Page 68 of Nightingale

Rian snorted and inched towards her, “He’s been stuck to my side like glue. I’d happily remove him, if you’d only say the magical word.”

“Stop talking, Rian.” She cleared her throat and turned to her family friend. “Amir, I assure you that I’ll be fine on my own. He’s clearly in no shape to harm me, and if he does, then I’ll have him on his back in four seconds, likeyoutaught me.”

“I will be outside.” He found a hint of delight in the way she snapped towards the Moordian heir, bowing his head and flipping around, exiting within five minutes.

“If you’re going to have me on my back, I have a certain way I’d prefer for it to happen.” Rian moved closer, casually bracing himself against the table as he peered down at the map.

“Of course you would.” She muttered, smacking his resting elbow off the counter and shooting him a warning look to behave, otherwise she’d kick him out.

Vrea paused, inhaling deeply as she tried to calm her racing heart. The last time she’d seen him, he’d been flailing around in the healer’s bed, screaming in pain as they tried to remove the bit of the Blackleg from his shoulder. So much so, that they’d had to pour the poppy juice down his throat in order to make any progress.

The healers had mashed poppy seeds and lavender oil into milk, forcing it down until he almost choked on the bitter liquid, coughing as they held his mouth closed in order to get the drugging medicine to work. After it had lulled him into a sleep, the healers cut open his wound on either side in order to remove the remainder of the shaft that was stuck inside of him. The part of the leg that held the numbing toxin, according to Amir.

They’d pulled it free, keeping it for later in case they needed tomake an antidote from it. But it seemed to work, and the black veins that ran along his stab had slowly evaporated. For the next three days, the skilled healers had fed him chicken broth to increase his strength, water to help him stay in good shape, and his skin had returned to its rich russet shade.

Vrea had left once she’d been sure he’d survive, finding sleep in her own tent every night only to return with the dawn. It was her fault that he’d been hurt in the first place.

“How do you feel?” She asked, glancing towards the spot on his shoulder where the blood had poured like a pitcher of water. “You looked bad.”

“Itfeltbad.” He admitted, sighing and dropping the cocky act. “Thank you for not leaving me behind. I think dying by the Blacklegs would be a terrible way to go. You could have left me, you could have killed me, but you did neither and I appreciate that.”

“We made a deal.” She said as if it were nothing, as if she weren’t glad to see him standing before her, “You would take me home, and I wouldn’t kill you.Yet.”

Vrea added the last part hastily.

“Either way, you saved me.” He shrugged, grimacing and rubbing at his pectoral with a slow caress that drew her focus to it and nothing else. He was sluggish with it, running it back and forth and all of a sudden, her mouth felt dry.

“You’ve saved me, a few times now.”

“I know. I tried to inform your towering guard-dog, but he wouldn’t hear of it.” Rian jerked his chin in Amir’s direction, who was standing out front by the tent flaps.

Vrea knew better than to assume that he was anywhere else, especially with Rian inside her tent. Everytime the wind jostled the tarp and she could see a bit of him now and then.

“But I think that makes it twice for you saving me, too. The bandits and now the spiders.” He ran his pointer finger aroundthe continent on the parchment, tracing the drawn sand dunes, touching the flat castles and trees. “I’d say we’re even, but I know you better.”

“Do you?” She interrogated quietly, finding herself near him.

His breathing changed.

Hers did too.

“I’d like to think so.” Rian murmured, cerulean blue shifting towards a husky sapphire, dropping from her eyes to her mouth, where he remained.

“Tell me.” Vrea demanded. “Tell me what you know.”

The male obliged. “I know that you like to sing when it’s late at night, hence why my obnoxious brother calls you Nightingale.” He touched her arm, a whispering touch that hovered up her bicep, tracing over her shoulder and finding her collarbone. She exhaled, shivering, but not due to any cold. “I know that you prefer to sing without words, because you like the way it sounds. That you don’t like the way your lilting voice reflects the words instead of the sounds. Even if I find both breathtaking.”

Her mouth was incredibly dry.

She wasn’t sure when he’d heard her sing, but he wasn’t wrong about what he said. Shedidn’tlike to sing the laments with words, but only sounds. It flowed better, lightened the air up, was haunting and melodic and perfect all in one.

“What else?”

Rian angled her around until her waist met the table, caressing her neck and following the columns of her throat up. “I know that you love your knives, so much so that they are one of your only prized possessions. That you missed them more than your family during your capture. I know that you thought you’d never see them again.”

She wanted him to tell her more.

To tell her everything.

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