Green eyes unreadable, she glanced at him, then back at the trees. “Rest assured, if I crawled up to his majesty’s throne begging for a title someone else claimed long ago, someone with prison keys would take exception to my living arrangements. But don’t worry.” Despite her words, her voice carried no note of reassurance. “Since this is the king’s special request, I’m sure all we do on his behalf will be forgiven.”
Yes, he was counting on that.
“You were a child when you lost your lands. You had little choice. You might be forgiven, too.” He didn’t believe his own words, but it felt necessary to say them.
“No one would believe me. Everywhere I turn, I would be met with the same snide derision as your friends.” Her tone did not change, but something in the way she said the wordfriendsmade him flinch, the way it had in her cottage. “And it isn’t as if whoever owns it now would freely part with it. The king’s favorite cousin?” She made a derisive noise. “I don’t have the coin for an advocate.IfI wasn’t arrested,ifsomeone took meon as a charity case, I would spend the rest of my life tied up in legal strife, unable even to enjoy my so-called legacy until I was an old woman.”
“Enough,” he said, surprising himself with a conciliatory laugh. “Clearly you’ve thought about this a great deal; I didn’t mean to imply you hadn’t.” No, like a beast, he’d meant to imply she was no different than the people she mocked. Than him.
But she was. She was quite different than anyone he’d met.
“And, anyway,” she went on haltingly, tucking a stray hair behind her ear and turning her face to the trees, “I don’t want it. This is my home, now.”
“The home you made with Johanna,” he supplied, putting his pen away. She didn’t answer, but when he looked up, a stroke of happiness had swept over her face, butter yellow. “You must tell me more about her, some day.”
At that, she turned to look at him. Studied him again, like she had when they met.
No; not quite like that.
She graced him with a slight nod. “I may.” She peered at his hands. Rather than hide his palm, he showed it to her. “Why didn’t you tell me about your indenture?”
“It wasn’t important,” he settled on.
“It’s the reason you’re after the bird. Because the king himself owns you. I’d say that’s important.”
“Not me,” he deflected. “My debt.”
“Is there a difference?”
His pulse quickened as he hoped he wouldn’t be forced to lie to her; quicker as he wondered why he cared. He nodded his chin at her. “You haven’t told me your reason.”
“Money,” she said tersely. “You’ve seen the state my house is in. I want a proper roof. To mend my fence to keep out dogs.”
“A painting or two?” Inwardly, he grimaced. He didn’t know why he said it. He hadn’t meant to offend her when he’d brought it up, with all he’d said, in her cottage. Even then, it seemed unwise to risk offending a heavily armed woman with an unpredictable temper; but something had compelled him to speak freely, in a way he never had.
And here he was, risking it again. He couldn’t seem to help it.
“Money,” she said again, flatly. “Same as you.”
But, like him, he knew money wasn’t her only reason. She’d come to him determined to put him off altogether. So she could ply him for information and take her services to a higher bidder, he’d assumed. At first. Then he’d seen the effects of her mysterious illness, the one she said he couldn’t cure.
And then, when she’d swallowed Sabina’s spell, she’d looked so afraid.
That fear fresh in his mind, he decided he would risk this, as well. “Since we’re sharing all our secrets,” he broached, “will you tell me why you’ve had leaves sticking to your hands?”
“Tree sap.” Her tone brooked no contradiction. He didn’t believe her. “I rode into the city on a lumber cart. I’ve had nothing to wash it away with. Oil works best.”
He had plenty of oil among his provisions and she knew it. She thought he wouldn’t share. Or she wouldn’t accept help.
Or she was hiding something, something else. Something strange.
He cut through the dance. “Does it trouble you?”
At his uncharacteristic bluntness, her forehead wrinkled. “I– yes. A bit.”
“Here,” he said, handing her his gloves.
She took them, pressing her lips together. “Thank you.” She pulled them on, flexing her fingers, testing her grip on the handle of her knife. They fit her perfectly. She saw him watching her, and her lips turned up in what might have almost been a smile.
