A second response. Beautiful.
“You could sleep in your own bed, you know,” Karis says. “I wouldn’t mind. It’s a lot bigger than that cot in Marrick.”
Ignoring him, Ronan removes the kettle from the hearth and sets it on the table. Somehow, even the simple act of lifting a kettle emphasizes the strong lines of his forearms. His white shirt brings out the bronze undertones of his skin. Karis remembers how those arms felt under his hand, the night he considered strangling the man, when Ronan walks towards him.
Karis freezes, head craning up and up as the distance between them evaporates. He catches a whiff of the same clean laundry scent he’s been sleeping in the past few nights, and his thoughts scatter.
Ronan doesn’t stop until he’s nearly pressed against Karis, pinning him to the counter with sheer male charisma. Karis’s pulse jumps. “What are you doing?”
One gleaming bare forearm reaches past his head—and opens a cabinet. “The mugs are here,” Ronan says mildly. Except there’s nothing mild about the way his breath tickles Karis’s ear.
Karis’s pulse is still racing when Ronan returns to the table. The buzz of proximity still lingers under his skin, and his ears are so hot, he wonders how red they are. For once, he doesn’t know what to say, and he can only wait there as Ronan pours out the tea. Shaflower and spice fills the air, and Karis is viscerally jealous of the steam curling around Ronan’s forearms.
Silent and stoic once again, Ronan leaves the kettle on the table and retreats with his mug of tea. Karis’s gaze stays fixed on his broad back until he vanishes into the darkened living room. Only then does Karis glance at the table and realize there’s a second mug steaming beside the kettle.
Ronan poured him a mug too.
***
The next morning, Karis and Dansa are the only ones eating breakfast, under Alice the cat’s attentive supervision. Early sunlight streams through the gauzy curtains. Dansa pours out oatmeal for each of them and pushes over a bowl of berries. Karis stirs a spoonful into his bowl and asks, “Have you ever killed anyone?”
Dansa sets down her spoon with a clink, tilting her head thoughtfully. “I’m a healer,” she says after a while. “I’ve failed to save people.”
“That’s different.”
Her smile is rueful. “It doesn’t always feel different.”
“Ronan’s killed people.” The metal edges of the spoon cut into Karis’s palm. “In the Bright Cathedral, he killed a priest and tried killing a paladin. I don’t know what you guys are doing here. If it’s just about stealing relics or something else. But is it worth the blood you’ve spilled?”
His voice is too sharp, too young.
Dansa doesn’t seem perturbed by his simmering anger. “I’m not the one to judge whether Ronan’s a good man, but he’s better than he thinks.” She starts eating her oatmeal again. “You should ask him the truth about the priest and the paladin.”
“What truth?” His curiosity is painfully sharp. When he doesn’t get an answer, he grumbles, “He’ll just lie to me anyway.”
“Can’t Varans tell when people are lying?” Dansa asks. “Besides, I think he’ll tell you. He likes you, anyway.”
Karis’s next spoonful of oatmeal pauses in midair. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
She shrugs. “I’m not sure.”
They finish breakfast in silence. Dansa is done first, leaving her bowl on the counter, and walks out of the room with Alice at her heels. A few moments later, Alice pads back into the kitchen by herself and rubs her sleek head against Karis’s ankle.
Alice’s hierarchy of preferred people was apparent from Karis’s second day in the manor. She likes Dansa best, followed by Ronan, then Melanne, then Coira. Karis is a distant last place; if she’s following him around, it means everyone else is inaccessible.
People disappear in the manor sometimes. Wherever they go, it’s not somewhere Alice can follow.
Karis leaves his bowl on the table—so far nobody has called him out for never washing his dishes, which makes his petty rebellion a bit less satisfying—and walks quietly through the manor. Sure enough, no sign of anyone.
Alice follows him upstairs and into Ronan’s bedroom. Karis puts his finger to his lips and whispers, “Don’t tell anyone about this, all right?”
She blinks big green eyes at him and jumps gracefully onto Ronan’s bed.
Karis lowers himself to the floor, crossing his legs in a tailor’s seat and leaning back against the mattress. He doesn’t have his earring, and he hasn’t found any unattended gold to use as a substitute, but that doesn’t matter. Everyone in the manor is safely away, and Karis is just going to have to risk someone sensing his magic.
O Fickle and Radiant Voice in My Head,he thinks.Show me Stazie.
Stazie is just a squire like him, and probably not the most useful person to scry for. But she’s his only real friend in the order, and he wants to see how she’s doing.
