The Kiss of Deception (The Remnant Chronicles, #1)(30)

“I noticed the nicks on your hands. Did you get them from your work?”

He examined one hand in front of him like he was just noticing the nicks too. “Oh, these. Almost healed now. Yes, from my work as a farmhand, but I’m between jobs right now.”

“If you can’t pay, Berdi will strip it from your hide.”

“Berdi needn’t worry. My lack of work is only temporary. I’ve enough to pay my way.”

“Then your hide is spared. Though there’s always some work around the inn you could do in trade. The cottage, for instance, is in need of a new roof. Then Berdi could rent it out properly and make a better profit.”

“Then where would you stay?”

How did he know I stayed in the cottage? Was it apparent from the direction I was walking last night? Still, I could have been traveling a back path to any number of homes a short walk from the inn—unless he had watched me all the way to my door last night.

As if he could see the thoughts churning in my head, he added, “Pauline told me she was going to the cottage to rest when she asked me to bring you the baskets.”

“I’m sure the loft will suit Pauline and me just as well as Berdi’s paying guests. I’ve stayed in much worse.”

He grunted as though he didn’t believe me, and I wondered how he perceived me. Did privilege show in my face or speech? It showed nowhere else. My nails were chipped, my hands chapped, and my clothing torn. I suddenly felt pride in my difficult trek from Civica to Terravin. Hiding our tracks was our priority over comfort, and more than once, we slept on hard stony ground without the benefit of a warm fire.

The canyon narrowed, and we climbed a gentle path until we emerged on a grassy plateau that looked out on the sea. The winds were strong here, whipping at the loose tendrils of my hair. I reached up to push them back and surveyed the ocean, purple with frosted caps, a wild tempest, alluring and frightening. The warm temperatures of the canyon vanished, and I felt the chill on my bare shoulders. Waves swirled and crashed on the jagged rocks in an inlet far beneath us, leaving foamy trails behind.

“I wouldn’t get close,” Rafe warned. “The cliffs may be unstable.”

I looked down at the fissures that reached out like claws from the cliff edge and took a step back. We were surrounded only by windswept grass. “I suppose there are no berry bushes up here,” I said, stating the obvious.

“None,” he answered. His eyes lifted from the fissures to me, long seconds passing, and I felt the weight of his attention as if he were studying me. He caught himself and looked away, staring farther down the coast.

I followed the line of his gaze. In the distance, the enormous bleached remains of two massive domes that had caved in on the windward side rose high above the surf like the ribbed carcasses of giant sea creatures tossed to the shore.

“They must have been impressive once,” I said.

“Once? They still are, don’t you think?”

I shrugged. The texts of Morrighan were riddled with caution about the Ancients. I saw sadness when I looked at what was left of them. The demigods who had once controlled the heavens had been brought low, humbled to the point of death. I always imagined I heard their crumbled masterpieces singing an endless mourning dirge. I turned, looking at the wild grass shivering across the plateau. “I see only reminders that nothing lasts forever, not even greatness.”

“Some things last.”

I faced him. “Really? And just what would that be?”

“The things that matter.”

His reply surprised me both in substance and delivery. It was oddly quaint, na?ve even, but heartfelt. Certainly not what I’d expect to hear from someone with a hard edge like him. I could easily challenge him. The things that mattered to me hadn’t lasted. What I wouldn’t give to have my brothers here in Terravin or to see love on the faces of my parents once again. And the things that mattered to my parents hadn’t lasted either, like the tradition of a First Daughter. I was a grave disappointment to them. My only response to him was a noncommittal shrug.

He frowned. “Do you disdain everything of the old ways? All the traditions of the ages?”

“Most. That’s why I came to Terravin. Things are different here.”

His head cocked to the side, and he edged closer. I couldn’t move without stepping toward the fissures of the cliff. He was only inches from me when he reached out, his fingers brushing my shoulder. Heat streamed through me.

“And what’s this?” he asked. “It bears some resemblance to tradition. To mark a celebration?”

I looked to where he had touched my skin. My chemise had slipped from my shoulder, revealing a portion of the lion claw and the vines of Morrighan. What had they done that I couldn’t be rid of this beast? Damn the artisans!

I yanked at my chemise to cover it. “It’s a terrible mistake. That’s what it is. Little more than the marks of grunting barbarians!”

I was incensed that this damnable kavah refused to let me go. I tried to brush past him, but a strong jerk left me suddenly facing him again, his hand securely circling about my wrist. We didn’t speak. He only stared at me, his jaw tense, as if he was holding back words.

“Say it,” I finally said.

He released his grip. “I already told you. Be careful where you step.”

I waited, thinking he would say more, do more. I wanted more. But he made no move.