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“He has a knack for getting under your skin.”
“No, he doesn’t.”
“Oh, yes, he does. And he can’t win. He lets something bad happen to me, and you hate him. He saves me, and you hate him.”
“I don’t hate him.”
“I know you don’t. I just hope he knows that.”
“It’s good for him to stew a bit,” I joke.
She laughs, and I can feel her head shake against my shoulder. “I think he’s perfect for you. If you two could just get over yourselves, I think you would both be happy.”
“You could say the same thing about you and Petrik.”
Her muscles go taut. “No. He’s a boring imbecile who cares more about books than he does people.”
“Boring?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“You find his stories fascinating. The two of you would talk for hours while we were on the road together.”
“Fine, he’s not boring, but he still doesn’t care enough about people. Certainly not enough to prevent himself from lying to them.”
I let out a sigh. “I might argue that he cares enoughto lie. He cares so much that he’s willing to risk you hating him to keep you safe. It proves that he cares about you more than himself.”
“I—” She cuts off. She tries to pull away, but I hug her to me more tightly.
I change the subject to make her feel better. “You’re sweaty.”
“Then maybe you should let go of me.”
“Never.” I grin.
I want to stay up all night talking to Temra, but I’m so weary from all the travel and worrying over Temra and Kellyn and everythingelse. Everyone is finally okay, and I’m free to just pass out in Temra’s warm, comfy bed.
My eyes are crusty when I resurface. My limbs ache, and I really need to relieve myself.
But the true tell that I’ve been asleep for a long time is Kellyn sitting in the chair in the corner of the room. He has a book in front of him, and he turns a page idly. He crosses his legs at the ankles in front of him.
“Youcanread,” I say. My throat sounds croaky from disuse.
Kellyn looks up at me, gives me a smile that warms every part of me, and then sets the book aside. “It’s Petrik’s. The story he wrote about our journey escaping from Kymora.”
“Is it any good?”
“It’s exceptional. He has a real talent for words. Makes us sound much more heroic than we actually are.”
“I don’t think that’s possible, where you’re concerned.”
The mercenary rises to his six and a half feet, treads over to the bed, and sits on the edge of it. “How are you feeling?” he asks.
“I’m fine. I’m not the one who was shot. How’s your arm?”
He rolls up his sleeve to reveal a thin white scar. “It’s almost like it was never there. It’s a little stiff, but Serutha says the feeling should go away after a while.”
“I’m so glad. And your ear?”
