Page 52 of The Silversmith

“Sit, Ella.” Unwavering will persisted in his gaze.

I hesitantly obeyed, lowering myself slowly, to not do further damage to his jacket.

As soon as I was seated— “Give me your feet.”

“What?” I choked.

He squatted before me. “Do you think I don’t see you limping?” He gestured to my legs. “You’ve been in pain every day for the last week, and you’ve said nothing. Give me your feet.”

“You really don’t need to—”

“Let me take care of you, Aryella.” His brow was furrowed with ache—torment, maybe—as he added, “Please.”

It was the first time I’d heard him say that word. I had a feeling he didn’t have to plead very often.

With a quick glance over his shoulder, I made sure the others were asleep. I didn’t need Gemma or Ezra to be disappointed in me for letting him get so close. When I was confident they wouldn’t see, I heeded his demands.

He started with my left foot, removing my boots, then my wool socks. His strong, long, and rough fingers rubbed the top of my foot in firm circles down to my ankle, repeating from the base of each toe.

I closed my eyes and sighed, letting my head fall back between my shoulders. “I suppose I better enjoy this while it lasts.” I snorted. “I’m sure the army commander won’t have the time or patience to give me a foot massage.”

“He will if he knows how lucky he is.”

A fluttering in my stomach caused my pulse to stutter. Guilt, for even mentioning my betrothed when Gavin… he did not seem to like it.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. His flaring nostrils were the only sign of emotion on his stoic face. “I don’t know why I— I shouldn’t bring him up, I—”

“You don’t have to apologize for saying what you feel, Ella.” He kept his firm grip on my foot and moved his thumbs to the bottom, beneath my toes. “It’s your life, I’m just happy to witness it.”

“You’re quite the wordsmith tonight.” I hissed when he pressed a particularly sore spot, and the pain was glorious. “You’ll have to tell me what I did to earn such treatment.”

His lips twitched, but something else—regret, maybe—got in the way. “Your compassion for those people…” He huffed out a humorless laugh. “Not many would bother.” His strong fingers dug into the aching arch of my foot, eliciting a moan that I had to bite my tongue to repress.

I studied the furrow of his brow, how the scar over his right eye crinkled on his cheek when he focused. Heat pooled in my stomach. Merely from the strength, the pull of his touch. The fear he could evoke contrasted by the care he took with me made me feel like I wanted him to keep touching me.

I forced a swallow and shoved it down. I was betrothed to someone else. I couldn’t feel this way.

“Simeon wouldn’t bother?” I pressed on.

Another dark, humorless chuckle. “No. Simeon would not bother.”

“How well do you know Simeon?”

“Too well.”

I lifted my eyebrows in surprise and added that to the list of questions I saved for another time. I was too tired and emotionally drained to process anything about my ancient sorcerer father.

“Well, you did,” I said softly. “You bothered.”

“Don’t give me too much credit.” He smirked. “It’s what you wanted.”

“No.” I tilted my head at him and smiled. “You would have made the call on your own. You’re a good man, Gavin Smyth.”

True. At least, I knew it was true. From the pause of his hands and the widening of his eyes, I could tell he believed otherwise. Maybe no one had told him he was good for quite a long while.

“I think he doesn’t like himself very much,” Caz had said.

I frowned. That Gavin would stand by my side in the face of terrible horror, the worst of humanity, was something I would never forget. But I was also disturbed by the look of indifference he’d worn when faced with such a brutal sight, and I feared for him. I was afraid of what he had seen and done and endured and what it had done to him. To see a man gutted and hung up as a feast for crows and be wholly unbothered…