Just dragons.
That had to mean something.
Heavy footsteps thundered across the floor of the main room. I dropped the figurine, snatched the nearest tin, and bustled over to the doorway just as Rune reached it himself. He scowled down at me, then looked over my shoulder at his bedroom. His gaze immediately swung to his chest of drawers, right where the dragon figurines watched us from the shadows.
“What the fuck are you doing in my bedroom?” he growled, his lips curling around his tusks.
I held up the tin, smiling tightly. “Getting your salve for you. I’m guessing it’s in here?”
He narrowed his eyes. “I don’t mind you staying at my house, but you can’t just barge into my room anytime you like.”
“I’d hardly call itbarging.”
“Just don’t go in there. All right?”
“Sure.” I skirted past him, somehow managing to squeeze past his body. The cat was on the floor now, eagerly lappingup the milk Rune had set out for her. The image of Rune fussing over her came rushing back. The gentle way he’d held her, calming down her terror of the storm. It tugged at my heartstrings and made me wish I could justaskhim about the dragon. No more traps. No more games. I so badly wanted to get everything out on the table, so we could somehow move on from here.
So, Rune, where’s that dragon of yours, and do you mind if I borrow it for a little while? Don’t worry. I’m not here to assassinate you. And even if I was, you’re far too kind for a head-chopping!
I sighed. If only it could be as easy as that.
If only my family were a part of something like…the Cheese Guild. Then I wouldn’t have to worry about stealing something, let alone facing the first time I had to shoot an arrow into someone’s head. We could just sit around the dinner table, tasting all manner of cheese from around the world. Andthatguild would never enforce any vows of celibacy or demand their members give up Silva Sweetwater novels.
“Frida? Everything all right?” Rune came up behind me. I realized I’d been standing dumbly in the middle of his cottage for a moment longer than what might be considered normal.
“Yes, hi.” Pasting on a bright smile, I spun toward him. “We need to sort out your wounds. Sit.”
“Let me get the fire going.” He stepped around me, moving toward the hearth.
“Rune,” I said. “You’rewounded. Please let me help you.”
He grunted. “Just let me start the fire, and then you can fuss over the welts all you like.”
“I’m not fussing,” I said. Assassins and thieves didn’t fuss. And if they did, they certainly didn’t do so over their marks. Sighing, I shook my head at myself. This was such a mess.
Still, I waited while he lit the fire. After a few moments, flames roared in the hearth, casting a soothing heat through the room. Rune stood and lumbered over to the chair. When he sat heavily on its frame, he looked up at me expectantly.
“Go on then,” he said.
I rolled my eyes, kneeling before him. “You act like I’m being unreasonable when all I’m trying to do is help you. You must be in pain.”
“When you’ve dealt with these things as long as I have, you get used to it.” His gaze met mine, and the tension around his eyes softened. “But I do appreciate what you’re doing. I normally just let them fester, which makes them stick around a long time.”
“So theydohurt,” I said, spinning the lid off the tin.
He shifted uneasily on the chair. “A bit.”
I took that to mean they stung like scorpions. He just didn’t want to admit it, least of all to someone he thought was here to take something from him. Fair enough. Gently, I spread my fingers across the dark green salve, and the scent of brine, mud, and crushed leaves filled the air. After I had a good glob of it, I leaned forward and gently brushed it across one of the welts on his neck.
Rune flinched, hissing between his clenched teeth.
I stilled, then sat back on my heels. “Sorry, I’m trying to be gentle.”
“It only stings when you first touch it. That one’s starting to feel better already.” He gave me a nod. “Keep going.”
I leaned back in. Up close, his skin was such a soft shade of moss, illuminated by the glow of the hearth-fire. His face was only inches from mine, and my eyes were caught for a moment on his full lips and the glint of the tusks that curved in each corner of them. The tips were deadly sharp, and if he wanted, he could easily ensnare me with one.
My pulse thrummed in my neck, and I turned my attention to the next welt. With timid fingers, I dabbed more salve onto the wound. He didn’t make a noise this time, though his cheeks twitched, as if he were clenching his jaw as tightly as possible.
