Chapter Ten
Angry Kisses, Angry Words
Over the next week, we slipped into something of a routine.
I would wake to Caelan sliding out from the warmth of the blankets and into the cold blue light of the imminent dawn. I’d watch between slow, sleepy blinks as he sat on the edge of the bed, clinging to consciousness just long enough to enjoy the rippling ropes of muscle in his back when he stretched. I would doze on and off as he moved quietly about the room, but my eyes would fall shut by the time he finally leaned over the bed to brush a kiss to my forehead. That first morning, the tenderness of it took me by surprise. So much so that I could do nothing but lie there with my eyes closed. Even if we both knew that I had felt it by the brightening glow beneath the covers, neither of us acknowledged it. All the same, I found myself waiting for that kiss every morning after; and it always came. When I would wake again some time later, my chest would be warm as the golden light of dawn that split my curtains.
And I would rise and see to my duties, just as Caelan saw to his. Within the walls of my room, the unspoken, fragile thing unfurling between was given room to grow and thrive, warmer and brighter day by day. It was a stolen sliver of contentment to us both – because outside those walls was another story altogether.
Outside those walls, the days were so very long.
“You’d have made a fine barkeep in another life.”
It was a throwaway comment I’d made at the end of one such long day; sleepy, meaningless chatter after endless hours on my feet. I spoke over my shoulder as I locked the tavern door, and Caelan glanced up from the table, where he’d been diligently wiping up water rings and cracker crumbs. His beard bristled wryly at my comment.
“Oh?”
He straightened and flipped the cloth in his grip over one shoulder, then planted his hands squarely on his hips. His dark brow waggled as he held the grand pose for my approval.
“Certainly look the part, eh?”
Sorcha laughed good-naturedly from behind the bar, but I only spared him a raised brow that said it wasfartoo late in the day for his antics. I’m not sure either of us were convinced. My lips were pursed against a smile as I crossed to the next table and resumed loading used pint glasses into a half-full crate.
“No?” Caelan let his brow fall and furrow, feigning dismay. “Damn. What is it? Too handsome?”
I tried to scoff, but a warm swell of Flame burst in my chest, forcing out a giggle instead. Gods, agiggle.When was the last time I’d made a sound likethat?
Caelan just grinned his sharp, beaming grin, but I could feel Sorcha’s eyes boring into my back, and when I threw a reluctant glance over my shoulder I found her smirking at me from where she stood polishing the clean glasses. She knew nothing of what had happened between Caelan and I, but from the look on her face she certainly seemed tothinkshe did.
Smitten, she mouthed.
My face promptly flushed, and I was forcefully reminded of my fourteenth summer, when Magnus had discovered my crush on a travelling bard and become absolutely merciless in his teasing. I’d giggled a lot then, too.
I widened my eyes at her, imploring her toshusheven though she’d said nothing aloud. Thankfully, Caelan was oblivious, already having moved on to the next table.
“Might have liked to own a tavern,” he mused. “In another life.”
Sorcha set down the glass she was polishing. “You would?”
“You know the old saying,” Caelan called back to her with a sly grin. “Islemen are born with as much whiskey in their veins as blood. We weremadeto play the wise old barkeep. Pouring crisp pints, breaking up fights, dishing out sage advice to bright-eyed young travellers. I'd be surprised if there's an Isleman whohasn'tdreamed of settling down in a quiet little pub.”
“Youhavedreamed of settling down in a quiet little pub.”
The disbelief in my voice was thick enough that Caelan gave a bark of laughter.
“Why do you both sound so surprised?”
Iwassurprised – and a quick glance at Sorcha confirmed that she was, too.
Caelan had been something of a dark cloud overThe Mage and Rosefor the past few days – not that I’d tell him that. And, truthfully, not that I blamed him either. It was an open secret that the hunt was not going well, but had there been a single soul unaware of the fruitless efforts of the Kingsmen, they might have guessed by the storm on the Captain’s face when he returned from his shift every day. He wouldn’t talk about it; couldn’t, he said, while the investigation was still underway. But after he’d briefed the evening platoon, he would sit in a corner for most of the afternoon, nursing a single glass of whiskey and waiting. Waiting forme, I quickly caught on. And indeed, when the last of the patrons slowly trickled out the door, and Sorcha and I began closing up, Caelan would hop to his feet with renewed spirit, bright and smiling for the first time in hours.
I would be lying if I said it hadn’t become the best part of my own day, too.
“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised,” I finally answered. “Playing barkeep at closing time does seem to brighten your day.”
Sorcha gave the slightest nod, approving of my diplomacy as though I might have bluntly pointed out how he seemed to like the tavern best when it was empty. I raised a brow at her.
I can be tactful.
