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She plucked up her book, a novel she’d been attempting to read for days, though distraction made progress difficult. She cracked it open, but she didn’t look down at the page.
She thought about ringing for Kaz and asking him to carry her to the balcony. She didn’t know if she’d actually manage to hear anything of the children’s party, but in her irritable state, their laughter would probably only make her more upset at missing it.
Imara forced her eyes to the book, only reading a handful of words before there was a knock on her bedroom door—which meant whoever it was had been allowed past Kaz and whatever Mortisian guards stood in the hall.
Curiosity prickled. Clare would already be down at the beach, and Desfan was in a council meeting. Those were her usual visitors, so she couldn’t imagine who was at her door. “Come in,” she called.
The door pushed open and Desfan strode in, his hands behind his back.
Her stomach fluttered when he smiled, flashing that fates-blasted dimple of his. “Good morning,” he said.
She straightened in her bed. “What are you doing here? Don’t you have a council meeting?”
“Not anymore. I took a vote first thing. I asked them if they’d like to attend a party on the beach, or carry on with the meeting. It was almost unanimous.”
“Almost?”
He shrugged. “Ser Anoush and Ser Sifa must not like the beach—or children.” He stopped beside the bed. “Now it’s my turn to ask: what areyoudoing here?”
Imara stared at him, then gestured to her outstretched legs, tucked under her quilt. “I can’t exactly be anywhere else.”
“Clare told me you refused to have someone carry you down to the beach—even though the physician said it would be all right.”
“There’s really no point in all that hassle.”
Desfan’s brow furrowed. “You helped organize the entire thing. You should be there.”
“I’m perfectly fine here,” she lied. “I have my book, and—”
He snatched up the novel with one quick hand and eyed the lettering on the spine. “This is the same book you were reading last week.” He angled the volume to note the placement of her marker, then sent her a look and deadpanned, “It must be riveting, to hold you in the same place for so long.”
She rolled her eyes, even though she was surprised he’d paid so much attention to something as trivial as her book. “Very witty of you, Serjan.” She snorted. “If you’re even the serjan—you still haven’t shown me your crown.”
His lip quirked. “I’m the serjan,” he assured her. “I just didn’t think a crown was necessary for a day at the beach.”
He had a point. She gestured to the book he still held. “Will you give it back, please?”
“I have a better idea.” He dropped the book on the bedside table, and from behind his back he drew out a cane.
Imara’s eyes widened, because it was no ordinary cane. It was made of a beautiful light wood and decorated with blue khalmin, the intricate designs twisting along the entire length. The Zennorian art was breathtaking. The fact that Desfan had commissioned it for her after they’d merely joked of such a thing . . .
Her breath caught. “Desfan . . .” With slow-moving fingers, she touched the finely carved wood, her lips parted in shock.
“I took your advice about the khalmin,” he said. “And you were right, it was less expensive than decorating it with jewels.”
She peered up at him, her fingertips still laid on the cane he held. “But, blue is your color.” It was a silly thing to say, but she couldn’t find other words. Staring up at his perfectly sculpted face, she wanted nothing more than to kiss him. Which would be a horrid mistake, she firmly reminded herself.
Desfan’s eyes lowered to the cane, where his thumb rested very near her fingers. “I think blue suits you.”
Calm. Steady. Fair. Strong.She’d told him that blue embodied those attributes. Thatheembodied them. And he was telling her the same.
Her heart squeezed. Fates, what was she supposed to say to that? Staring up at him, all she could think was blue suited her far too well; she couldn’t think of a single aspect of the man before her that didn’t suit her.
Desfan set the end of the cane on the floor. “The physician assured me that you could try standing with the cane, if you’d like.”
Her pulse stuttered, and sudden dread swelled. She’d been anxious for this moment, but she also feared it. What if her leg collapsed beneath her? What if she would never walk again?
Inhaling deeply, she pushed aside her quilt and carefully eased her legs over the side of the bed. Her bare feet brushed the braided rug, and she took hold of the cane.
