Page 108 of Flames and Blood

“It had better be. I’ve been rude to four people about it.”

She steps in far enough to set the jug down, and that’s when she sees it. The pack, buckled, standing by the door with the coat folded over it.

She doesn’t say anything about it. Her eyes go to it and stop. Then they come up to me with a question she isn’t going to ask. I don’t answer it either. We stand there for a second. Neither of us says anything.

“I can’t stay.” Her voice is level. “There’s a thing upstairs. I’ve already been gone ten minutes, and somebody will have counted them.”

“Go on, then.”

“Gideon…” She stays in the doorway with her hand on the frame, and she looks at me. “Tonight. Late. I’ll get down here.”

“All right.”

“That’s all you’re going to say?”

“That’s all I’ve got.”

“I’m coming back.” Her eyes go once more to the pack, and back. “I am.”

“Sure.”

Her feet go up the passage and up the stairs. I stand there and listen until there’s nothing left to listen to.

The pack is by the door where I left it.

I sit back down and tell myself I’m not going to regret this.

Chapter 25

Kalli

I promised Gideon I’d be back, standing in his doorway with my hand on the frame. That was four nights ago. I have spent every night since lying in my own bed, listening to my floor stay full of people.

He’s still down there. Hesper would have told me if he’d gone. He’s still down there with his pack by the door, and he hasn’t gone to my mother to tell her his fee.

My dragon hates it. The only thing keeping her sane is knowing he’s close.

You’re not being fair to him.

I know it’s true, but I haven’t had the time to do anything about it.

By the sixth day since my return, there’s a woman at the end of my bed with a slate before the lamp’s properly lit, and I’ve stopped being surprised by it.

“Fittings at seven,” she says. “Council at nine. The eastern families at eleven, the western at half past, and there’s a document for your attention before the meal.”

“What document?”

“The confirmation of the succession. It’s been drawn up since last spring.”

“Since last spring.” I sit up. “I was in a cell last spring.”

“Yes, Heir.” She says it kindly. She doesn’t look up from the slate. “Shall I have the gray one pressed, or the blue?”

Every day has looked like this one. A slate at dawn and not one free hour in it.

At the fitting there are three of them around me with pins in their mouths and a fourth writing measurements into a book.

“The waist will need bringing in a long way,” one of them says.