Page 52 of Thorn Season
He drew back, and I was stunned into silence. Jarred by his demonstration of tact, along with that soft, repentant smile that made his face so beautiful that I wondered if he’d practiced it in the mirror.
“Do you think,” he asked, “you might forgive my indelicacy?”
I reoriented myself. Then I said, with just enough seriousness that he could be sure of my teasing, “I’m afraid that shall depend.”
His brows rose. “On?”
“Your efforts to win my forgiveness.”
My words sparked like a match between us, forming the first flame of this new dynamic. His lips curved with approval—and then his laughter was shaking his shoulders, shifting my grip on his arm.
“Very well,” he said. “Tell me how I should begin.”
I allowed a coy smile. “I can’t yet accept your offer,” I said slowly. “But perhaps we might start with a trial of compatibility.”
“A courtship, you mean.” His cheek flickered with amusement. “Are my kingdom and countrymen not enough for you?”
“A kingdom is tempting... but I’d have no use for countrymen.” Imade my voice dangerously intimate. “I’d only need one.”
Again, I hit the mark. His eyes dipped hungrily over me, his bicep fluttering under my fingers.The longer he cannot have you, Amarie had said,the more he will want you.
Gods, I hoped that was true.
“Well?” I echoed him. “Is that an acceptance?”
As if in response, Erik dropped to one knee before a patch of cloud-puff dandelions, his indigo cape puddling around him. He pinched a stem and pulled. “My mother taught me to wish upon the seeds. When the final seed sprouts a new flower, the wish sprouts with it.” He stood, offering me the dandelion head. “Make a wish. Make several, if you like.”
I met his gaze and blew.
I wish monsters like you never hurt Wielders again. I wish you get everything you deserve. I wish I could take back the things you’ve made me do.
The seeds dispersed on the wind.
Erik took my hand; as his ring brushed against my glove, my specter flinched with expectation, coiling tight in my gut. He must have thought I’d worn the gloves to be demure because he raised a brow at my covered fingers, laughter glimmering in his eyes.
His thumb dipped over the hills of my knuckles, teasing, teasing, as if he were about to rip the glove right off—
Then he pressed a kiss to the silk and I exhaled, my specter turning liquid inside me.
“I’ll see that your wishes all come true,” he said, lowering my hand.
Heart still racing, I replied sincerely, “I hope you do.”
Early the next evening, once the downstairs celebrations had drawn the courtiers from their chambers, I donned another plungingtulle-and-crystal ball gown—this one in shimmering violet—and crept into the nobles’ halls. The nobles had protested against guards here several years ago, demanding the same privacy enjoyed by the royals. I was grateful for their persistence as I withdrew the silver key and set to work.
I tried the chambers of the ruling families first: the Brogues of Creak, the Kaulters of Parrey, the Byrds of Avanford, and the Jacombs of Dawning, who—according to gossip—hadn’t returned to court since their trial. Then, although the rose-engraved keys were only given to the highest ranking nobles, I continued to the rooms of the wider gentry, including Erik’s advisors—weathered aristocrats whose combined efforts swayed Erik no more than a bothersome gust of wind.
But it was useless. The key fit in no door.
The occupant must’ve changed the locks after all, and I was back where I started—with no way of knowing who Wray had been meeting the night of his murder, and no idea who’d stolen the compass.
Instead of heading straight downstairs, I trudged to the royal wing, weighed down by my failure. Perhaps I could indulge in Carmen’s renowned fudge collection before another night of fruitless socializing.
Angry voices rang against the marble, and I slowed.
“I—I resigned my seat three years ago,” Lord Rupert Brogue was spluttering. “Take your problems up with my son.”
“Your son is denying my province a quarter of the grain we paid for,” said the second voice. Lord Junius Jacomb.
