She turned slowly to face him. “What?”
Evryn stood before her, the lantern held aloft in one hand, castingdramatic shadows across his features. His jaw worked as if he were physically chewing on words he didn’t want to release. A groan of what sounded like actual pain escaped him before he finally said, “I … apologize. For what I said about your grandfather.”
Mariselle’s eyebrows rose, genuine surprise replacing her anger. “It looked like that hurt.”
“It did.”
She rolled her eyes, then took a deep breath, forcing herself to be calm. “I …” Yes, this was indeed difficult to say. She tried again. “I … apologize as well. For blaming your great-uncle.”
Evryn blinked. “Astounding.”
“What?”
“I didn’t know a Brightcrest was capable of apologizing.”
“Believe me, I’m equally shocked to hear the words ‘I apologize’ leave the lips of a Rowanwood.”
The mention of his lips inadvertently drew her gaze downward. The lantern’s shifting light cast shadows that somehow rendered his mouth fuller than usual. Irritated with herself for noticing such a thing at all, she quickly averted her eyes.
Releasing a sharp exhale, she said, “Can we perhaps both acknowledge that neither of us knows the full story about what truly happened between our ancestors? Can we stop arguing about the past and instead focus on the present?”
Evryn was silent for a moment before giving a reluctant nod. “I suppose that would be the sensible approach.” He paused, his gaze dropping to her feet and then back to her face. “Did you … hurt yourself?”
“I’m fine,” she told him, the irritation creeping back into her voice. She ignored the stab of pain in her ankle as they started walking again. This wouldn’t have happened if she’d been wearing her riding boots. But the original plan was for Petunia to accompany her this evening, and so she’d snuck out in a carriage instead of on her pegasus.
“You’re limping,” he pointed out as they passed beneath an ornate archway draped in tangled vines and pale blossoms.
“I’m fine,” she repeated. “It’s nothing a simple charm won’t fix when we’re back at the cottage.”
He hesitated for a beat. Then another. “I could?—”
“Spare me the fake gallantry, Rowanwood.”
He sighed. “As you wish, my luminous pestilence.”
She choked on a laugh that practically ambushed her with its unexpected force. She cleared her throat and swallowed. “Stop that.”
He said nothing, but she could somehowsensethe triumphant smirk radiating from him.
They passed beneath the skeletal remains of the pavilion’s outer ring, its enormous framework still reaching toward the sky despite decades of neglect. Dull lumyrite crystals remained embedded in the tarnished metal at regular intervals, occasionally catching the moonlight. Broken columns jutted from the earth like ancient teeth, while luminous moss had claimed the shadowed crevices, painting the ruins with an ethereal blue-green glow.
Up ahead, the ground sloped downward in uneven tiers where time and weather had worn away what once must have been a grand, multi-leveled promenade. Evryn stepped forward and, without hesitation, jumped lightly down onto the lower level. His boots crunched against gravel and broken stone as he turned back to look up at her.
She stood at the edge, testing the crumbling ground with the toe of her shoe and wishing yet again that she had worn riding attire this evening. A gown and a twisted ankle were going to make this difficult. Nevertheless, determination was a quality Mariselle possessed in abundance, and she would find a way down, dress, ankle, and all, if only to prove she could.
“Need a hand, my daringly impractical skylark?” Evryn asked.
She glared at him with narrowed eyes. “No.”
“Excellent. Then I shall stand here uselessly while you twist your other ankle attempting to dismount like a dramatic goat.”
She stared at him.
He offered a winning smile.
Silence stretched between them.
She sighed, long and theatrical. “Fine.”
