Page 70 of The Silversmith

Chapter eighteen

Iwas too exhausted to last as long as the others. Before midnight, I started to sway where I stood, which was all the justification Gavin needed to escort me upstairs. He said little, only grumbling “good night,” and “stay in your room,” before making sure the door was locked behind him.

Despite my exhaustion, I couldn’t sleep. The boisterous sound of laughter, the clink clink of glasses from downstairs, and the knowledge that I was the only one of my companions in bed kept me awake.

A coat rack stood in the corner of the room, and the moonlight cast a warped shadow upon the far wall, shaped like a monster with spindly arms and a twisted torso. I glanced at the knife on my side table and envisioned rising swiftly, silently, and attacking the figure before it could best me. Surrendering to the need to stay on guard. No wonder it seemed Gavin hardly slept. A mind trained to be perpetually alert was hard to calm.

The longer I lay awake, the more aware of my body’s discomfort I became. The noise dissipated from downstairs, but Gemma didn’t return. Elowen had always called me hyperactive during my restless nights, when I complained of a dry mouth, legs that wouldn’t settle, an aching back, and a mind that refused to quiet. She’d always fetched me water.

I rose from bed, deciding a fresh glass might do me some good.

A draft blew from the north-facing window, and I saw that someone had left me a pair of wool socks at the foot of the bed. Though the room was comfortable and clean, the building was old, and Damond could only do so much to protect it from the elements. I rose, put on the socks, and let the curtains fall over the window, allowing a sliver of nighttime to glimmer into the room. Enough to light my path to the door.

At the end of the hall, I heard voices from an adjacent room. I pressed my ear to the door and caught the end of his sentence.

“—gotten yourself into quite the pickle, cousin.” Damond’s voice. Of all the connections Damond could have had to Gavin, cousin was not one I’d expected. “It’s her?”

“Yes,” Gavin replied. “Yes. It’s her.”

I frowned. They were speaking of the prophecy.

“An adorable, pint-sized spitfire of a queen.”

“Watch it!” snarled Gavin, his deadly tone startling me. “I don’t care if you’re blood, Damond. Sniff around, and I’ll play cat’s cradle with your intestines.”

Damond laughed, unfazed. “And you haven’t bedded her?”

My stomach dropped and my ears felt hot.

Gavin gave a heavy sigh that made me guess he was clenching his jaw so tight he could split a molar. His usual.

“I’ll take that to mean you wish you had.” Damond chuckled. “You couldn’t hide it if you tried, old man.”

“She’s nineteen, Damond. Fucking—” Furniture shifted abruptly, likely kicked or shoved. “Nineteen.”

“So were you.”

I frowned when a long pause followed, without elaboration.

Finally, Damond spoke. “What happened to your shoulder?”

“Oh,” chuckled Gavin, his tone softening. “She got me.”

“Is that what foreplay looks like for you these days?”

“Fuck you.”

Damond laughed, then whistled through his teeth. “That’s some inhuman willpower, my friend. Being alone with that girl, knowing who she is, and doing nothing about it. Must be hell.”

“I’m trying not to think about it.” I heard the clinking of glasses and guessed Gavin was pouring himself another one.

“How’s that working for you?”

There was a pause, then a grim, “It’s not.”

Damond burst into laughter, and my cheeks heated.

“Simeon is adamant she has no army without the Winterton boy,” continued Gavin, his deep voice strained. “And I… I won’t jeopardize it, not if they can help her.”