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“She sounds lovely.”

Sorrow curled up between us and purred its delight at our shared agony. We had both lost mothers. I was more practiced at it than he was, but that pain never made it any easier. I turned in the tub and reached out, laying my bare hand on his forearm over the scar of my bite. Warmth flowed through me, and I felt it drip drop by drop into him. I imagined the warm nights of midsummer in Michigan and focused on it, imagined it pooling with its tender memories in my fingers and like a small babbling creek winding its way into him. I imagined him filling up the way I filled up when he touched me.

I imagined the dark-purple nights of a lazy summer curling around his pain, and the waves of a calm lake lapping it away until the edge was dulled and snapped free to float away into a sky of a thousand star clusters.

His eyes narrowed on my hand and then cut up to me. Suspicion, deadly and sharp as the razor of his pain, glittered in his eyes for but a moment before it was covered up. But he did not move as I slowly retracted my hand as if I had committed some deadly social faux pax.

He said nothing, frozen, as his eyes searched my face like I had turned into a stranger.

He set the feather back into the box and closed the lid softly. I could feel him pulling away. We had both shared the open wounds of our lives, and he was pulling away.

Confusion crashed around in my mind as I watched the walls build up around him despite the fact his face showed nothing but a tender smile that he had shared with me so often. It was a nearly flawless defense, a nearly perfect imitation of the open well of his emotions. A casual decoy so perfectly constructed that, had I not seen deep into the well of his soul before now, I’d have easily mistaken it for the collected sorrow of a painful life shared with another.

“She was. I miss her every day.”

Even his words felt guarded and yet built perfectly of plastic emotion.

There were no edges to pick at, no openings to work my way back in as he pulled his gloves back on, wet though they were, and cupped the side of my cheek. Even the lust that glittered next to the suspicion in the evergreen of his eyes seemed a perfect mimic of the lust that always lived in his eyes when he looked at me. “Enjoy your bath, little bug. Stay in it as long as you wish. It will stay this temperature as long as you wish it. I’ll have dinner sent in and set for you.”

“You won’t be joining me for dinner?” I was scrabbling, unsure of where I had misstepped or why he was pulling away from me so completely.

“Not tonight, sweet girl. But I’ll be back in to see you off to your hunt in the morning.” His thumb ghosted over my cheekbone. “Unfortunately, duty calls even when I wish it were otherwise.”

The false tenderness made my stomach roil, but I nodded, accepting that he’d be off.

He rose, my eyes watching him as he towered over me. He took four steps away from me, and I watched his back drift away. I knew I should get used to this. There were merely four more days until I left this place, and in that time, I would need to be used to never seeing him again. If he saw the way him walking away shattered me, he made no indication.

He paused at the precipice of the main room and turned his head. “Little bug, do you remember what I said to you in the infirmary?”

I frowned and thought back. “You mean the storage room?”

The corners of his mouth quipped upwards slightly. “Yes.”

What had he said to me? I thought hard to remember anything other than the frustration of trying to be able to move my stupid legs. He had sworn something to me. I remembered thinking that swearing on statues was stupid. He had sworn never to lie to me.

“Yes.”

“I expect the same from you.” He didn’t confirm nor hint at what he had sworn to me, and it struck me as strange that he didn’t even bother to try to remind me. What would he have said if I had said no?

He didn’t wait for me to question him further. He just disappeared into the depths of his room and slammed the door behind him.

Chapter 44

Iwoke in the morning on his bed, alone. I waited for a few hours until Silver came to collect me, but The Raven never returned. He was quiet beside me, watching me through sideways glances cast as we meandered through the palace. I didn’t like the fact he did not banter with me, as was his nature. It had me on edge.

When another soldier appeared and pressed a sheaf of paper into Silver’s hand, I nearly jumped out of my skin. The two spoke in whispered tones, watching me the entire time. Silver finally nodded and dismissed the other soldier as he flipped open the simple letter. His storm-grey eyes traced over the contents and then turned to me.

“The Banfhlaith Oaken Rose sends you a message. She says to meet her tomorrow at sundown in the gardens.” Silver watched me as I struggled to keep the elation from curling up at the edges of my face. “The Captain has read this missive and instructs that you will meet him in the Ard Rí’s chambers to be prepared for this meeting, and he will accompany you to the gardens, as I will be otherwise engaged. Is this clear, daoire?”

“Excuse me?”

“Do I need to repeat the message or the instructions from the Captain?”

“You could start by telling me what the fuck has your dick twisted in a knot.”

“I assure you, you need not be concerned with my dick, twisted or not.”

I scowled at him.