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Roan’s eyes flutter open and closed again, as if it takes great effort to keep them open. “How did you convince her to give us the information?”
I stay silent, again unwilling to meet his gaze. Not because I’m afraid of him, but because I don’t know if bringing Shiren and John into the mix was a good idea. They could get hurt, or punished for handing over this information.
His eyes go wide. “You told her of Lena?”
“No, of course not. I’m not that stupid.” I plant my feet firmly beneath me, getting ready to push myself off the bed if need be.
We’ve had plenty of moments where explaining our true purpose could have saved us time and pain. Tess and Liam cross my mind. But still, we kept our intentions close to the vest, just as Marg asked. Does he really think I would blow that now? And even if I did, I wouldn’t do it lightly.
I keep my voice firm. “But I did explain that we were searching for someone, that retrieving this person was of the utmost importance, and it was to be kept a secret. That no one was to know, and I may never be able to tell her who we are looking for. I did tell her of Jaren. The danger all of us are in the longer we stay here. She understood, and she wanted to help.”
His eyes closed as I spoke. He contemplates what I tell him for so long, I fear he may have fallen back asleep. “Roan?”
A deep exhale escapes his lips, relaxing my stiffened shoulders. “Tell Shiren thank you.” He is calm as he says it and my face softens.
“I did.” The captain only nods. “Do you think Otto and Aiden are alright?” I ask, the memory of their parting tugging in my mind, while I also try to change the subject.
“Well, if I know them like I think I do, they are fine. If things go in our favor, we should meet up with them soon. Who knows. Maybe they found Lena and are already headed back to Turin.” It’s a far stretch, and we both know it. But it doesn’t hurt to dream I suppose.
He lays his head back against his pillows before I realize my arm is still around him. I’m sure he’s exhausted, and tonight more than ever he needs a good night’s rest. I move to pull out my arm, but he reaches up to stop me. My eyes focus on his, alert at his touch.
We stare at each other in silence, the ticking moment spent trying to read what the other isn’t saying, picking up where we left off before Shiren knocked at our door earlier.
“Don’t go,” he whispers, his arm reaching around my waist. Roan’s other hand releases its grip from my arm, his eyes dropping to my lips as he traces another small cut on my cheek.
He keeps staring at the bruise on my jaw, now almost completely healed. “Does it hurt anymore?” he asks me.
“No.” I give a gentle grin, but his brows stay furrowed. I thought I saw guilt pass through his eyes in the previous days when I would catch him staring at the blooming purple and blue on my face. Now, being so close, the look is unmistakable.
“It wasn’t your fault, Roan.” His eyes move to the superficial cuts dotting my face and neck.
He continues tracing the line of my jaw, back and forth. “If I had gotten there sooner…”
“This isn’t the first time I’ve ever been hit. In fact, it’s probably a mild version of things I’ve endured. Don’t blame yourself. I shouldn’t have let him pin me down. If anything, it was a good reminder to always be on top.” A flush rushes to my cheeks, and I hope he understood my real meaning. On top while in a fight, not… not anything else.
I’m still flustered when he opens his mouth to speak again. “What have you endured, Ari? Will you tell me?” His words are genuine, and their softness gets caught in my chest.
Part of me wants to tell him everything. The other wants to clamp my mouth shut, run out the door, and never return.
He must sense the war in me, because he says, “You don’t have to tell me if it’s uncomfortable. I just— I can see in your eyes that there is pain you don’t talk about. Things from your past that you want to keep hidden. I recognize it because… because so do I. Things I want to forget, things I wish so badly I could change.” He adjusts himself in the bed to face me fully, clenching his teeth from the pain of the movement. The smallest flinch is the only indication of the discomfort that is surely burning through him.
Or maybe something else is burning through him, because when his eyes meet mine again, it’s not misery that I see. His hand cups my face as he leans forward, resting his forehead against mine.
Every instinct is telling me to move away. But I don’t listen. I don’t want to leave the warmth of his body against mine, his breath on my face, and the safety of his arm around me. I can’t remember the last time I felt so comfortable besides the last time his arms were around me.
I pull away just enough to catch his gaze. “My mother died.” Something catches in my throat. I’ve never told anyone this. Never voiced this out loud to a single person. I told Marg that my mother was gone, but not about her death.
I hesitate a moment, closing my eyes and taking a deep breath. He doesn’t push me, doesn’t try to force my words, only sits quietly as I try and make up my mind. His finger twirls through my hair before running coolly down my neck. The motion is so soothing that I almost gasp in relief as his other fingers join, kneading down my tense muscles from my neck to my shoulder.
“My mother was a seamstress,” I whisper, clearing my throat before I continue. “One of the best in the city. I would help her when I could, and she would teach me. I also did odd jobs here and there to bring in some extra money. Shine shoes, scale fish.”
“Shave beards,” he adds, and I can’t help but smile.
But that smile quickly fades as I go on. “I was twelve when the prince died, and it was like work had dried up overnight. We went from three meals a day with extra money for a small treat or trinket every now and then, even helping those around us who needed it, to starving in less than a week’s time. It was like all joy and happiness had been sucked out of Turin. We would do anything we could for a few coins to buy food, but often we found ourselves going to sleep hungry.” I rub my stomach, the hollow memory returning as if it were only yesterday.
“My mother was so optimistic, talking about how tomorrow we would have full bellies and find a piece of cake to share. But I knew. I knew what tomorrow would hold.” The emotion I thought would rise in me as I relieved these moments is absent, a shell of nothingness greeting me instead. “I walked past a table at market, beautiful apples lining every inch. I just reached out. I reached out and took one, quickly hiding it in my pocket. My heart was beating so fast. I was sure someone had seen, would catch me. But no one did.” Roan continues the trailing of his fingers, now twisting down the back of my arm, patiently waiting as my story unfolds.
“I was really good at it, stealing. I came close to getting caught once or twice. But I analyzed what I had done wrong, and righted it the next time. It was like I was a shadow in the sunlight; nobody could see what I was doing. And when I would come home, Mother would be so upset. She would tell me we would find another way. But we both knew. We both knew there was no other way. We were starving, and short of my mother selling herself on the street, we had no options.”
