Page 43 of This Midsummer Heart
At last, our gazes connect and hold. I still can’t tell what Titaine is thinking—her ruddy cheeks and flexing jaw suggest she’s stuck somewhere between embarrassment and anger—but she says nothing.
The storm continues outside the window, battering the roof with rain while thunder rattles the lone little window.
“I’m sorry,” she says at last. “And I’m sorry I couldn’t show you more—affection.”
“I could’ve found affection in a number of places. I wanted your love, Titaine. Instead, I got a marriage arrangement.”
“That’s tragic, then,” she almost mumbles, turning to fidget with her travel pack, “because I thought we had a love match.”
“Then what in the elder forests happened?”
Her shoulder shrugs up. “I knew you would be asked to take a consort. I knew you would never really be mine.”
“But Iwasyours! You knew that, once.”
Her eyes press shut. “Fear is the enemy of knowledge.”
What fear? What were you so afraid of? That I’d hurt you?
“I hurt you because I thought you didn’t care,” I say slowly, tasting the words. They’re as bitter as a healer’s brew. “Do you mean to tell me if we’d really just talked it out,none of this would’ve happened?”
Titaine tucks a lank of hair behind her pointed ear. “I find such talk—difficult. It’s not something that comes naturally to me. You were not so skillful at it, either—turning to pettiness and vengeance instead.”
Now it’s my turn to be embarrassed. “I was young and foolish.”
“You tried to ruin the House of Fetes justweeks ago.“ Her arms cross beneath her chest. Now that she’s making a point that is not in my favor, she seems to have no trouble meeting my eye.
I shrug, busying myself with inspecting the pillows.Buckwheat.I’m in for an uncomfortable night, for so many reasons. “I’ve changed since then,” I tell Titaine.
“Have you?”
Desperate to make her see, I search for the perfect words to explain myself, as if I have word magic of my own and saying just the right thing will earn me her love again.Something has changed. Even if I can’t say exactly what. But I’m no longer angry with you. All that’s left is—
A knock on the irregular-shaped door cuts off our heart to heart before I can compose an answer. When Titaine continues to stand there, arms crossed, I ducked my way back to the door.
A rather sheepish looking human woman waits on the other side. “My husband neglected to furnish you with water and a wash basin,” she says, proffering a white ceramic ewer in a wash bowl. “I apologize, sir. If you need anything else—”
“I don’t suppose you have more towels?”
She shakes her head, blushing furiously.
With a sigh, I reply, “If you’ll be lighting a fire downstairs before morning, my cloak—”
“Yes sir, absolutely. Give ’em here.” Her eyes flick downward. “Those trousers could use a good washing.”
Titaine’s voice rings out behind me. “He willnotbe removing his trousers.”
The innkeeper blushes twice as hard. I smile apologetically at her. “Alas, they’re my only pair. I’ll clean them as best I can to avoid dirtying the bedding.”
“Oh, of course. I mean, no, not to worry,” she stammers, “these summer storms catch many an unprepared traveler.”
The innkeeper is clearly flustered—by me, this time. As I hand her my cloak, she asks, “Are you really a dark elf?”
My brow furrows, unsure how to respond. I should’ve thought the blue hue of my skin made it obvious.
“When I was a girl,” she continues in a rush, as if she feels she is covering a gaff, “dark elves used to come out this way, from the fire swamp, you know—of course you know. Only I can’t remember the last time I saw one.”
I lean one arm on the doorway to support my awkward crouch. “Politics,” I say by way of explanation.
