“Would you,” I start as Lyra sinks into a chair at the table, “like a cup of tea?”
“Please.” She crosses her arms on the table and smiles up at me, looking more innocent than I know her to be.
Her eyes throw little flames of warmth at my back while I turn to peruse my tea selection. “Lavender, lemon balm, or green?” I ask her without turning around.
“Hmm...” Her fingers drum out a soft rhythm on the tabletop, mixing with the sound of the rain thumping against the thatched roof. “I think lavender.”
I agree. After adding lavender leaves to two sachets, I grab my jar of wildflower honey and a silver spoon to go with it. Then I have nothing left to distract myself with, and I steel myself before turning and joining her at the table.
She watches with childlike excitement as I add honey to each cup, then pour hot water and toss in the sachets. Immediately, the calming sweet scent of lavender curls around us, and I breathe it in deeply.
Unfortunately, it does nothing to ease the frenzied pounding of my heart.
Apart from Headmistress Moonhart, I don’t recall a woman ever having joined me in my hut. And Lyra is already making herself at home, pulling one knee into her chest and blowing softly on her steaming tea as she holds the cup in both hands. Always in such a hurry...
“Careful,” I say, feeling oddly protective of her. “It’s hot.”
One of her brows arches in the corner. “I don’t mind some heat.”
Oh, goddess.
I tear my eyes away and will myself not to imagine what’s under that sweater—if anything at all. Her dress almost killed me tonight, but I think the sweater and bare legs might be even more dangerous.
Not good.
“So,” Lyra says as I stare at a point on the kitchen wall, “tell me about you, Cairn Axton.”
She says my name slowly, drawing it out intentionally. I flex my jaw and take a slow breath, trying to keep my horns on straight.
“Me? There’s not much to tell.” I lift one shoulder in a shrug. “What do you want to know?”
“How’d you end up here?” In my periphery, she gestures around my hut with one hand. “Did you always want to be a groundskeeper?”
A gruff laugh slips out of me. “No.”
I didn’t know what I wanted, exactly. But like most things in life, the job presented itself to me unexpectedly—and right when I needed it.
After taking a sip of tea, I ask Lyra, “And you? Why are you here?”
“Well,” she says, “there was this rainstorm, and I had to run for cover, and—”
I tip my head and cast her an unimpressed look, and she cracks a smile.
“At Coven Crest?” she asks.
I nod.
Now the playful smile slips from her lips. She sets her teacup on the table and looks down into her tea, the steam curling up around her pretty freckled cheeks.
“My mom attended Coven Crest,” she says softly. “I don’t know her, really—she left when I was little—but I know she was a powerful fire witch, and I want to be one too.” Her shoulders, drowning in my sweater, rise and fall with a shrug. “So, here I am. Not sure it’s done me much good though.” Her crimson eyes flick to mine, but the smile she attempts doesn’t quite reach them.
My heart squeezes. Perhaps for the first time, Lyra is letting me see something that resides somewhere deep. She’s being vulnerable. And it makes me hurt for her.
“I’m sorry,” I say softly.
Lyra blinks. “For what?”
“Your mother...” I clear my throat. “A parent shouldn’t abandon their children.”
