Page 70 of Revealing Fate

Kal nodded and turned his back to her.

Felíne didn’t want him to leave. She could barely stand the distance between them as it was, this divide she had created, and she hadn’t the faintest idea how to fix it. She feared that whatever fragile thing had begun to blossom between them had been irreparably damaged. Sudden tears threatened.

“What happens now?” she asked.

Kal paused at the threshold. “I don’t know. I need to speak with Saul. The Conclave will demand an explanation for my…behavior. I’m sure they’re wondering why I haven’t yet provided one.” His shoulders tightened. “As far as they’re concerned, you’re still a potential threat.”

Felíne wasn’t a warrior, but she knew what they did with threats—they neutralized them. “Are you going to tell them who I am?”

Kal gripped the door handle. “I don’t know who you are.”

“But you said⁠—”

“I said it was apparent you weren’t a spy. Whether or not you are who you claim is yet to be seen. All I know for certain is that you aren’t Railah Harless.” His knuckles tightened, whitening. “Until I determine the rest, you should stay here.”

You should stay here.

Like it was a casual suggestion. Like he didn’t care one way or another if she complied.

“And if I decide to leave?”

Kal shrugged, and the nonchalance of his gesture gutted her. “Rask knows your face. The Conclave was robbed of its trial. Use your imagination.” He opened the door then but wavered at the exit. “No one in Meress is foolish enough to force their way into my home. It might be the only place in Ilistaar strictly off limits to the Cozened.”

And there it was, another infant spark of hope. One more tentative thread of compassion. Felíne saw it for what it was—a lifeline. Kal’s house was the only place she was safe, and he was offering it to her.

With those parting words, Kal left the bedroom and closed the door quietly behind him, leaving Felíne with an ache in her chest that sank deeper than any physical wound ever could.

Chapter 27

COMPANY

THAT NIGHT, FELÍNE DRAGGED HERSELF into the adjacent washroom to the deep, wooden, copper-lined tub. It had a simple design but was massive, occupying one entire wall of the modest room. At the twist of a faucet, she had the tub practically overflowing with steaming water. Drains had been inlaid into the planks of the floorboards near its base to catch any overspill, and the floor itself had been treated with a thick, clear coating that was slick under her bare feet.

Felíne lowered her aching body into the hot water with a hiss. Everything hurt. Even now, the grimalkin’s wound throbbed with each beat of her heart. As much as she typically enjoyed lingering in the tub, Felíne wanted sleep more. Her body’s attempts to heal these past days, coupled with her and Kal’s morning conversation and the many emotions it evoked, left her utterly depleted. She scrubbed herself with the hard bar of half-used soap that smelled like mint, olive, and something woodsy.

Afterward, Felíne wrapped herself in a clean towel and returned to the bedroom to find a neatly folded set of clothes on the edge of the mattress. Felíne inspected the fabric. Men’s. Apparently, she’d worn all the women’s clothes Kal had provided, courtesy of Penn. The pile of soiled ladies’ garments that she had stacked in the corner was gone.

Felíne slipped into the oversized tunic, wincing as her shoulder stretched. She struggled to get the trousers over her hips and eventually gave up, leaving them discarded at the foot of the bed.

She didn’t hesitate to slip under the thick coverlet and into a nest of down pillows. Sleep was immediate.

When she woke, Felíne took a moment to orient herself. Darkness shrouded the room, creeping in through the window from the forest outside. She had no idea what time it was or how long she’d been asleep. Her heart beat loudly, and every soft breath may as well have been a scream for how quiet it was.

Her stomach growled. Felíne eased out from beneath her cushions and padded to the door and down the hallway. She groped blindly for the kitchen but ended up in front of a window. To her right was a door. Bolted. That meant the kitchen lay somewhere to her left. She turned, reaching out a tentative arm to prevent herself from colliding with some lurking hazard.

Her hand touched something soft and hard at the same time. The shadow in front of her moved.

Felíne reacted. She screamed and swung out. A warm hand closed around her wrist, and she wrenched it back, sending another burst of white hot pain through her shoulder, chest, and the left side of her neck.

“Will you quit?” barked a harsh, familiar voice.

She stilled.

A candle flared to life, illuminating the kitchen table and Kalevar’s brooding form. He was shirtless, his hair tousled, and his eyes seemed to be cut from the surrounding darkness. They roved over her critically, landing on a drop of blood that seeped into the fabric of her tunic. Shit. The scabbed edge of her shoulder wound reopened.

“Are you trying to undo all of my hard work?”

“Are you trying to scare me to death?” she snapped back.