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He said this more as a pronouncement of inevitability than a lament.
I had my own ideas about remedying this but didn’t dare speak them aloud.
Certain parts of myself had always been safer to keep hidden.
“I’ve already booked my passage, Mark.” I turned my torso to reach into the leather satchel hanging on the back of my chair and pulled out the tattered piece of paper with elaborately looping script.
I held it out to him, not wanting to sully it with any mysterious substances smudging a table that probably hadn’t seen a decent washing in a decade.
My brother’s eyes moved quickly over the paper, the corners of his mouth tugging downward. His knuckles whitened, and for a moment, I feared I might have made a terrible mistake. He could tear it to shreds quicker than I could blink.
Or at least quicker than a human could blink.
“I assume you’ve already arranged transport to Liverpool?” he asked.
“Aye.”
“When do ye leave?”
I looked at the wooden clock on the dingy wall beside the inn’s main door. “Half an hour.”
The noise and bustle of the inn died away as our gazes locked across the table. A reflection of the fire flickering from the hearth danced in my brother’s eyes, merging with the memory of every blazing Yule log, every solstice fire. The years of our long lives lived in such proximity and were now destined to part.
“Kat, I—”
“Whit’s like?” That damnable flame-haired wench asked, interrupting what might be their last chance for a tender moment as siblings.
Why hadn’t I scented her? Or heard the approach of her footsteps? It wasn’t like subtlety was her strong point.
“No bad, an’ yourself?” Mark said, pouring on the brogue.
I pushed my still half-empty glass across the table. “I’ll not have any more of that dragon pish,” I said. “I’d sooner drink rainwater from the hog trough.”
If the insult had landed, the serving wench gave no clue. “Might be an improvement, actually,” she said with a little bounce that jiggled her ample cleavage. “Seeing as I’m responsible for feeding them. I make sure the hogs get a nice mix of fresh kitchen scraps, barley, and suet. Put a little burner under it, and you’ll have a cracking soup. Speaking of, we have a lovely cock-a-leekie this evening if you’d care to try it.” Cupping her hand to her downy cheek, she leaned conspiratorially toward us. “They make me say that as part of me job, but definitely don’t try it. It’s basically tattie water and sadness.”
I narrowed my eyes at the wide green ones sparkling down at me.
Don’t you fecking dare make me like you.
Wouldn’t dream of it.
Wood scraped against grimy stone as I jerked back in my chair.
It happened like that sometimes. When I could pick a thought out of the air like a ripe plum.
But never involuntarily.
“I’d tell you about our other specials,” she continued. “But they’re just as bad. What isn’t terrible is—”
“The cheese,” Mark finished for her.
Her cheeks flushed at the broad smile my brother beamed up at her.
“It comes from a quaint little farm just beyond the forest outside town. A country idyl of green fields and misty mornings warmed by the sun—”
“Aye. Sounds lux. We’ll take the cheese plate,” I cut in to spare the wench the rest of her spiel. After all, I only had three and twenty minutes before I was supposed to meet my carriage.
“Excellent choice.” The look she gave me held nothing but warmth and kindness.
