“What?” I asked, unconsciously turning a foolish half-circle.
“You’re scarred all along your back,” she said gently. I felt one of her cool hands touch my sun-warm skin, tracing a line. “I could hardly tell they were scars at first. They’re pretty.” She traced another line down my back. “It looks like some giant-child mistook you for a piece of paper and practiced his letters on you with a silver pen.”
She took her hand away, and I turned to face her. “How did you get them?” she asked.
“I caused some trouble at the University,” I said somewhat sheepishly.
“They whipped you?” she said, incredulous.
“Twice,” I said.
“And you stay there?” she asked as if she still couldn’t believe it. “After they did this to you?”
I shrugged it away. “There are worse things than whipping,” I said. “There’s nowhere else I can learn the things they teach here. When I want a thing it takes more than a little blood to . . .”
It was only then I realized what I was saying. The masters whipped me. Her patron beat her. And we both stayed. How could I convince her my situation was different? How could I convince her to leave?
Denna looked at me curiously, her head tilted to the side. “What happens when you want a thing?”
I shrugged. “I was just saying I’m not easily chased away.”
“I’ve heard that about you,” Denna said, giving me a knowing look. “A lot of girls in Imre say you’re not easily chaste.” She sat upright and began to slide toward the edge of the stone. Her white shift twisted and slid slowly up her legs as she moved.
I was about to comment on her scar, hoping I might still bring the conversation around to her patron when I noticed Denna had stopped moving and was watching me as I stared at her bare legs.
“What do they say, exactly?” I asked, more for something to say than from any curiosity.
She shrugged. “Some think you’re trying to decimate Imre’s female population.” She edged closer to the lip of the stone. Her shift shifted distractingly.
“Decimate would imply one in ten,” I said, trying to turn it into a joke. “That’s slightly ambitious even for me.”
“How reassuring,” she said. “Do you bring all of them h—” She made a little gasp as she slipped down the side of the stone. She caught herself just as I was reaching out to help her.
“Bring them what?” I asked.
“Roses, fool,” she said sharply. “Or have you turned that page already?”
“Would you like me to carry you?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said. But before I could reach for her, she slid the rest of the way into the water, her shift gathering to a scandalous height before she slipped free into the stream. The water rose to her knee, just dampening the hem.
We made our way back to the greystone and silently worked our way into our now-dry clothes. Denna fretted at the wetness at the hem of her shift.
“You know, I could have carried you,” I said softly.
Denna pressed the back of her hand to her forehead. “Another seven words, I swoon.” She fanned herself with her other hand. “What should a woman do?”
“Love me.” I had intended to say it in my best flippant tone. Teasing. Making a joke of it. But I made the mistake of looking into her eyes as I spoke. They distracted me, and when the words left my mouth, they ended up sounding nothing at all the way I had intended.
For a fleet second she held my eyes with intent tenderness. Then a rueful smile quirked up the corner of her mouth. “Oh no,” she said. “Not that trap for me. I’ll not be one of the many.”
I clenched my teeth, stuck somewhere between confusion, embarrassment, and fear. I’d been too bold and made a mess of things, just as I’d always feared. When had the conversation managed to run away from me?
“I beg your pardon?” I said stupidly.
“You should.” Denna straightened her clothes, moving with an uncharacteristic stiffness, and ran her hands through her hair, twisting it into a thick plait. Her fingers knitted the strands together and for a second I could read it, clear as day: “Don’t speak to me.”
I might be thick, but even I can read a sign that obvious. I closed my mouth, biting off the next thing I’d been about to say.
Then Denna saw me eyeing her hair and pulled her hands away self-consciously without tying off the braid. Her hair quickly spun free to fall loose around her shoulders. She brought her hands in front of her and twisted one of her rings nervously.
“Hold a moment,” I said. “I’d almost forgotten.” I reached into the inner pocket of my vest. “I have a present for you.”
Her mouth made a thin line as she looked at my outstretched hand. “You too?” she asked. “I honestly thought you were different.”
“I hope I am,” I said, and opened my hand. I’d polished it, and the sun caught the edges of the pale blue stone.
“Oh!” Denna’s hands went to her mouth, her eyes suddenly brimming. “Is it really?” She reached out with both hands to take it.
“It is,” I said.
She turned it over in her hands, then removed one of her other rings and slid it onto her finger. “It is,” she said in amazement, a few tears spilling over. “How did you ever . . . ?”
“I got it from Ambrose,” I said.
“Oh,” she said. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, and I felt the silence loom up between us again.
“It wasn’t much trouble,” I said. “I’m just sorry it took so long.”
“I can’t thank you enough for this.” Denna reached out and took my hand between hers.
You would think that would have helped. That a gift and clasped hands would make things right between us. But the silence was back now, stronger than before. Thick enough that you could spread it on your bread and eat it. There are some silences that even words cannot drive away. And while Denna was touching my hand, she wasn’t holding it. There is a world of difference.
Denna looked up at the sky. “The weather’s turning,” she said. “We should probably head back before it rains.”
I nodded and we left. Clouds cast their shadows across the field behind us as we went.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED FORTY-NINE
Tangled
Anker’s was deserted except for Sim and Fela sitting at one of the back tables. I made my way toward them and sat with my back to the wall.
“So?” Sim asked as I slumped into my seat. “How did yesterday go?”
I ignored the question, not really wanting to discuss it.
“What was yesterday?” Fela asked curiously.
“He spent the day with Denna,” Sim supplied. “The whole day.”
I shrugged.
Sim lost some of his buoyant manner. “Not so well?” he said carefully.
“Not particularly,” I said. I looked behind the bar, caught Laurel’s eye, and gestured for her to bring me some of whatever was in the pot.
“Care for a lady’s perspective?” Fela asked gently.
“I’d settle for yours.”
Simmon burst out laughing, and Fela made a face. “I’ll help you in spite of that,” she said. “Tell Auntie Fela all about it.”
So I told her the bones of it. I tried my best to paint a picture of the situation, but the heart of it seemed to defy explication. It sounded foolish when I tried to put it into words.
“That’s all,” I said after several minutes of fumbling around the subject. “Or at least that’s enough of my talking about it. She confuses me like no other thing in the world.” I picked at a splinter in the tabletop with my finger. “I hate not understanding a thing.”
Laurel brought me warm bread and a bowl of potato soup. “Anything else?” she asked.
“I’m fine, thanks.” I smiled at her, then observed her rear aspect as she made her way back to the bar.
“All right then,” Fela said in a businesslike manner. “Let’s start with your good points. You’re charming, handsome, and perfectly courteous to women.”
Sim laughed. “Didn’t you see how he looked at Lauren just now? He’s the world’s first lecher. He looks at more women than I could if I had two heads with necks that spun like an owl’s.”