My eyes trail over him, noting the breadth of his shoulders, the thickness of his arms, the expanse of his chest. It’s impossible to build strength like his by sitting idle all day.
“What else do you do?”
“I forge weapons.”
My brow rises. “You make weapons?”
He nods.
My conversation with Kassandra passes through my thoughts, the one where I asked about his family. “Do you have siblings?”
“No.”
The earlier empathy returns, that tugging of understanding and of mutual loneliness. “I’m sorry.”
“Why?” He takes a long drink of tea. “Plenty of people have no siblings.”
“Because it is lonely.” No words have felt truer. My world has been lonely since…
I pry the thought from my mind, locking it in that place where sadness and grief lives.
Think of something else to talk about.
Think, Sol. Think.
“Is the Bloodstone army large?”
“Large enough,” he says in the same curt manner.
I draw a circle pattern against my leg. “Kassandra says there are other cities. Will we visit them?”
“Eventually.”
I glance around the sparse room, the one containing no personal items of his. “Where did you live before?”
“Before here?” He sets his goblet on the table next to him.
“Yes.”
“Tarra.”
My brow wrinkles as I consider the name. “Is it farther in the mountains?”
“It is. Why do you ask?”
“I want to understand your people better.” It’s not a false statement. If I understand them, I can infiltrate them better, and when the end nears, I’ll know how to escape.
Gabriel scoffs and raises his goblet to his lips.
“Is that so impossible to believe?”
“Kyanite women are never interested in the inner workings of Bloodstone people unless they have an ulterior motive.”
“What would my motive be, Gabriel?” Frustration teems my words as I continue. “I’m here in Astarobane, and I’m married to you.”
Firelight weaves over his face as he shifts to stare at me. “You could be a spy.”
I laugh and shake my head. “Do I look like a spy?”
