Page 63 of Heirs of the Cursed

Alasdair returned minutes later. With quiet agility, he approached her and placed a candle on the bedside table, offering her the glass of water. Darcia tried to grab it in her own hand, but missed horribly.

They stared at each other for a long minute; he was on the verge of laughter and she was about to threaten to cut out his tongue if he dared say anything about her state. Alasdair raised the glass to her lips in a silent offer, and Darcia drank the cold water, holding his gaze.

“I also went to get something to eat, but I couldn’t find anything.”

“I’m sure you ate it on the way,” Darcia spluttered after taking a couple of sips.

Alasdair clicked his tongue. “You caught me. How did you know?”

“Because you’re a thief,” Darcia reminded him.

“And a liar.”

“And an idiot,” she emphasized.

“Has anyone ever told you how rude you are?”

She let out a foolish laugh and settled back on the mattress. The pain in her head disappeared as soon as she rested it against the fluffy pillow. For a while, Darcia remained quiet, slowly moving her legs and arms to soothe the pain in her stiff muscles. She turned her boreal gaze to Alasdair, who had set the glass on the bedside table and was now pacing the room with indecipherable curiosity.

“You don’t need to stay.”

“I know,” Alasdair admitted.

“And you didn’t have to bring me all the way home, either.”

“I know that, too.”

Silence fell over them for a few moments. But it wasn’t the dull silence Darcia was accustomed to, but a more patient, comforting one. She allowed herself to close her eyes.

“Are you going to leave now?” she asked, hoping she didn’t sound so nervous.

“Do you want me to stay?”

“No.”

A lie.

Alasdair let out an almost imperceptible chuckle. “I’ll amend my question. Do you want to be alone?”

“No,” she admitted then.

“Well, then I’ll stay until you fall asleep.”

Darcia opened her eyes to look at him. He was leaning against the half-open window, his arms crossed over his chest and his face covered by the usual black cloth. She let herself wonder about the face that hid under it, invisible for her eyes and yet so intriguing. Questions swelled in her chest, like a ravenous hunger and a curiosity that was entrenched deep in her mind.

Who is Alasdair really?she asked herself.

“Can I see your face?”

“Go to sleep, gorgeous.”

“It was only a question,” Darcia protested.

“Tomorrow will be another day.”

She tossed and turned in the sheets, before mumbling, “Another day I won’t like to live.”

A single truth.

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