“You promise you’ll help?” I asked.
“I promise. You can trust me.” Lochlan covered my hand with his own. “I’ll help you the best I know how.”
“Thank you,” I told him softly. “For everything. For coming back for me, for tending to me when I’ve been injured or sick, and now…”
His fingers squeezed mine. “You’re worth it.”
CHAPTER 21
Roderick and Peter woke up very early the next day, both talking in low, excited tones about how much pixie blood they could sell and enumerating its many properties.
“We can sell it for any price,” Roderick said wonderingly. “Any price.”
“What do you think?” Peter asked me. “We could give some to Gil to heal.”
“No!” Roderick immediately boomed. “I’m not giving any of it away to a boy when we could sell it for thousands of gold shillings per vial.”
“I think it sounds gross, anyway,” I answered. “Blood? Ew.” I didn’t even like looking at the stuff. It was gold, just like the pixie dust, but a deeper, richer color. It didn’t congeal like human blood did as long as it was kept cool, and I always felt unsettled when I looked at it. I normally didn’t have a problem turning a blind eye to criminal activity, but there was just something about the situation that was off-putting and disturbing.
“If Gil can’t have or doesn’t want any pixie blood, he’ll need extra time to recover,” Lochlan said, delicately avoiding mentioning that he’d already administered some to me.
“Fine, fine,” Roderick said, waving his hand. “Stay in the room. I don’t care. Peter and I can handle this.”
Over the next few days, Lochlan continued to care for me, even after the effects of the siren’s blood wore off. Despite my telling him that I didn’t need to be pampered, he continued to do so, saying that it was rare for us to be granted free time. I neglected to mention that after Lochlan had used the pixie blood on me, I felt completely well again. After all, he was right—it was rare to be granted free time, and if I had time, I wanted to spend it with Lochlan.
So while Roderick and Peter occupied themselves with selling tiny vials of the pixie blood, Lochlan and I spent a few days quietly swapping childhood stories, eating together, and playing a few card games. I’d wondered if he wanted time alone to express interest in me, but he made no attempt to do so much as hold my hand. Had I read his actions wrongly? It was very likely that he just saw me as a younger-brother sort of person, someone to be protected and entertained, but not at all someone to fall in love with.
With each passing day, I increasingly longed for Lochlan to see me as more than just a co-conspirator or younger brother. I wanted him to see me as a woman. After so many years of relishing the security of being seen as a boy, it was strange to have the desire to want a man to notice me as a woman.
When the week of the royal wedding had arrived, Lochlan spun some story to Roderick and Peter about how he and I were going to the wedding to find more buyers for the pixie blood. When he offered to let them come along, they both immediately declined.
“Other guests may recognize Gil, though,” Peter pointed out. “He was at the hospital when Marco was brought in. It’d be best if he goes in disguise.”
“What disguise do you suggest?” I asked. “Do we still have that black dress?”
Peter waggled his eyebrows. “A grieving widow would look out of place at a wedding, but a dress is still a good idea. I bet you could pass for a girl if you tried, so I vote you go as Lochlan’s date.”
Lochlan and I both froze, but Roderick let out a roar of laughter and slapped his knees, howling fit to burst.
“That’s rich! Just imagine!” He trailed off, laughing until tears streamed from his eyes and he wiped his hand across his cheek. “I’d pay for a dress myself if I can see that sight.”
I instinctively folded my arms across my chest, shoulders curled inward.
“Leave the lad alone. You’re embarrassing him,” Lochlan said. “He doesn’t have to wear skirts if he doesn’t want to.”
Roderick sneered. “No, it’d be best if you were the one in a dress. You already knit and sew and do women’s work anyway. You’re even more girly than Gil.”
They were heading toward another argument, so I pivoted on my heel and left the cottage without a word. I barely paid attention to where my feet led me, and the forest gave way to the outskirts of town before I even realized where I was going.
By the time I slowed, the dirt path had turned to cobblestone beneath my boots, and the quiet rustle of leaves had been replaced by the hum of busy afternoon life. People moved in clusters, laughing, talking, and brushing past one another without a second thought.
I skulked in the shadows, hood up to cover my blonde hair, and watched as I had done innumerable times before. But this time, I wasn’t studying a target or analyzing how best to pick someone’s pocket. In fact, I didn’t pay any attention at all to the men or anyone who looked wealthy.
I watched the women.
They moved differently than the men did. I’d always known that, of course, but I’d neverstudiedit before. In fact, I used to do the opposite, going to great lengths to mimic boys and men to the point that no one would ever question my identity. When I was Gil, I kept my head down, my stride loose and careless, and my shoulders squared.
But now…
