She nodded. “In hindsight. Bad idea.”
“Let’s get you home.”
“Mmmm. Far. Legs no work.”
A pause. “I’ll carry you.”
“What?”
“Don’t overreact.” Before she could try to talk me out of it, I looped my arms under her legs and hauled her from the ground. Her head dropped against my chest, and she sighed.
“Embarrassing.”
“Don’t be. It happens to everyone at least once.”
“Not you, I bet.”
“You’d be surprised.”
She lifted her head for a moment to pin her narrowed gaze on me. “But. Grouchy and brooding.”
Shaking my head, I carried her away from the dance floor and toward the road that led back to my shop. The laughter and music and buzz of conversation faded into a dull roar, and shadows crept around the corners of the buildings to replace the lantern light. Daella relaxed into me, closing her eyes.
I carried her up the steps and through the door, and then went straight to the bedroom. When I lowered her onto the bed after pulling back the quilt, she grabbed my hand. Steam whorled between us.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
My heart clenched. “You’re welcome, Daella.”
Almost instantly, she fell asleep. I pulled the covers across her body, and then grabbed a glass of water from the kitchen. I tried not to think too much on what I’d done—that I’d spent my evening looking after someone who worked for the enemy, and that I didn’t regret a single moment of it.
In fact, for the first time in a very long while, I didn’t spend my midnight hours on the roof glaring at the stars. I went straight to the sofa, and I slept. Perhaps it was because I might have my enemy right where I wanted her.
12
DAELLA
My head felt as if it had been sawed in half, like the logs I’d spent all yesterday collecting. Blearily, I cracked open my eyes and squinted up at the ceiling. Wooden beams crisscrossed overhead, illuminated by the orange glow spilling in through the windows. Ouch. The light hurt, too.
Last night…it had been achingly brief, thanks to my drinking a measly two pints too quickly. But my heart swelled when I thought of the market square. All those lanterns filling everyone’s faces with light. The bard and his silly song about Isveig. The taste of Lilia’s brew on my tongue, sweet and intoxicating. And Rivelin…
My heart beat a little faster. He’d carried me home and tucked me into bed, and there, on the bedside table, he’d left water.
The irritable, angry elf who hated everything I was and everything about where I came from. He’d taken care of me. Obviously, it hadn’t been an entirely selfless move. I was his assistant for the Games, and he needed my help to build the boat. If he’d left me there to down a few more pints, I’d be nothing short of useless for the entire day. I’d never been drunk myself, but I’d seen plenty of the castle denizens back in Fafnir vomiting up their lungs after a particularly raucous feast.
It was the only explanation that made sense—he didn’t want me to be a burden when he needed my help. Only hours earlier, he’d trapped me against a tree and put a dagger to my throat. And then he’d decided tocarry me.
With a steadying breath, I threw aside the quilt and put my bare feet on the floor. I didn’t remember taking my shoes off last night. Had he done that, too? I blinked at the water on the bedside table, my mind struggling to make sense of the past few days. It all suddenly felt too real—too big to comprehend.
I’d spent so long in captivity or traipsing through the empire doing Isveig’s bidding that freedom always felt like an impossibility—even a brief moment of it. And now I was here in a strange land surrounded by strange people, and I’d never felt more light, like a heavy weight had finally fallen from my shoulders. I hadn’t seen it coming. I’d never even dreamed something like this could happen to me, and since being here, a part of me had tried to avoid thinking about what this could mean.
That there truly was a life outside of Fafnir Castle. That, if I played my cards right, a place like this could be my future, not just a passing dream.
Sighing, I drank the water and then wandered out of the bedroom, following the scent of food. The living room was silent and empty, and there was no sign of Rivelin or Skoll, though the blanket on the sofa had been folded into a neat little square and placed on top of his pillow.
I nibbled on my bottom lip, a guilty twang going through me. Perhaps we should take turns on the sofa. It only seemed fair.
The scent of crispy bacon and fried potatoes led me through the archway into the kitchen. A plate of food had been left on the counter, covered by a cloth. While I’d been sleeping the drink away, Rivelin had been up and at ‘em, cooking me breakfast and getting a head-start on the day.
