in her jaw twitched, and she stepped back, lowering the blade. Her downcast eyes were heavy with worry.
Drawing the hood of my cloak lower, I studied her. Every part of my being ached for her. Both to take her against the table and to comfort her. It didn’t make any sense. But none of this did.Disregarding the reason, for it was doing me no good, I surrendered to the call of my heart.
Slowly, I reached for her left hand. Though she turned her head aside, she didn’t resist me. The touch of her fingers, so slight in my grasp, seeped liquid warmth through my body. I trembled, and she raised her gaze. I offered a shy smile, remembering Maerel’s brief words of guidance.
