Holt deserved that title.
“Where’d you go just then?” Torin asked quietly as I shook my head.
I smiled ruefully. “Just lost in my memories.”
Silence fell between us, but it wasn’t uncomfortable.
“What brings you to Ellowyn’s rooms, Lord Torin d’Eshu?” I asked, pivoting subjects.
“Seemed to be the right place to be right now.” His lips quirked into a sad half-smile.
Seems I’m not the only one pining after someone I can’t have.
“Would you like to . . . come to my rooms? We can just sit and talk? I have some coffee I can share. Or wine, if you want something stronger. Seems like we could both use someone to talk to,” I offered and was rewarded with a genuine soft smile.
“Coffee sounds great.”
I toedoff my boots before hastily shoving a stack of books off one end of the couch to make room for both of us to rest without practically sitting in each other’s laps. Cotton meowed indignantly as I removed his perching spot before darting on top of yetanotherpile of books in the corner of my sitting room.
I really need to organize this space. And return a few of these to the Academy library.
“Here, you can sit here,” I gestured to the now open space. “It’s clean, I promise. And Cotton isn’t a dirty cat.”
The cat in question meowed again like he heard me.
“Hi, kitty,” Torin said as he delicately pet Cotton’s head. The grey fluff ball purred in response; his glowing yellow eyes trained on me as if to say, “See? It’s not that hard to show me some love.”
I rolled my eyes—I gave that catplentyof attention. He slept in my bed now and everything, abandoning the little nest I’d created for him near the window.
Spoiled.
“His name’s Cotton,” I said as I dug through my sack in the corner of the room, shoved aside and nearly buried under countless books, papers, and the occasional stray tunic. I hadn’t opened it in months—since my return from Hestin.
“Cotton?” Torin asked, and I hummed noncommittally as I dug through my pack. There were things in here from my old life, which sent a bittersweet pang of loss and longing. My hands grazed the soft, worn brown pants I’d donned more times than I could count as I dug for the bag of coffee Holt was so fond of.
Where is it? I know I packed it . . .
There was not much I left behind from my old life, especially anything that Holt gave me.
“Ow!” I shouted, startled when something in my bag stung my finger. I sucked the wounded digit in my mouth before carefully moving an old tunic to reveal the cactus Holt gave me.
“Prickly, just like you.”His words hit me, and I felt my eyes water at the memory. What would he think of me now? Crying over a man.
I giggled at the thought.
Torin probably thinks I’m crazy.
“You okay over there?” he called, and I shrugged my shoulders.
“I haven’t opened this pack since I left my life in Isrun. My father died there and I’m just coming across memories . . . that’s all.” I found that the memories of Holt no longer hurt—both thegood and the bad. I’d always miss him, always wish he’d survived that night, but I was also desperately glad that I’d chosen to leave that village. If I’d stayed, I would’ve been stuck in the past, never able to heal and move on.
I fingered the crystal hanging from my neck—another memento of a time past—before delicately removing the cactus and setting it on a rickety stack of books. It was a bit worse for wear; brown in places and a bit droopy, but nothing a little care wouldn’t fix.
Pointy object successfully removed from my bag, I began to dig again in earnest.
“Aha!” I called triumphantly as I wrenched the sack of ground coffee from the bottom of my bag. A heavyslapagainst the floor followed my discovery, and I looked down to see the letter from Sharol—my mentor and teacher in Isrun—on the ground near my boot.
I’d nearly forgotten its existence, so caught up in my research and problems here in Vespera. I quickly scooped it from the ground with my free hand before tucking it under my arm and padding back toward Torin.
