I don't believe him. But I'm tired of arguing about things neither of us can control. "Are you satisfied with your search? Convinced the scepter isn't at the estate or temple?"
"It's not where we looked. But if it's here at all, those are still the most likely places."
"You are the most stubborn person I've ever met," I mutter.
The look he gives me in the mirror suggests he could say the same.
"I can try to search the estate tonight," I offer. "I'll be there anyway."
"Is that where you're going?"
I nod and straighten my spine as he continues to work the ribbons.
"You seem to know your way around a corset."
The moment the words leave my mouth, something uncomfortable twists in my stomach. It takes me a moment to recognize it as jealousy, another to realize it's bleeding throughthe bond, not quite mine but not quite his either. I close my eyes and shove it down.
"My older sister made sure of it."
My eyes fly open. "You have an older sister?"
"Why does that surprise you?"
"I don't know." I study his reflection. "It's hard to picture you as someone's little brother."
His eyes flick to mine. "Little is a stretch."
"Younger, then,” I correct with a smile. "Is she in Vindariel?"
His hands still on the ribbons. A thread of anguish bleeds through the bond, sharp enough to make my breath catch.
"She's not," he says finally.
"You don't have to talk about her," I say softly.
"I haven't. Not in a very long time." He exhales, and his hands resume their work, slower now. Careful. "She was... is... funny. Kind. Insufferably bossy." Something almost like a smile touches his mouth. "She's the reason I became a warrior."
"To protect her?"
He huffs a quiet laugh. "To be like her."
"Oh." My brows rise. "She must be extraordinary, then."
His expression softens for just a moment before grief shutters it away. The ache of it reaches me through the bond, raw and old and deep. I don't know if it's my empathy or the bond or some tangled combination of both, but I hate that I can feel it. Hate that I can't do anything to ease it.
He tugs the final ribbon into place and steps back. I let my hair fall over my shoulders and turn to face him properly for the first time. He looks me over. His brows crease. His throat bobs as he swallows.
I bite my tongue to keep from asking what he's thinking. Pull back from the bond to give him privacy, in case his thoughts are still with his sister. But when his eyes finally lift to mine, there'sno grief in them. Only hunger, dark and undisguised, and it sets something in me ablaze.
I tell myself it's the bond. The raffin instinct bleeding through. But I don't care. The way he's looking at me right now, like I'm something worth devouring, something worth keeping. It feels like an eternity before either of us moves.
Anticipation coils tight in my chest. I wait for him to speak, to close the distance, to do something. Instead, he turns and walks out of my bedroom without a word. I stare at the empty doorway for longer than I should before I force myself to gather my thoughts and remember why I'm doing this and move.
My steps slow as I exit my room and find him studying the maps and notes scattered over the dining table. He doesn’t look up or say anything, so I continue my walk to the front door. I set a hand on the door knob and stare at the wood as I speak.
"Thank you. For helping me.”
"Were you really with your lover?"
