Page 117 of A Promise of Peridot
“Yes, they’re two of your nobles. They hate each other.”
“They’re married.”
Arwen’s eyes lit. “You’re kidding me.”
“Will be twenty years this winter.”
“They can’t be happy, though. They tore each other to bits in that forum.”
“They challenge each other. They’re rather sweet together, actually.”
Arwen glanced out the foggy window behind her. The cloud cover was so thick outside it was hard to tell what time it was, but I knew we had been here at least four hours.
“Arwen—”
“I’m not giving up on her.”
I swallowed a sigh, her determination as impressive as it was frustrating. “Bird, you don’t even know the girl.”
Arwen maneuvered to peer out a different window, the one to my right. “You can fly back to Shadowhold. I’ll find my own way there later tonight. Maybe I’ll hitchhike.”
“You’re hilarious,” I said dryly.
“Let’s get one last round from your cute friend and give Esme’sdaughter another hour. Then we’ll go.” She trained her eyes on mine with sincerity. “Please? I have a feeling about this.”
“Sure.” I wasn’t in a rush to leave, really. I had everything that mattered to me right here in this tavern.
“Want to play roses and thorns?”
I nearly spat my drink out. “Isn’t that a sex game?”
The look of horror on Arwen’s face was worth all the coin in my kingdom. “No! What is wrong with you? It’s a children’s game.” She shook her head. “Bleeding Stones, Kane.”
I laughed hard into my mug. “All right, teach me this children’s game.”
She tucked her hair behind her ears, finally moving the rebellious strand from its spot against her cheek. “Your rose is the best part of your day, and your thorn is the worst. My mother used to do this with us each night at dinner when I was growing up.” A flicker of sorrow danced across her face, there and gone in an instant. “I’ll go first so you can see how it’s done. My rose was coming here, to Crag’s Hollow. I love the sea air, the gloomy sky, the bustling town. I’m grateful I got to see it.”
Her love for my favorite town in Evendell made something soft and gentle swirl in my heart.
“And my thorn—” Arwen sighed. “Almost everything else in my life, if I’m being honest.”
I narrowed my eyes at her. “Fun game.”
“It’s not usually this depressing.” She looked to both windows once more. Still no sign of the little seer.
“My turn?”
Arwen nodded.
“My rose is getting to spend an entire afternoon in here with you.”
Arwen’s eyes grew brighter, and it was enough to make my honesty well worth it.
“And my thorn,” I said with a wicked smile, “is that I didn’t—”
But her expression lit with surprise at something behind me, and I turned in the direction of her eyeline. There, a tiny brunette girl, nearly skin and bones, was pushing her way through the boisterous crowd. She was the spitting image of her mother, that same warm, brown hair—hers shorn to look more boyish—huge dark eyes, and pointed, dainty chin. She couldn’t have been more than seven.
Arwen leapt from our table, sending it wobbling once more and nearly knocking our empty mugs to the floor. I narrowly righted the table in time before strolling after her.
