She blushes and looks away. She doesn’t say anything, doesn’t brush it off, only turns her face as her cheeks turn a bright red.
We sit together while she finishes the cake, and I don’t talk, don’t move too much, and don’t push for more. She’s a skittish cat, and any wrong word or sudden shift will send her running. I can feel how thin this moment is, how easy it would be to break. So, I keep still and watch her eat, fascinated with the way she breaks off small pieces of cake with her fork and brings them to her mouth, the bracelet glinting on her wrist every time she lifts her hand. I let myself enjoy this for what it is. A few minutes of her time. The crumbs she’s giving me. I’m grateful for every single one.
Chapter Eleven
Sorina
I keep losing my focus. Julie is talking about a shipment of glass jars that came more broken than intact, and I’m nodding along, but my hands are doing the work on their own while my head is somewhere else. The bracelet slides on my wrist when I reach for a vial, and the light glints off it. I’m back in the Highhalls, Korr’s thick fingers working the tiny clasp, his voice low and reverent when he said, “pretty like you.”
I’m smiling. I catch it and press my lips together, but a minute later the smile is back.
“You’re in a good mood,” Julie says.
She’s watching me over the counter with that look she gets when she thinks she knows something.
“Am I?”
“You’ve been grinning at the chamomile for the last ten minutes.”
I roll my eyes. She’s right. I am in a good mood, and the reason is a massive golem with cracked stone-like skin and a voice that sounds like gravel shifting.
I don’t smile about men. I trained myself out of it during my marriage, and after Bran was gone, I stayed away from the opposite sex like it was my job. But Korr isn’t Bran. He’s not like any man I’ve ever met.
Every time I turn my wrist, the bracelet shifts, and I think about how careful he was, how his big hands managed a clasp meant for human fingers. I think about the cream cake that was so delicious, and the way he sat across from me without crowding me, even though he’s a literal giant compared to my diminutive stature. There it is again. I’m smiling.
Julie asks if I want to grab lunch at the Pickaxe.
I open my mouth to say yes but change my mind at the last moment.
“I think I’ll get something and take it up to the Highhalls. Maybe eat with Korr, if he isn’t busy.”
Julie’s eyebrows disappear under her long bangs. She bumps my shoulder with hers, light and playful.
“He’s growing on you.”
“He’s not…” I say, but there’s no conviction in it, so I give up.
Julie takes my wrist and lifts it gently, turning the bracelet toward the window where it catches the sunlight.
“This is beautiful,” she says.
“It is, isn’t it?” I lower my arm and fiddle with one of the stones. “I’m afraid I didn’t react as I should have, so... you know. Maybe I can make it up to him by bringing lunch.”
Julie shoos me with both hands.
“Go, then. Do your thing.”
I laugh and untie my apron, hang it on the hook by the door, and step out into the corridor.
The bakery is three stalls down from the apothecary. I buy a meat and potato pie, and the baker wraps it in cloth and hands it to me steaming hot from the oven. I feel myself blushing as I carry it to the lift and pull the lever for the Highhalls. I’m jittery, anxious… I don’t know why. It’s nothing special, just a nice gesture to let Korr know that I’m paying attention to him as well. An apology for being so cold and distant when I am, technically, his wife.
The living room is empty. The fire is low, and there are books abandoned on almost every surface, but Korr isn’t here. The man reads a lot. I walk down the hall toward his bedroom. The door is open, and I peer inside. My eyes go straight to his bed – massive, neatly made, furs smoothed flat across it. I stare at it for a minute before I realize what I’m doing and step back, my facehot. What am I thinking? I’m standing in his doorway looking at his bed like a fool.
I remember him telling me he spends most of his time in his workshop, so I exit our chambers and carry the pie one door further down the main corridor.
I find him hunched over his worktable, his broad back curved over something I can’t see, tools and scraps of metal spread all around him.
“Hi.”
