“I understand perfectly.” Where a moment ago he’d been loose—almost liquid in his movements—his limbs had gone taut and stiff. But he didn’t pull away from her. “And I already gave you my answer.”
She reached for his sweater, which he’d pulled back on during the cold walk here from the palace, and bunched it gently in her hand. The knit wool scratched her skin. “I was hoping you’d reconsider.”
Their faces were inches apart. His gaze swept down her, and a startling heat flared in his eyes. Her body responded with an echoing warmth, rushing from her cheeks to her toes.
“Perhaps you’re the one who should reconsider,” he murmured, wrapping callused fingers around her wrist. “If you’re this desperate, deliver the message yourself. Return to him.”
He issued it like a challenge.
She narrowed her eyes. “You know I can’t leave. Not without Pa.”
“Then this discussion is over.” His expression shuttered as he abruptly let go of her wrist and stepped back. Out of reach.
She bristled, glaring after him.
Another, deeper question surged up inside her.
“Why did you do it?”
The room was starting to spin a little from the moonshine.
“Dowhat?”
“Why did you take my grandfather?”
Hawthorne went stiller than stone. She watched those walls go up. High, high.
“You’re the tithe collector,” Emeline pressed, scooting to the edge of the counter. “Whatever Pa tithed to the Wood King, you could have decided it was enough. Or you could have taken something else. You didn’t have to takehim.”
He shook his head, taking another step back. “Let’s not do this.”
She pushed herself down. “I need you to explain. You could have taken pity on him. He’s just a harmless old man who’s forgetting everything.” She was walking him backwards, towards the kitchen wall. “Why would you steal him from the safety of his own bed and lie to me about it?”
A muscle in his jaw twitched.
“Tell me.”
He halted, holding his ground. “It wasn’t his own bed.”
She stopped a few inches away from him. “What?”
“It was a bed he’d been forced to sleep in.” He looked away. “He didn’t belong there. He belongs in his house, on his farm, close to the people who love him. Not trapped behind locked doors, waiting for someone who isn’t coming to rescue him. So yes. I took him. I took him becausehe begged me to.”
The words were like ice water dumped over her head.
What?
“Ewan Lark tithedhimselfto the king.”
Emeline stared at him, wordless. Her body growing hot, then cold.
“You’re lying.”
“Am I?” he whispered, refusing to look at her. “That man loves you more than his own life.”
Emeline’s eyes burned.
“And you put him in that place to forget him.”
