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He sighed. “If I didn’t want to be in it, I wouldn’t be.”
“And if I thought you were more trouble than you were worth, I would cut you loose.”
He choked out a laugh. “You know, that is possibly the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
She glared at him. “I’m not nice. I’m practical.”
“Ah, so you keep me around for the practical benefits. I’m dying to know what those are.”
“You make me feel human.” The words held a raw honesty, and judging by the way her teeth clicked when she snapped her mouth shut, she hadn’t meant to say them. “I need to go. I have to…prepare. I’ll see you tonight.”
She stalked off to the barn, presumably for Kialla’s tack.
You make me feel human.
“Me too.”
Almost.
Chapter Fifty-Eight
More Immediate Concerns
Quin and Verol had been on the road barely more than three days when the message from Phoenix came through. Typically, Verol checked the box for them—the correspondence between them and their unknown information source had given Verol a sense of purpose when he’d desperately needed it—but Verol’s attention was firmly entrenched in getting them to their destination. Which meant he was driving the wagon while sifting every mind in the nearby vicinity for information, and to ensure that nothing and no one interfered with their journey.
So Quin checked, and once he’d read the short note, he was glad it was him and not Verol who’d found it.
If there is any way for you to get the king to leave Veralna, do it. He has hired Clare for the court’s entertainment until he sees fit to release her.
He jotted out a quick reply and placed it in the box. Is she all right?
He waited for a response, hoping it would come soon. The problem with communicating with someone via notes dropped into a magical box was that, if you weren’t checking that box frequently, you had no idea how long ago a message had come through. Therefore, you had no idea if the person you were replying to was likely to see it any time soon.
He and Verol made a point to check it once a day, because Phoenix was typically the one initiating correspondence. On the rare occasions they had had cause to message first, several days would sometimes pass before they received a reply.
But he waited now, despite the unlikelihood of a response, because he did not want to go to Verol with this news without some reassurance. Because he needed reassurance.
He popped the lid of the box open every few minutes, and on his tenth check, found a reply.
Physically, she is fine. I do not believe he will cause her bodily harm.
There was an unspoken “yet” at the end of the sentence, a thick blot of ink on the page, as if Phoenix had debated writing something more before sending it through as it was.
Quin took the letters and exited through the front of the wagon, sliding onto the driver’s box beside Verol. His husband’s gaze was unfocused, and Quin was never clear on how he managed to steer while his mind was flitting in and out of other minds, but Ver always said the mundanity of the physical task helped him focus.
He placed a hand on his arm and Verol blinked, coming fully back to his surroundings.
“The gatestone is going to have to wait.” He traded Verol the letters for the reins. “We have more immediate concerns.”
Chapter Fifty-Nine
What Is Yours Is Also Mine
Clare didn’t intend to confront the king of Faelhorn. She intended to sing at his dinner that evening, smiling all the way through it so he would never be able to tell she was rattled, and then leave as soon as was politely possible. But his unusual habit of being so…available within the walls of his palace meant she saw him on her way to the Arrendons’ suite.
He was in one of the meeting rooms, lounging on a couch while in discussion with the same two proconsuls she’d seen him with a few days ago—Balenze and Perish provinces, she thought. He noticed her, noticed the bag clutched in her hand, and satisfaction lit his eyes.
She halted abruptly, turned on her heel and walked into the room. “A moment of your time, Your Majesty?”
