“Now that you’re free, you should have the design you want the most. The one that celebrates your courageandyour freedom,” he says, and I realize he’s right.
“The crescent moon over the Panterran Mountains, then,” I saydecisively. And then I smile at Trick. “I’ve always been fond of snow leopards, and they lived there.”
My friend grins at me, at this bit of shared history between us—the knowledge of the wooden carving he gave me that I hold so dear. “Maybe a snow leopard, too?” he says.
“Another time. Just the moon and mountains for now. Would that be okay?” I ask Andras.
“Yes.” He bends to his saddlebag for a small silver box, and I go lightheaded at the realization that all this talk of art and design is well and good, but now he’s going to pokeneedlesinto myskin.
Needles.
Into my skin.
I raise my hand. “Is it too late to change my mind?”
Kaelen laughs, and Andras holds up a needle.
Definitely too late.
Fora people who sternly adhere to such a rigid code of honor, the Sylvan are surprisingly creative and skilled artisans. Aristocrats and rich merchants from all of Altarra regularly travel to the entrance of the Whispering Glade to purchase intricately designed jewelry. Sylvan paintings and body art are rumored to be almost otherworldly in their beauty. However, few outsiders are ever permitted to view them.
—Honor, Etiquette, and Guest Right Amongst the Sylvan, authors uncredited
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Turns out, it’s not as bad as I feared.
Kaelen stays with me the entire time, holding my other hand, which helps.
Andras works quickly, but his artistry is breathtaking. While he inks the design into my arm, the others move the cage wagon and bodies into the trees. They also take the bridles and saddles off the bounty hunters’ horses and set the animals free.
“No use announcing what happened here,” Sergeant Neville says, using a branch to brush dirt and grass over the bloodied ground where the intruders fell.
When they finish, Bern and Sergeant Neville mount up and set a watch while Chitai and Elianna pack up our wagon. By the time they’re ready to go, Andras has finished my tattoo, and I stare down at it with awe.
“It’s wonderful!” The art is so vivid I can almost see the snow-capped mountains shine in the light from the crescent moon and feel the chill of the mountain breeze on my skin. “It’s beautiful beyond anything I could have imagined, Andras. I don’t know how I could ever thank you enough for this.”
This deadly, aristocratic Sylvan lord, who was compassionate enough to change the hated brand to a thing of beauty, looks into my eyes for a long moment and then nods deeply. “Your tears honor me. They are thanks enough.”
Ididn’t even realize I was crying.
I throw my arms around Andras and hug tight, immediately realizing my mistake when the Sylvan goes stiff. I vastly overstepped the bounds of Sylvan propriety. I take a hurried step back, but Andras awkwardly pats my arm.
“I’m sorry,” I say, my face burning. “I don’t—I’m not exactly a hugger. I don’t know why I did that, I just—Thank you. Thank you so much.”
“It’s fine,” he says hastily, backing up a step. “You’re very welcome.”
When he turns and strides away, he’s almost running.
Beside me, Kaelen’s eyes narrow as he watches Andras leave.
“What’s wrong?”
At his sides, his hands slowly tighten into fists, then relax, but his forehead furrows. “I … Nothing.”
“Didn’t look like nothing.”
He shakes his head. “A strange impulse to grab him by the neck and break his spine, because you touched him.”
