Page 202 of Dare

With a sigh, she wheeled around. “Assassin. Stowaway,” she listed. “It’s my fault, I know. I used to make everyone call me Someone. Naturally, people got creative after that. But I do have a fucking name.”

“Aspen.”

“Thank you.”

“Aspen.”

“What?”

“Dry your eyes,” I advised.

A discerning pause. Her defensive voice wobbled. “I’m not crying.”

“Clearly,” I stated dispassionately. “Otherwise, the salt from your tears would leach into your skin. Which would hurt.”

Yet another pause, confirming my speculation. Not only that, but she had forgotten to include “Brazen Creature” among her assigned monikers. Though, I doubted this had been accidental.

This route led in two directions. One, toward additional courtyards. Two, past the barbican, then down the brick road carving through the maple pasture, lower town, and harvest fields before bleeding into the beech forest. Though, I could not say which path she would choose.

Aspen kicked her toe against the ground and feigned nonchalance. “So what’s the cost for medical advice?”

I would not be a competent doctor if I didn’t know where this was going. Stepping forward, I instructed, “Show me.”

Aspen wavered, then rolled up her sleeve and held it aloft for my examination. The lacy pattern reminiscent of wood grain, plant vines, and blossoms scrolled across her skin. Similar to tattoos yet textured in certain places like scars. It looked as though she’d been born from roots instead of a human womb.

Questions were essential. No, they did not hurt. No, they did not impair the girl’s movements or give her adverse symptoms. Yes, the pattern covered the rest of her. And yes, she’d been born this way.

Following my inquisition, Aspen pulled back and shoved down her sleeve. She lifted her chin despite the split in her voice, like a twig about to break. “Can you fix it?”

The wellspring in The Phantom Wild might erase the markings, as it had from Flare’s throat. However, that body of water presently resided too far away. And that was not the point.

I’d never been a coddling man and would not start now. But I could offer reassurance. “I cannot fix something that is not a problem.”

She deflated. Hazel eyes flickered beneath the hood, gazing to where the open gate revealed the knight. Ducking her head, Aspen adjusted her cloak, smoothing out the wrinkles as if cognizant of its drab brown color and humble stitching.

“Must be nice to be a courtier,” she said. “To have attributes.”

Aspen lacked nobility. Yet she possessed the latter—curvy, tall, feisty—irrespective of what she thought about the pattern entrenched in her flesh.

Be that as it may, physical traits were irrelevant to Aire. He had never given Aspen’s skin a second glance, much less any part of her anatomy. He was not a satanic being who preyed on innocents.

Strictly, he did not see Aspen that way. No honorable man would with a young girl. And although pity took me by surprise—doubtless an influence of Flare—I would not endorse Aspen’s hopes. Regardless of the knight’s upcoming quest, Aspen’s seventeen years to Aire’s twenty-seven made this an impossible discussion.

Rejected. Resigned.

That was how this female sounded. Whether toward her condition, the view, or both, it was hard to say.

The wind buffeted a tail of crimped hair that dangled from her hood. She spoke while staring into the courtyard. “What does it take to prove you don’t need something?”

I squinted. “Tell me why you’re asking.”

“No reason.”

“There is always a reason.”

“Are you calling me a liar?”

“Why would I do that?” I deadpanned. “You have a name.”

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