Page 32 of The Jester

“Don’t be sorry.” He shakes his head, then catches my hand and presses it to the side of his face. “I just didn’t expect to see you again.”

“Are you sorry?” I ask.

He smiles again, and squeezes my gloved fingers. “No, I am happy. But that makes me sorry. Because I should not be happy that you are here.”

“Briony said the same thing.” I stroke his forehead and he leans into my touch.

“Did she sneak away from the castle to attend the forest centennial, too?” he asks, chuckling.

“No.” I shake my head and ease back in my chair, allowing him to lift my leg onto his knee. “But I think she has been lonely.”

Finn’s smile drops a little. He presses his lips together, then says, “Loneliness is the Shadowkind’s second biggest curse.”

“What is your first?” I ask.

But he doesn’t answer.

Wearing loose black pants and a brown jacket, open at the chest, a bag is slung across his chest. He opens it and begins to rummage around inside.

“You are still wearing a mask.” I dip my head to meet his eyes. “Am I never to see your face?”

When he looks up, a smile curls his lip and dimples his jawline. “I am not permitted to remove it,” he says. “But my face is not worth seeing, si’thari, trust me.” He smiles again. “Yours, on the other hand.”

I inhale slowly, wisps of pleasure settling on my skin.

“May I take a look?” he asks, fingers hovering above the opening crease of my robe.

I’m about to part my thighs for him when I realise he is talking about my injury and not something else. Gingerly, I lift the hem.

He does not look down until I have raised it high enough to expose the wound, just keeps his eyes trained on mine. And, somehow, the eye contact makes me feel more vulnerable than I would if he was staring at my naked flesh.

For it is as if he sees me.

“What happened?” he asks. “Briony wasn’t sure.”

“We were raided by Gloomweavers. They took us all. Whatever was in their arrows killed those who were struck in the heart.” I pause, then quietly add, “What happened to you? Where did you go?”

Finn adjusts his mask at his ear and shakes his head. “I fled,” he says. “I was afraid of being caught.” He swallows forcefully and the muscles in his shoulders twitch. “I’m sorry,” he mutters. “I should have stayed. Should have tried to help.”

I reach out and slip my hand into his. “Don’t be sorry.” I squeeze gently, showing him I mean it. “I’m just very glad you’re here now.”

For a long moment, we simply stare at each other. Then Finn returns his attention to my leg. “Lucky for you, you were only grazed,” he says. “Also lucky for you... Gloomweavers’ potions are strong but easy to treat. They’re incredibly stupid. Haven’t changed the ingredients in centuries.”

I wince as he presses his fingertips to the sore, red flesh around the wound. “It’s not infected,” he says. “But I’ll give you something topical for the wound itself and something to drink just to make sure it doesn’t become infected.”

I nod, flexing my foot because my ankle is at a strange angle and starting to ache.

As if he can tell, he lowers my leg to the ground. I am sad to lose contact, and my skin feels strangely cold without him beneath it.

As he prepares the remedies for my wounds, I take a deep breath and try to fight the urge to sleep. It feels like so long since I last slept.

Finn smiles at me. The crackling fire casts dancing shadows across his mask and accentuates his chiselled jaw. I find myself unable to tear my gaze away.

“I saw your performance for the court,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “The way you moved... it must have taken many, many years to become so skillful.”

Finn pauses, meeting my eyes. “I have been in Eldrion’s keep for a long time,” he says, giving his wings a small flutter that makes his tip-piercings chime.

I try to count how many others there are, lining the outer rim of each wing, but he answers for me. “Thirty,” he says. “Thirty generations of my lineage have been indentured to Eldrion’s family.”

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