Of course he was.
“And I’m here because it’s my job to keep an eye on you.” He drops to a crouch, trying to steal a peek through the window. “What are you doing?”
I veer to the side, blocking his view while fiddling with the end of my braid. “You, like many others in this castle, take your job far too seriously. Maybe you should take the day off. Go find a maid to ... I don’t know ... do things with. I’m still mad at you for lying to me for the past five years, so I’d appreciate the peace.”
His brow lifts and he ticks off his fingers. “One, I’ve apologized for using a blatant lie to motivate you into learning self-defense. And two, in myveryextensive Orlaith experience, this sort of reaction usually means you’re up to no good.”
Well, he’s not wrong.
He gestures for me to move, pushing a stake right through my curious heart. I roll my eyes and shuffle aside, only because I can’t possibly sit here all day guarding my find.
He parts the shrub and peers through the window. “Looks uninteresting.”
“Are youkiddingme?” I shove him out of the way and flatten my nose against the glass. “It looks theoppositeof uninteresting!”
“It’s just a dusty storage room,” he says, tone bland.
“And in my very extensiveBazeexperience, you only speak like this when you’re trying to hide something.” I throw him a side-eye. “Is this what the locked door leads to? The one at the bottom of Stony Stem?”
His lips thin and he rocks to a stand. “You’re much too observant for your own good.”
“Is it?”
He sighs, brushing off his tunic with a few brisk strokes. “It’s not where it leads to, no.”
“So ... you know where the door leads.” I scrunch my nose and turn back to the ... well, who the hell knows what. “Interesting.”
A stretch of silence ensues that drags just a little too long, and I turn, seeing him halfway across the field. “Where are you going?”
I leap to my feet and dash after him.
“Away!” he yells over his shoulder. “Those questions have spikes, Orlaith. Spikes that will make youbleed.”
“I bleed every damn day,” I say on a loose breath, jogging at his side to keep up with his long, agile strides. “And I can handle the answers. I’ll be twenty-one in four weeks.”
“Exactly!” he snarls, spinning so fast I slam into his chest and stumble back, barely managing to catch myself. “You’re still a child. Ashelteredchild who never leaves the grounds.”
My blood chills.
The words create wounds far deeper than the ones on my hands, and from the softening of his earthen eyes, I’d guess he knows it, too.
He sighs, glancing up. “Come on, it’s getting late. The krah will start shrieking soon. And shitting everywhere. You know how much I hate those things.”
Frowning, I look toward the darkening sky.
It’s said that if a krah shits on you, your days are numbered—your death-date staked in the soil.
Baze runs for cover whenever he hears them flocking across the sky. I’m more concerned that I’m soon to close my lids on my first full day without pricking my skin. Dripping into a goblet.
Giving myself tohim.
To me, that’s far more damning than a smattering of poo.
I thought Rhordyn needed me ...
Now, I’m not so sure.
Fog curls around my ankles, collecting at the base of ancient trees, the fringing forest a clash of jeweled tones and deep pockets of shade. The clearing is large enough to offer a peek of plum-colored clouds slashed across the sky.
