Kaidren’s brow furrows. “What rumors?”
“About you being an isha.” I speak slowly, as though this is something I assumed was common knowledge.
There’s no trace of his perfect smile anymore. “What do you mean?”
“I’ve just heard whispers of—” I stop myself. “Never mind. I’m sure it’s just gossip.”
He looks irritated, but quickly clears his expression with a neutral yet strained smile. “What are people saying about me being an isha?”
“Nothing. Only that it’s convenient. That perhaps you invented it to draw notice.”
“What people?” Kaidren’s tone is sharp. “People in the Honorate? Your brother?” His lips twist into a sneer. “Does the Honored Praeceptor not believe me?”
“I shouldn’t have said anything.” I press my hands to myface as though it’s flushing. “I assumed you’d heard. Ignore me. It’s just talk.” I lay a comforting hand on his arm. “Ibelieve you. Besides, it’s impossible to prove to everyone that you’re an isha. Short of a spectacle like Eteria.” I fake a laugh.
Kaidren is hanging on to my every word. “What’s Eteria?”
To anyone raised in Virdei, the question is absurd. But Kaidren grew up in Ophera and, clearly, hasn’t done his research.
I swallow a smirk. “A public demonstration of an isha’s abilities. A chance for isha to show off their skills and aikkari to show off their magic.” Eteria used to be a major event. A few aikkari and civilians were chosen at random. The isha would reveal the aikkari and their sources to a roaring crowd, and the aikkari would in turn show off their magic to the world.
“People used to love it,” I say. “But we haven’t seen an isha for decades, so there hasn’t been Eteria in years.”
I watch Kaidren carefully as I speak. The subtle twitch of his brows, the ticking muscle in his jaw . . . He’s aching to prove himself. And I’ve just dangled the perfect opportunity in front of him.
There’s a deep hunger in his eyes that’s familiar to me. The all-consuming, ravenous urge to prove to the world that you’re more than they expect. Everyone has a weakness. A loose thread I can pull and pull until they unravel. I know Kaidren’s thirst for validation like I know myself. It will be his undoing.
“I appreciate you telling me this, Remira,” he says stiffly.
“Of course.”
“I have to get going, but I’ll see you soon.” He starts to leave but stops. His eyes fixate on my neck. “That isn’t all you’re wearing, is it?”
I glance over my outfit. “Is there something wrong?”
“There’s nothing covering your face.”
I wave him off. “Oh. I’m fine.”
“Absolutely not. It’s snowing.”
“It’s always snowing.”
“I didn’t realize more snow makes you less likely to freeze to death,” he says dryly. “How much farther are you walking?”
In truth, I have no destination. I’m only here to trip him into this conversation. I start to feed him my prepared lie, but he’s already unwinding his own scarf from around his throat.
I frown. “What are you doing?”
“I just told you I’m a man of honor.” Kaidren smirks. “I can’t make that claim and leave you to freeze your face off.” Holding either end of the scarf, he loops it around my neck. With a tiny grin and a tug, he pulls me toward him.
I gasp, stumbling, hands braced on his chest. “I—” My breath catches as our eyes meet. I swallow. “I can’t take your scarf.”
“You’re not.” His eyes dance with amusement. “I’m giving it to you.” Kaidren’s fingers tuck the wool around me, carefully draping my neck and shoulders in warmth, eyes fixed steadily on mine.
I try to bat his hands away. “I can do—”
Smirking, he tugs the scarf over my mouth and nose, muffling my objections. When he’s finished, his gloved hands linger just above my collarbone.
