She turned her back to him, every shift of muscle signaling this was the end of their conversation, but he couldn’t let her have the last word. Not after what had just happened.
“You know,” he said, “I’m not the only one lying here.”
She pivoted. “You think so? Tell me, Captain, what exactly have I lied about?”
He lowered his voice to make sure neither Genna nor Quint heard. “The symbols.”
She blinked at him. The only sign he’d caught her off guard.
“If I ask, will you answer me honestly?”
He glanced down at her hand, at her fidgeting fingers. Her eyes followed his gaze, and her fingers stopped moving.
She crossed her arms over her chest, guarded once more. “Why don’t you ask and find out?”
“Can you read them?”
Her lips quirked, just a slight tug, before she said, “No.”
And somehow, he knew she was telling the truth. He moved toward the end of the dock, where Quint waited for him.
“But they feel familiar.”
He stopped, twisting back to stare at her. Confusion raked a cool talon down the center of her forehead.
“Like I’ve seen them somewhere before,” she said, “but can’t figure out where.”
He gave her a small nod and an even smaller smile. “That wasn’t so hard, now was it?”
She shoved him playfully. “I hate you.”
“No, you don’t,” he said. Because he had to say it. Say it and have her confirm it. Because he didn’t think he could take it if she hated him. “If you did, you wouldn’t have pulled me out of that brawlhouse pit.”
“You still say it like you’re constipated.”
He chuckled. “All those doughnuts will do that to you.”
She laughed, a real laugh, and he shot her a wide grin. He held that grin until the quiet crept up on them, snuffing out her laugh like a gust sweeping over a flame.
He watched as her gaze found the sea. Watched as she stared at the ocean like she might one day find a way to conquer it. He stared, too. The sea was boundless. It was the one thing in the world that couldn’t be claimed.
“In the spirit of honesty, tell me this.”
He turned back to her, curiosity piquing.
“What do you think is going to happen once we find the Witch?”
“What do you mean?”
She snorted, the sound anything but dainty. “She’s the Witch. And you’re…” She waved a hand at him.
“A handsome face?”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re a guard.”
He put a hand to his dripping-wet chest. His overexaggeration was just big enough to mask the real hurt pinging underneath. “I’m much more than a guard.”
“You are,” she said, her teasing tone gone, the truth sudden and bare between them. “Though an inexperienced hunter, you are the Crown and the best fighter this country has.”
