Paulo took off his spectacles, folded them carefully, and placed them back in his shirt pocket. “I can hide you in my book cart and take you to the port.”
Amina dropped her head, shielding her face from view. “If Eto sees you—”
“He won’t,” Paulo said with certainty, rubbing a hand over his shiny head, which was speckled with sweat.
Under more scrutiny, Risa realized the burns on his head had not been caused by a particularly brutal sun. The collection of cicatrices resembled the shape of a crescent moon—if jagged and uneven.
Now she understood how Paulo knew so much, and why he was concerned. He had left his former life behind and become someone new. Now he wore too-small glasses and worked in a quiet place surrounded by books and seemed content with a hard-earned life despite the scars that came with it. He’d transformed into the kind of man willing to put his own life on the line to help a friend and two strangers, all because it might be the right thing to do.
Guilt swelled in Risa’s throat. She was still pretending to be someone, though she couldn’t quite remember who. A girl withgood luck, a girl who was only journeying along in hopes of breaking her curse, a girl who would die if she didn’t keep her end of a bargain she never agreed to. It didn’t matter which role she played, what mask she wore; all of it was a lie to save herself.
After all, who else would?
CHAPTER NINETEENIn Which There Is Far Too Much Resting
Paulo’s home was on the second floor of his bookstore. A steal, he claimed, with a cheeky glance at Amina, who responded with what Risa assumed was a laugh but actually sounded more like a screaming goat. He herded the girls to a comfortable room with stacks of books scattered across the floor and lining the walls, and insisted they take his bed. An alcove of a bathroom was tucked in the corner, closed off by a folding screen that depicted a peaceful scene with mountains and trees. When Javi asked about his own chambers, Paulo directed him to a lumpy chair in the only other room, the bookseller’s hardened face brooking no argument.
Amina graciously let Risa use the bath first, though Risa suspected it was just because she looked far worse for wear and smelled the ripest.
After spending lots of time vigorously scrubbing away the dirtand grime that came with an escape from a murderous town—two, she realized—long rides on horseback, and a trek underneath a mountain range, Risa sat back in the tub and glared at the ceiling.
She had to find a way to leave. She had to learn to be selfless.
Her mask had begun to crack, even before that stupid kiss. Her reasons for remaining with Javi had quickly diminished, especially with Amina there to provide actual protection. Sure, being away from him robbed her of breath and life, but she was beginning to feel like accompanying him any farther was going to endanger him more than ever before. It had been a lot easier to wave away her bad luck when she didn’t like him much; now she couldn’t even say she hated him.
Breaking her curse was second to breaking Brunhilda’s spell.
She swirled her fingers through the soapsuds still floating in the water. As if Brunhilda had heard her, the spell that tied her to Javi twinged around her heart.
How had she managed to shuck that vile hag’s magic before? She recalled being very determined to annoy her, but being aggravating couldn’t be the answer for this curse, too. If it were, she would have broken the curse long ago. Being aggravating was one of her few skills, after all. And Javi was maddening enough to trigger her ire.
Or maybe there were other ways. If she slayed a dragon or solved some troll’s riddles three. True love’s first kiss—
She felt a flush start up her neck at the thought. Scratch that. Not because she was in love with Javi! No, no, it was because she had absolutely no idea what true love even looked like. Had no idea what the whole thing entailed. According to books and songs sung in the town square, it was all about shortness of breath and palpitating hearts and stolen glances—
“Risa!”
What the—
Javi skipped into the alcove but stopped short at the sight of her slinking beneath the surface of the water, hands scrabbling to cover herself.
“I—thought you were finished—” He turned around, forearm over his eyes. “Shit!”
“That’s not how you pronounce the wordsorry,” she said, hoping she came off unflustered. Unfortunately, the words sounded breathless and airy, like her heart was planning a daring escape from her chest.
Which it was.
“Sorry!” He stood straighter. “Paulo sent me to give you these.” He lifted a parcel of woolen fabrics over his head.
“Then give them to me,” she said, sinking deeper into the tub until water lapped at her chin.
“Right. Of course.” But he made no move to do so, hovering near the alcove entrance, paralyzed with indecision.
“Well, go on!”
“Sorry!” He spun around twice and hurried over to drop the clothes in a pile by the tub. “Right, here. Clothes.” He stood there, staring at her forehead, as if caught in some trance. She watched the knot in his throat bob and his cheeks turn a fascinating shade of mauve.
“And you still don’t see it, right?” he asked, his voice an octave higher than usual.
