And the translation is scripted above it in a bold scroll.
I suppressed the smile that tugged at my lips.
“It does sound better that way,” I offered, failing to entirely withhold the amusement in my voice.
She regarded me with suspicion.
“What else does it say?” I queried, keeping my tone level this time in an attempt to turn her focus back to the book.
With a slight crook to her lips, Evera broke my gaze and repositioned herself, bending her knees and turning both legs to the left, toward the hearth. Though she wasn’t touching me, the shift gave her an air of leaning in, and I welcomed the closeness.
Evera traced the elegant handwritten script with her finger as she read, trailing over listed family lines, names of relatives long deceased in a bloodline I held no knowledge of. Not even my mother’s name had been included.
“Line lost,” Evera read.
“What does that mean?”
With a sympathetic draw of her brows, she traced an inked illustration of a fox with three kits, then trailed her finger along the delicate curves of the white flowers sketched beside them. “It means you might be the last.”
“The book is old. There is no way to know. It does not list my mother’s name.” I resisted the urge to add that if I were the last of my kind, it would be no misfortune, knowing that such a statement would dispirit her. “What else does it say?”
“Perception is heightened among those of this line,” she read on. “They obtain and remember information easily, notice the finer details of expression and posturing, and can come to conclusions based on slight signs picked up in their sphere that others would likely miss.”
“Such things are not magic; all men of the guard have those skills. It’s how we are trained.”
“And all of them have skills as honed as yours?”
I frowned, and she raised a brow pointedly.
Brushing off her question, I posed one of my own. “Your mentor spoke of gifts. Does it mention anything on that note?”
She made a little thoughtful noise as she scanned the page. Though I could have read over her shoulder, I didn’t want to look away from her profile—the way her lashes curled, the slight upturn of the tip of her nose, the pillowing of her lips.
“Their gift is the ability to perceive magic,” she said as she found the section she searched for. “In the tangible form of light.” She paused, and her lips twisted. “And to manipulate that magic. What does that mean?”She turned to look at me; her cheeks reddened when she caught me staring.
“I do not know,” I said on a breath, finding it difficult to focus on the information despite its importance. “I have no such ability.” Swallowing, I broke our heated gaze and nodded to the book.“When do the gifts develop?”
“Between the ages of five and seven,” she said without having to search for the answer. “It is the same with all of the lines of the gods.”
A somberness fell over me. Though I held no love for my monster—I despised the existence he bound me to and the horrors he’d brought upon my life, the pain he caused—a strange feeling of disappointment swelled.
“Perhaps there is some reason your gift hasn’t presented itself yet. It may still—”
“It’s alright.”I didn’t want her pity. I offered my hand, and when she gave me the book, I set it beside the satchel.“Thank you. For doing this for me.”For even the thought of bringing the book. And, perhaps for the pitying, too. For caring.
Evera’s smile was faint. This time, when her eyes met mine, our gazes held. The sunlight filtering through the windows lit her hair, illuminating her curls with a halo of white light. The side of her face that lay in shadow contrasted with the other boldly, yet everything about her in that moment spoke of a softness. A gentleness.
To lighten the thickness that hung between us, I nudged her.“And thank you for reading to me. Veritran always lectured me for my reading voice. He said my tone was too flat. He would be impressed with yours, though.”
“You—” Evera pinched her face into a glower and shoved me. I rumbled my amusement, and when she grinned at me, I leaned in, unable to resist her. She arched up to me. Her soft exhale on my lips sent a shudder down my spine and made my stomach leap.
No, not until I earn her name.With restraint, I raised my head to kiss the tip of her nose and drew back. “Rest,”I told her, even as a look of disappointment flashed across her face.
“I don’t need to rest,” she countered, her retort lacking its usual sharpness.
“You do.” I rolled my cloak up and lay it on the floor, making a pillow of sorts. I patted it. “It’s only midday. We have time.” When she did not concede, I added, “I could read to you if you would like. As I said, my reading voice is terribly dull—it may help put you to sleep.”
Sighing, Evera lay back and rested her head on my cloak.“Very well, a short rest.” She turned to her side, curling her knees to her chest, and set her green-blue eyes on me before fluttering them and then closing them with a yawn.
