Chapter 12
Lyra
My wrist is still sore from falling and spraining it, but more than the pain, I feel Cairn’s hand as he lifted me off the ground, then the tenderness with which he wrapped the cotton bandage around my wrist, his fingers warm and gentle.
I still have a slight tingle where he touched me, and it’s making my brow furrow, making me wonder why my stomach flipped and flopped in a not-wholly-unpleasant way while I stood in his sitting room and watched him lean in the doorway, his horns twisting so high they nearly brushed the ceiling.
One of our exchanges comes back to me, making my throat warm.
Don’t you like your own company? he asked me.
And when I told him I don’t, his response was, Well, I do.
He didn’t elaborate, but when I looked up and met his eyes, they regarded me unflinchingly, sturdy as a big old oak tree.
He likes my company . . .
Before I can stop it, a smile is rising to my mouth, lifting the corners of my lips.
Do I like his company too?
My body responds before my brain can, getting warm and tingly at the idea of seeing him again, hearing that deep voice, perhaps even feeling the warmth from his big, strong hands.
Shit. I’ve always liked men with big hands.
I’m so lost in thought that I almost walk right past our dorm room; if not for Raelan standing in the hallway, the colorful light from the stained glass window glowing down over his short dark hair, I probably would’ve just kept on going.
He arches a brow at me. “You okay?”
With some effort, I banish the smile from my lips. “Fine.”
Quickly assessing me, mud and all, he says, “Looks like you had an interesting morning.”
I blow out a strong puff of air, sending one of my curls dancing. “You’ve got no idea.”
He smiles, just a little bit, and I turn to walk into our dorm room.
The air is warm with a hint of sage from Maeve’s morning incense meditation, and the girls are all sprawled about the sitting room: Poppy reading from a book on sentient flora, Alina copying runes into a notebook with a feather quill, and Maeve lounging on the couch, one leg over the back, letting Isis curl about her arm.
When I close the door behind me, they all glance in my direction.
“She lives,” Maeve says dryly. Her eyes narrow a bit as I pull off my muddy boots and deposit them beside the door. “Does the academy offer mud baths that I’m unaware of? Because that would be amazing.”
I roll my eyes. “I slipped and fell. Made quite a scene.”
Poppy pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “Are you all right?”
“Mostly. Just wounded my pride.” I hold up my arm. “And sprained my wrist.”
Alina puts her quill down and turns in her chair to regard me. Concern furrows her smooth brow. “Who wrapped it for you?”
It’s a simple question, one that shouldn’t take any effort to answer. Yet I find myself growing warm, like there’s a candle flickering just inside my rib cage. And I have to make an effort to shrug nonchalantly, avoiding eye contact as I say, “The minotaur.”
A moment of quiet passes. I can see the girls glancing at one another in my periphery as I pull my muddy sweater off over my head. I’ll need to do laundry earlier this week than I typically do.
“That was . . . nice of him,” Poppy says. Her voice lilts a bit, as if trying to entice me into saying more.
But I refuse. Instead, I force a scoff. “It was the least he could do. It’s his fault I fell in the first place.”
There’s a whisper of little paws on wooden floorboards, and when I look up, Juniper is peering down at me from our loft.
“You got hurt?” she asks, her voice a quiet squeak.
“Barely,” I tell her. Then, before the girls—or Juniper—can interrogate me further, I announce, “I’m going to take a bath. Then anyone want to get lunch?”
“Me!” Maeve sits up on the couch as Isis slithers around her shoulders and twines about her neck.
That still creeps me out.
“I could eat,” Alina agrees. “How about you, Pops?”
Poppy smiles. “I’ve got an even better idea.”
We all exchange looks, then say at the same time, “The Wandering Cup!”
Just like that, I’m able to slip away, having escaped being asked more questions about the minotaur than I want to answer. But as I gather what I’ll need for my bath, I find myself looking out the window in the loft, over the spires of the castle and down to what I can see of the campus below.
And I find myself thinking of him, wondering what he does in the quiet when no one is around. It makes the candle behind my ribs burn ever brighter.