7. Chapter Seven #2
Looking around for the instrument, I frown. "Where is it?" He considers me for a second, as if debating whether to answer, then pulls a small black velvet bag from his pocket and tips the contents into his cupped palm, over a long, jagged scar.
Rosy moonlight glints off gold, revealing a tiny, perfectly rendered guitar next to an unusual, heart-shaped opalescent gemstone on a delicate chain. "It's beautiful," I murmur, tucking my hands into the folds of my skirt to stop myself from reaching out to get a closer look.
"They were my mother's," he says gruffly, closing his fingers around the pieces in a tight fist before dropping them back into the bag and shoving it into his pocket.
Clearing his throat, he continues, "No doubt you know she was an Adaptor and loved to tinker with stuff like this.
There's a small key to reduce its size and weight, make it easier to carry and all that.
I guess she knew I wouldn't be home much.
It was the last thing she imbued before… "
He doesn't finish his sentence only looks away again, clearly not wanting to talk about it.
I don't remember his mother well. She was quiet but always kind.
I think he would've been about seventeen when she died.
Understandably, the grief looks to be lingering.
Not wanting to leave him alone in his sorrow, I attempt a subject change. "How did you hurt your hand?"
"It's from the Offering," he replies, still not looking at me.
"Never understood why it's always a cut across the palm for this kind of shit.
Shouldn't it be somewhere less irritating?
Not a place that gets used all the time and is impossible to immobilize while it heals?
" He scowls down at white fabric covering the entirety of his large hand.
"Have you seen a healer? It looks like it should be bound properly.
" I grip my skirts tighter, struck with the ridiculous urge to take his hand and check the injury.
As if I can do anything to help. Turning to face me, he folds his arms across his chest, and my eyes meet his sapphire stare.
"It's fine. I've had worse. It's not even bleeding anymore.
" His eyes drop to my neckline and narrow. "But you seem to be."
Looking down to where my dress hides the place the dagger split my skin, I swear under my breath.
Sure enough, the friction from the scratchy lace of my dress must have scraped it open, and glistening blood trickles down my chest again.
"Oh, that. It's nothing. A scratch from earlier I didn't get a chance to cover properly. "
I move to wipe it away, but he grabs my shoulders gently, pulling me a few steps closer to the light from the kitchens.
"Show me. A scratch shouldn't be bleeding that much.
" Warmth radiates through me from his hands on my bare skin, deliciously distracting for a moment.
Now I'm the one looking for a subject change.
"Why do you need to see it? I'm assuming you don't secretly have some kind of healing powers on top of everything else?
A five-star like you would have true healing, and we haven't seen that since the unnamed gods occupied Atafye, so I highly doubt it.
" He looks at me wordlessly, unamused by my little rant.
Sighing, I move to peel back the fabric just enough. "Fine, but it's really not that bad. And you definitely don't need to touch to see."
He takes a step back, palms up. "Worried you liked my hands on you a little too much?" His tone is lighter, but his eyes stay serious, locked on my neckline.
Fatigue creeps into my voice, as if the laceration reopening has disintegrated the mental walls I've steadily been building to bury the memory of that storeroom.
"You caught me. Or maybe it has something to do with my blood being everywhere and the open wound on your palm.
I'm not interested in being the reason you lose your power.
Or have you somehow managed to forget what happens if you get even a drop from another golden line in your bloodstream? "
The question is ludicrous; it would be impossible.
And yet, wide, shocked eyes fly up to mine, as if he really did forget our most sacred law.
After the sins of the first kings of Atafye, it was discovered two golden bloodlines can never combine in any way.
And since we need all twelve to make the Offering and replenish the barrier, Foundations must be protected at all costs.
"You're right. I won't touch. Just let me see.
" Cayzenn frowns when I expose the slice on my chest, careful not to reveal even a hint of my missing tattoo.
"What the fuck happened? That is not a scratch.
And you're giving me grief about not seeing a healer when you're hurt so much worse.
Why haven't you had that taken care of properly? It needs to be sanitized and covered."
"I know. Remedy, remember? I was in a hurry and didn't have time when I changed earlier." I force a reassuring smile, tugging my dress back into place. "Don't worry. I just need to clean up and sleep it off."
His angry scowl makes it clear my attempt to brush this off did not convince him, and he's beyond unimpressed with my answer.
"Strange priorities, getting dressed up and going to a frivolous dinner instead of looking after yourself.
" He runs a hand through his disheveled hair in what seems to be a tell he's frustrated.
Before I can respond, he adds, "I'll leave you to it. I should be getting back anyway."
His tone has gone cold and flat. Unlike mine, which is back to heated annoyance when I snap, "Guess it's a good thing my priorities are none of your business, since you're not my Commander or even in the Remedies."
"Thank fuck for that." He scoffs and turns to leave, dropping the shield to jump the low garden wall and stalking down a path away from the castle.
What the hell just happened?