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Desfan’s palm cupped her elbow while his other hand slid over her back, preparing to brace her as she stood. This put his body far too close. The heat of him warmed her, and her heartbeat quickened.
“Just take it slow,” he said.
Forcing herself to focus on the task at hand, Imara stood with Desfan’s help. Her grip on the cane clenched when she wavered, and her heart pounded erratically. Once upright, her good leg took the majority of her weight, and the cane gave her balance. Slowly, she let her injured leg straighten.
Pain flashed in her knee, and she knew instantly it wouldn’t be able to support her. But the cane was her anchor, and Desfan remained close—another anchor—ready to catch her if she faltered.
Slowly, she took an awkward step forward, leaning heavily on the cane. Her limp was terrible, but the cane kept her from falling. She would be slow and cumbersome, and she would tire quickly; a fine tremble was already in her braced arm and leg. But she was standing.
She took another halting step. Then another.
Desfan flashed her a grin. “You’ll be walking circles around Yahri in no time.”
She huffed a laugh and gently elbowed him in the stomach. It was supposed to be a simple gesture between friends, but feeling the solidness of his abdomen made her stomach tighten. Her shoulder brushed his chest, and she had to swallow before meeting his gaze.
Pride shone in his eyes, along with an emotion she was afraid to name.
So, she ignored it. “Thank you, Desfan.”
His hand pressed gently against her back. “You’re welcome. Now. I think we’re due on the beach.”
Imara sat on a blanket spread over the sand. She was on the edge of the party, but she didn’t mind at all. Desfan had carried her most of the way, though she still had her cane. He’d settled her on this blanket, but he hadn’t remained with her for long.
The Serjan of Mortise was in high demand. He currently stood in the shallow waves that lapped the beach, his laugh deep and full as the children shrieked and splashed him. He splashed them in return, the impromptu game far more entertaining for those children than she would have expected.
Then again, watching a shirtless Desfan play in the water with a group of children hadherfully mesmerized. And she wasn’t the only one.
The parents had all been invited as well, and while some were undoubtedly still too injured to leave the physician’s ward, many of the nobles had accompanied their children to the beach. Many of the men and women openly stared at Desfan—the women with an edge of appreciation Imara thoroughly understood. Not everyone from the council was in attendance, but those who had come looked surprised to see Desfan playing with the children.
Imara decided they must not know him well, because Desfan taking time to make children smile was perfectly in his character.
Clare was farther up the beach, helping some of the younger children make castles in the golden sand. Bennick—as always—was never far from her. He sat on the ground beside her, helping a couple of boys build their sand palace, while also managing to praise a young girl’s seashell collection. She kept thrusting each new piece under his nose, but his smiles were sincere and endlessly patient.
Despite the proverbial clouds that hung over them, Imara felt peace. She wished Serene were here, though. Her cousin should be seeing Desfan like this. If the fates had been kinder, Imara would be the one headed to Zennor now, and Serene would be here.
A selfish part of her thought that maybe this wasa kindness of the fates. Because wrong or not, Imara knew she would always treasure this memory of Desfan.
Karim stood near the water’s edge, one eye on Desfan even as he monitored the rest of the beach. Surprisingly, when Razan joined him, Karim didn’t tense. They spoke in low tones, but the fact they were speaking at all seemed a small miracle. Just another testament to the peace that had settled over this stretch of beach.
All too soon, a luncheon was declared ready. While servants and parents collected their children and made their way to the provided blankets to sit and eat, Desfan strode from the water, his dark hair wet and dripping. A servant handed him a towel, which he drew over his face and neck. His eyes found Imara, and he moved toward her.
Imara straightened her spine. By the time he landed on the blanket beside her, she had almost convinced her heart to stop pounding.
Desfan grinned and shook a hand through his wet hair. “Well, that wasn’t the plan, but it was fun.”
“Words you’ve no doubt said before,” she quipped.
He laughed. “More than once, much to Karim’s chagrin.” The towel was in his hand, but he seemed to have forgotten the need to dry. His bare feet were encrusted in sand and droplets of saltwater clung to the grooves of his chest and muscled abdomen. Her attention was drawn to a tattoo over his heart. It looked like a sun, but there were intricate designs and an artistic Mortisian script she couldn’t quite decipher from this angle—and one section had fresh bruising.
Desfan noticed her stare. His fingers tapped the mark. “I got this after the shipwreck.”
Understanding dawned. The decorative script wove the names of his mother and sisters into the image of the tattooed sun. “You added your father,” she realized, her eyes lingering on the newest part of the tattoo.
“It seemed right.” He let his hand fall. “Not that he approved of me getting this in the first place.”
“I think he would approve of it now. It’s beautiful.”
Desfan glanced at her. “Tattoos aren’t popular in Zennor, are they?”
