We need to have words.
“I’m not asking you to abandon post, Baze. Just sink down a few steps and give me some privacy.”
He hisses despite my placating tone that betrays none of my bubbling desire to kick the crap out of him, then finally does what I asked, mumbling something about being overpaid and underappreciated as he disappears from sight.
Cainon’s features harden.
He stalks toward me, and I shiver from his razor-blade perusal. “You don’t look so well.”
“I’m fine,” I say, toying with the end of my braid.
“You’re lying to me.”
I absolutely am. And I probably shouldn’t start this relationship relying on my crutch of fibs, but here we are.
He puffs out a sigh and glances around the room, striding toward my painting station—the long wooden bench that curves around a third of my wall space. The windows above usually spill light across the table and potted seedlings lining the sill, but it hasn’t for days because the clouds refuse to shift.
He touches the cloth covering my half-finished piece from Whispers while assessing my collection of rocks, fingers skating over a mini rendition of reaching hands emerging from a lick of gray paint.
My heart pinches, and I look away.
The owner of those arms only lives in my nightmares.
“You paint these yourself?”
“I do.”
He plucks one off the table—the practice piece I did before painting Kai’s stone.
An island of jagged, crystal spires pinned to an otherwise empty ocean decorates the face. There are little birds in the sky and a cherry river flowing from the peak of a cone geyser in the center.
He nods, and I can see some sort of reverence in his eyes as he weighs the stone in one hand. “This one. I know of an island that looks just like this. A place I used to visit with my father ... before he passed.”
His words are heavy, creating a mournful tension that thickens the air and yanks at my heartstrings.
“I’m sorry for your loss, Cainon.”
“It was a long time ago.”
I nod, unraveling my braid to keep my hands busy. “Well ... you can have the rock if you like?”
I expect him to say no. It’s not customary for a female to gift her promised something in return for his cupla, but this seems fitting considering our ...oddcircumstances.
“Are you sure?” he asks, cradling the thing like it’s prone to shatter.
“Of course.”
The strong column of his throat works, a smile teasing the corner of his lips as he pockets the piece and advances.
I glance out the window, finger-combing my hair until he’s standing right next to me. Taking the weight of my hair and splitting it off into three sections, he starts to weave a side braid with smooth, controlled motions.
My spine stiffens, heart lurching at the unfamiliar contact.
I watch Cainon’s hands work, a long minute passing before he finally speaks.
“I must return to the Bahari capital. I received an urgent sprite, and my boat will be leaving on the next tide.”
His tone is flat. Unyielding.
