“Me?” A laugh spills out of me. “No.”
“Do you have a lover?”
Her question strikes at the part of me that wishes I did, or that I had never deserted Malachi. He was the person I hated to leave the most when I left Kyanite land.
“I do not,” I say after several moments.
“I don’t have one either.” Threads of wistfulness thicken her tone as she continues. “But I wish I did.”
“Then you should take one.”
She sighs and stares down at her wine. “For as long as I can remember, I have loved the same man.”
“Does he love you?”
“No.” She stands and returns to her pot. “He doesn’t see me that way.”
“Maybe if you spoke to him?”
Pink tinges her cheeks as she stirs the stew in a quick, jerky motion. “I couldn’t.”
“If you never speak, he may never see you the way you wish him to.”
Her fingers tighten on the ladle as she talks, her voice soft. “Or I could ruin everything by speaking.”
Maybe. I have never understood men.
She serves the venison stew in two terracotta bowls. A peaceful silence falls between us as we eat. With her, I can breathe a little easier. Especially, when she’s so open and friendly.
She waits until we’re both finished to collect our bowls. As she returns them to the washing stand, I reach for my leather pouch and suck in a breath. I left it by the river. It contains everything I own. More importantly, it has powerful healing herbs. I’ll need them to prove my worth.
“I left my bag near the river.”
“Oh.” Kassandra places the bowls in a basin. “You may fetch it.”
A light drizzle pelts my face when I walk outside. I pause, allowing the raindrops to slip down my cheeks. Each drop cools my skin and the heat churning in my belly.
I follow the muddy tracks trampled by horses, each step carrying me closer to the river’s edge. I take another step and gasp when I collide with something solid. No, someone solid.
My gaze jerks upward. Piercing silver-blue eyes meet mine, then narrow.
He’s the warrior from three nights ago, the one who disapproved of me being here. Luc called him Gabriel.
“Kyanite,” he grinds out between his teeth and grabs my arm. “I need to speak to you.”
“Sol.” I offer no resistance as he leads me inside a dimly lit tent.
“What?” He releases me the moment we enter but stands, blocking the entrance.
“My name is Sol. Not Kyanite.”
The warrior folds his arms and stares blankly.
All right, so he’s not friendly.
Not that I truly expected a Bloodstone barbarian to be friendly.
Torchlight weaves around his features, sharpening the angles and amplifying the Bloodstone marks. Like several nights before, the black paint slashes beneath his eyes and lower lip. The dark lines only add to his stern brow and midnight hair, making him look as fierce as every rumor spread about Bloodstone warriors.
