“Yes, and I will be useless to you if I’m tired,” I snapped, and then remembered myself. “Forgive me, Mr. Vesper. I’m rather grouchy until I’ve had my tea.”
He smiled. A true, brilliant smile that warmed his eyes and made my stomach coil with warning.
“As I’ve learned, Miss Neven. Here, return to bed. I’ve brought breakfast to you, as well as your own rapier.”
I stepped back and watched, utterly astounded as Phelan leaned the rapier against the door frame and reached for a tray of gleaming breakfast platters, which had been waiting in the corridor, just out of my sight.
“Will you please sit, Miss Neven,” he said, taking the first cautious step into my room. “Before I drop this?”
Wordlessly, I returned to bed, and Phelan set the breakfast tray down before me and proceeded to remove the lids, exposing a bountiful breakfast of poached eggs, buttered toast, sliced fruit, diced potatoes with herbs, and a teapot with plenty of cream and honey to suit my appetite.
“Am I to expect this every new moon morning?” I asked as he poured me a cup.
“Perhaps,” he teased. “Although the last thing I want is to reward your decadence of late morning sleep.”
I rolled my eyes and added a dash of cream to my tea. “Well, then I suppose I shall soak in this grand gesture of yours now, since it may not come again.”
“Do as you like, Miss Neven,” Phelan said, returning to the threshold, where he had left the sword. “And then once you have eaten and dressed, meet me in the library for a lesson with your new rapier.”
“I cannot wait,” I said dryly, to which he only smiled again as if exceedingly pleased with himself and shut my door.
I was halfway through breakfast when I remembered the mirror that hung on my wall, and how I had completely forgotten the threat it posed to me. Phelan obviously had not caught sight of my reflection, but it was a sobering reminder of my foolishness. How I had let his thoughtful gesture distract me.
I finished eating and dressed, and I found Phelan in the library, sitting on the edge of his desk, leafing through a book.
He closed it the moment he caught sight of me, and rose with his perfect posture, only a thread of his dark hair defiantly falling across his brow.
I sensed the radiance about him, how his magic teemed in his hands. He was very anxious about this upcoming night, I realized, and I gave myself a moment to imagine what it would be like to fight alongside him instead of against him on a new moon.
The image seemed natural—the two of us on the darkest of nights moving in tandem, and I thought back to our new moon battle in Hereswith, only a month ago—and the ache in my stomach woke again, a flutter of warning.
“You never answered my question from before,” he said.
I stopped halfway to him, a square of sunlight on the floor between us. “Oh? And what was that?”
“If you’ve ever been sword trained.”
“No,” I lied. My father had taught me how to handle all manners of weapons.
He held out a rapier for me to take. I closed the last of the space between us and took hold of the hilt carefully.
“You prefer to fight with weapons rather than spells on the new moon?” I asked.
“Spells always come first,” Phelan replied. “But I’ve learned it’s good to be armed as well.”
I secretly agreed, remembering how I had once worn my weapon belt on new moon nights. How a blade had saved my life last time, when I had nearly drowned in a nest of lily pads and snakes.
I listened as Phelan introduced me to the rapier, instructing me on how I should hold it in my hand. When he demonstrated a few stances and thrusts, I mimicked him with ease.
“You have good form,” he said with a hint of scrutiny.
“I’m a swift learner,” I replied, and then took a daring slash at him.
Phelan was too slow in guarding himself. The tip of my rapier brushed his face and he lurched back with a hiss. I watched a line of blood well on his right cheek before he dropped his weapon and turned away from me.
“Oh, I’m sorry! Here, let me see it . . .” I followed him, setting my rapier down with a clatter.
He continued to evade me, face averted. “It’s fine. I’m fine. Don’t bother.”
I didn’t like him running from me. I reached out to snag his sleeve, guiding him to the desk. He surrendered, sitting on the edge of it, his palm pressed to the wound. Blood seeped through his fingers and I had a moment of panic, thinking I had cut open his face until he lowered his hand.
It was only a nick, but it was profusely bleeding.
“It’s not as bad as it seems,” I said. “Do you have a—”
He reached into his waistcoat pocket, and only when I felt his knuckles brush against my bodice did I realize how close I was to him. But I remained where I was, standing between his legs, and he knew what I wanted. He found his handkerchief, offering it to me with a wry smile.
“Don’t smile,” I scolded. “You’re making the bleeding worse.”
He winced as I pressed the handkerchief against the cut. I moved my other hand to the back of his head, my fingers weaving into his hair. He stiffened, as if I had pierced him to the bone. When I met his gaze, I found that his eyes were dark and inscrutable, riveted to my own.
“Is this punishment?” he whispered.
Yes, I wanted to say. Punishment for stealing my home, for burning my artwork. For not being as I expected.
“For what?” I countered, pressing harder on his cheek.
“For waking you too early?”
I tried to hem my laughter, but it escaped in a rush. “No, of course not. This was nothing more than an accident.”
But I sensed that he struggled to believe me. And I realized that I hadn’t laughed in a very long time as a soft ache bloomed in my chest.
“Who taught you how to handle a blade?” he asked. When his hand slid over mine . . . I was the one to turn rigid. The heat of our skin meeting seemed to burn right through me—a spark of wildfire.
“No one,” I said, pulling away from him. “You should keep pressure on it, until the bleeding eases.”
To my surprise, he was silent as I strode across the library. But I suppose he didn’t like the thought of me running from him either, and his voice chased me just as I reached the doors.
“Where are you going, Miss Neven? Surely you are not conceding this spar to me.”
I tarried on the threshold and cast a languid glance his way. “I won this round, Mr. Vesper. And I’m going for a walk.”
Autumn hung golden in the air as I wandered. It was October sixteenth, and it felt as if a year had passed since I had lost Hereswith, not a mere month. I explored the streets’ winding bends and corners until I felt as if I could walk their paths with my eyes closed and the sun was beginning to set.
I paused on the curb of our territory line, watching as a slight breeze rustled the oaks and people hurried home early, carrying parcels and packages from the market. Soon, this city would feel dead and empty, stricken with terror.
I was lost in such thoughts when I recognized Olivette and Nura walking toward me, hand in hand.
I reflexively turned away from them, wishing I had worn a hat or carried a parasol like some people of the city did, to hide beneath. I was surprised by the regret that suddenly welled within me. Regret that tasted bitter in my mouth, because I longed to befriend them, and yet I couldn’t risk such a relationship.