I scoff lightly. “If you’ve come all this way to protect me from bandits, I think you’ve wasted your time. Elarium is far more valuable than I am. They would have let me pass without a second glance.”
“Value comes from what is needed,” he says, still watching the forest slide past the window. “And you are needed.”
The words hollow me out, only to fill the emptiness with a hundred flurrying butterflies.
A sudden stillness settles over him, his breath catching as though he has only just realized what slipped free. His head turns sharply toward me, eyes wide.
“To balance my accounts,” he adds at once. “That is your value.”
I nod too quickly, too emphatically. “Yes. Of course.”
That is obviously what he meant. He could not have meant anything else.
And yet, for a fleeting moment, goosebumps ripple across my skin.
We travel for hours after that, eventually breaking free of the forest without incident. I am deeply grateful. I have had enough adventure for several lifetimes in the past few weeks. I have no desire to add a bandit attack to the list.
As the carriage settles into a quieter rhythm, the windows fogging softly with our breath, the blanket across my lap growing dangerously comfortable, I reach into my coat and pull out a book.
Thebook.
The one Luceran tore cleanly in half.
At first he only glances over with disinterest, but then recognition flickers across his face. His gaze fixes on the book, as though the sight of it has reopened an old wound.
Neve, you idiot.
I slide the book back into my coat before his rage has him throwing me from the carriage and ordering the sprites to turn around and return to Castle Frostwyn, but instead he lifts a hand and shakes his head.
“No,” he says quietly. “It’s fine. I would not have mended it for you if I did not want you to read it.”
I nod my thanks, then draw it out again and open it, flipping through the pages to find my place. I can feel his attention on me as I search.
“It seems you require a bookmark,” he remarks.
I tilt my head at the observation. Odd, but accurate.
His gaze drops to the silver-braided tassel edging the hem of his cloak. Without hesitation, without even pausing to consider it, he grips it and tears it free from the fabric.
Then he holds it out to me.
I startle. Did that really just happen?
I reach to take it, but he doesn’t release it immediately. He holds it a fraction longer than expected, and I don’t know whether he means to brush his thumb against my hand, but he does.
The contact sends a cool shock through me, racing up my arm, through my chest, and settling warm and low in my stomach.
Then he lets go.
The tassel falls loose into my palm.
I swallow hard. The air is always colder when he’s around, so why does it suddenly feel as if I’m sweating? Why is the collar of my dress choking me?
When I find my place, I lay the braided cord down the centre of the book, ready to hold my place for next time.
Then I read.
I curl into the velvet seat, tucking my legs beneath me and pulling the blanket higher over my lap, letting the gentle sway of the carriage lull me into stillness. Before long, I brace an elbow against the wall and rest my cheek in my hand, entirely absorbed in the tale unfolding.
