Chapter 20 #4
At this I round on him, fist planted on my hip. “Now that is sheer nonsense! Didn’t we establish just last night that I am your friend?” Pointing my sheathed blade at him, I waggle it at his nose. “I wouldn’t let any but a friend teach me knife skills under moonlight. It wouldn’t be seemly.”
His eyes focus on the weapon for a moment before lifting to meet mine. “You would be wise not to befriend one such as I.”
“And why is that?”
He doesn’t answer, merely turns from me to study the view once more.
A little huff of laughter forces its way through my lips.
“I won’t lie, these broody silences of yours are enough to drive any potential friend mad.
Other than that, I’ve found you amiable enough.
” Then, letting my tone sink into something a little deeper and more serious, I add, “It…it means more to me than you know. Having a friend here. So, if you will just…be that. A friend. My friend. Whether you think you’re good at it or not. ”
He takes his time with answering. So long, in fact, I begin to think he’s committed to this particular broody silence for the long haul.
When he does eventually speak, the words tumble out in a rush, as though he’s afraid if he doesn’t say them quickly, he never will.
“It would be my honor to be considered your friend.”
Though I know it’s foolish, I feel as though a burden has been lifted from my chest. A smile breaks across my lips, big and bright.
“In that case, it’s official,” I say, holding out my hand.
He looks at it. Then looks at me. “It’s a friendly thing to do, is it not?
” I say. “Shaking hands? Friends do it all the time.”
His lips thin. Very slowly, he lifts his hand and lightly takes my fingers.
I’m struck all over again by the heat he generates, even up here in this thin, cold air.
It’s not unpleasant; in fact, I might even be inclined to draw closer, to benefit from that warmth.
His thumb is dry and pleasantly calloused as it plays back and forth across my knuckles, and I find my throat thickening suddenly.
“Thank you,” I say.
“For what?” His voice is husky, low.
“For the knife. For the lesson. For letting me cut your nice shirt, even though I know perfectly well you let me do it on purpose. For convincing me to free the gremler.” I tilt back my head, closing my eyes, and draw in a deep breath. “For the night sky.”
Silence surrounds us once more, broken only by the wind’s sighing.
When I finally open my eyes and look at him, he’s watching me with such a strange expression, I couldn’t begin to describe it.
He opens his mouth, starts to say something, but stops himself.
At last, he settles on a simple “You’re welcome. ”
I begin to draw back from him, but his gaze drops suddenly to my other hand, the hand not gripped by his. “What happened there?” he asks.
“Oh.” I bite my lip and put my hand behind my back, hiding the bandage. I’d almost forgotten about it in the last hour, and the pain has reduced to a dull throb. “Nothing.”
Valtar moves with that same graceful lightning quickness he demonstrated earlier, catching my arm, drawing my hand out between us. “Were you wounded by the votyr?”
“Not…exactly.”
He frowns. Before I can stop him, he unwinds the bandage and turns my palm up, allowing moonlight to illuminate the blistering burn. He studies it for a long, silent moment. Then, in a voice of absolute midnight: “Who did this to you?”
I don’t answer.
His fingers tighten around my wrist, his grip just shy of painful. “Who did this?” he repeats. “Tell me.”
I swallow. Then, in a breathless whisper: “He…he’s trying to awaken my…my flame. He means well.”
“Who?”
He knows the answer. I can tell. But he’s going to make me say it.
“Alderin.”
Valtar stands before me, rigid, as though carved from the mountain stone himself. He does not breathe, and the warmth in his touch seems to vanish in a sudden icy chill.
“Valtar?” I quaver.
As though galvanized by the sound of my voice, he drops his hold on my wrist, turns on heel, and begins marching toward the cavern tunnel.
“Valtar, where are you going?” I cry after him.
“To have words with the king.”
“No!” I spring into action, hurtling across the paving stones, and just manage to throw myself between him and the tunnel entrance.
He’s so massive, he could easily push me aside without a thought, but I spread wide my arms, making myself into the best barrier I can manage.
“Don’t do it, Valtar. Alderin is already suspicious of you with that gods-damned scar of yours and your gods-damned sneaking about and all those gods-damned knives.
If you do anything that might be construed as a threat, he’ll kill you. He’ll kill you, Valtar. I know it.”
Valtar does not look at me. He stands there, the living embodiment of rage contained in a pillar of ice.
His gaze fixes over my head, staring into the black mouth of the tunnel.
His breath issues in two white streams from his flared nostrils.
The muscles in his throat work, and his jaw clenches so hard, I swear I can hear his teeth grinding.
At long last he turns his face to one side, his features cast in contrasting halves of shadow and light. “You are too trusting,” he says at last.
I blink. It’s an odd comment to make. Does he mean of Alderin? Or himself? I suppose it doesn’t matter. What matters is some of that pressure inside him seems to be easing out. And that’s all I can hope for just now.
“A character flaw,” I say softly, and manage a little smile.
“Not much to be done about it, I’m afraid.
” I stretch out my unburnt hand and almost, almost take hold of his.
At the last moment I stop, withdraw, and put both hands behind my back, fist clenched around my burn.
“Please, Valtar. Please, don’t go to the king. ”
His teeth flash. “I thought the whole point of this championship was to find you a man worthy of defending you?”
“I don’t need to be defended from Alderin!”
“The way I see it, you may need that defense more than any other.”
I shake my head, struggling hard not to roll my eyes. “If you go and get yourself killed, who will be left to defend me then? Or do you suppose one bout of knife practice is enough to set me up for the rest of my life?”
Still not looking at me, he lifts an eyebrow and rolls his jaw.
“I mean it,” I persist. “I won’t have you putting yourself in needless danger. Now that I know where we are”—I swing an arm to indicate the terrible breadth of wilderness below us—“I’m going to need whatever allies I can muster if I’m going to get out of here.”
At this he turns to me, surprised. “You still mean to escape? Even now?”
I nod firmly. “This is certainly a wrinkle in my plans. But I’ll figure something out. I always do.”
Valtar sighs and shakes his head slowly. “Better to die devoured by monsters than to die in captivity?” he suggests.
“If it’s good enough for a gremler, it’s good enough for me.” I shrug. “We all die eventually.” Another silence falls between us. I’m suddenly much colder than I was before, and the night feels late. “I must go back,” I say with some reluctance. “Philippa will be worried.”
Without a word, Valtar walks me down the tunnel to the pulley lift. But when I step inside the scintil-lit box, he does not join me. “Are you coming?” I ask.
“Later,” he says, and begins to shut the door. He pauses, however, and adds, “You should practice. With the knife. Whenever you have opportunity.”
“Will you give me more lessons?”
A moment of hesitation. Then: “Yes.”
“Tomorrow night?”
The line of his cheek tenses, as though something has hurt him. But he nods.
“Excellent. I’ll meet you here then. Same time, same place. Wear something you don’t mind getting slashed up a bit.”
At that his tension eases. Perhaps it’s only a trick of the lonely scintil glow, but I swear I even glimpse a flash of dimple. “Agreed.”
“Good night then, Valtar.”
He slides the door shut. But just before it clunks into its groove, I hear that deep rumble of his voice say: “Good night…Rosie.”