My brows furrow.
“Why do you want to hear me laugh?”
“Oh…” The question catches me off guard. “It’s just… the joy on your face. It seems… infrequent. Sort of priceless, in a way.” I lower my hands for a moment, gathering my thoughts. “I’m glad that I canseeit though. You look like a different person when you laugh. Likesomeone I could’ve—” Could’ve what? Where was I going with that? I let my hands fall but the unfinished sentence hangs in the air.
“… You could’ve?”
I peer over my shoulder at Chiyo and Osheen. Chiyo is doubled over at the waist. Has Osheen landed a blow? My brows begin to rise, but no, Chiyo is laughing so hard that her petite frame shakes. Osheen stands off to the side, arms crossed. Their friendship was forged so quickly, so naturally. The way my friendship with Osheen had been formed.
This…thingwith Kilkenny has been quite the contrary. Rocky from the start. I didn’t trust him at first—now I would gladly fall backward off a cliff knowing he’d be there to catch me. My breath snags. It’s illogical. I’ve known him for nearly two months, and yet I trust him as much as I trust my best friend. Perhaps more… My stomach knots at the internal admittance.
When I turn back to Kilkenny, curiosity is still etched into his features. Did I just almost confess that I can imagine him as someone I could’ve made a life with? If we were in different circumstances. If I was… typical.
Gods, I just need to get to the Verge and thank the rebels that saved Taig before moving on with our lives. Whatever that may look like. But I know Kilkenny has another calling.
He’s a hero and I’m a weakling.
“Durvla …”
The name startles me again and I laugh sardonically. “What?”
“Stop thinking so hard. I have my shields up, and yet you’re making it very difficult for my mind to stay out of yours.”
I press my hands against my head, and he starts laughing again.
“Your hands aren’t going to do a thing to keep your thoughts hidden,” he signs. His laughter is so contagious that I can’t resist joiningin. He grins so widely that his eyes disappear and, gods damn me, it’s so endearing.
“I’m glad I can hear your laughter,” he says.
My smile falters and I want to tell him that I know for a fact that my laughter is atrocious. I snort, without fail, whenever I giggle even remotely hard.
“It’s beautiful.” The smile slowly fades from his lips, replaced by an intensity that causes flutters deep in my belly. My heart kicks and my breath hitches as his face draws closer to mine and his gaze drifts down to my mouth. His face is so close. I want his lips on mine. Eagerness rolls off him in thick waves, mirroring my own sudden impatience. The implications no longer matter to me. I want this. Whateverthisis.
A shadow appears in my peripheral vision. Sword drawn, Kilkenny jumps to his feet so quickly, it’s a wonder he doesn’t knock me over.
But it’s Alys. Just Alys, her eyes wide with surprise, her salt-and-pepper hair peeking out from beneath her headscarf. “I am so very sorry to interrupt. I just came to claim my supper.”
I glance between the two of them—Kilkenny with his sword still drawn, Alys with amusement written all over her face. It’s such a sight that I burst out laughing. I feel the snort as it happens and I groan, making a face. Kilkenny smirks at me as he sheaths his sword again. He doesn’t speak into my mind, but I swear I can read his.I’m glad I can hear your laughter.
It doesn’t take the fire to warm me all over again.
CHAPTER 59
Carys
There’s an incessantdrip,drip, dripsound that grates on my nerves. Cold creeps into my bones, and shivers rack my body. Peeling my eyelids open takes effort, my arms too heavy, my mind sluggish. I stare into the darkness, my heart pounding as I fear that I’ve lost my sight. But slowly I register a faint flicker of a firelight, a candle in the distance. My joints protest as I push myself up, my hands against a cold, hard surface that has me aching all over.
I lift my hand to rub my achy head, but the cumbersome metal wristband makes the movement awkward. My palms are stiff and gritty from the blood caked on my skin. A sob catches in my throat, a choked sound echoing in the small space as my memory returns in a dizzying rush.
Ellynne is dead. I’ve known her my whole life. She’s always been more friend than servant, exuding as much confidence as the queenherself. I already miss her cheeky wit and exuberant dedication. The tug of her hands through my hair and the godsawful fortunes she told. I’ll never see the glee on her face at the prospect of fresh gossip or hear the wildly inappropriate retellings of her sexual conquests again.
My gut lurches, and I scrub my palms against my lap, desperately hoping to remove the blood of the woman who had so lovingly served me.
After Lowri—Eefa—snatched the necklace from my neck, she slammed something hard against my temple. She could’ve killed me.
She should’ve killed me.
I’d trade my life any day to save Ellynne, my mother. Aneirin.
