Page 33 of Artemysia
When he shoves out his arm toward me, he’s offering me a piece of jerky.
I take it from him and clutch it tightly in my palm, but have no clue what to make of his peace offering.
He hesitates, reaches out his hand again, and…carefully places it over mine.
What is happening?I’m still gripping the jerky in that hand.
I watch this all unfold, incredulous.
Is he actually trying to make me feel better? Or is he making fun of me?
I stare down in disbelief at the well-groomed fingertips extending out of his half-gloves as he curls his hand over the back of my palm. When I don’t flinch away from his touch, his thumb idly strokes the back of my bare knuckles, and a warm tingle surges up my arm. Dear gods.
I don’t want him to stop, and I wonder why his touch has such a powerful effect on me. Was it the boldness of such an affectionate gesture in front of everyone? Or is it that he sensed I needed the empathy?
Has he dropped the antagonistic jerk act for a moment to be nice?
“Delphine, the poisonous flower, right? ‘It is with flowers as with moral qualities; the bright are sometimes poisonous; but I believe, never the sweet.’” The richness of his voice resonates through me, deep and sensual.
I’m taken aback. An Augustus Hare quote. One of my favorites.
My throat is still tight as I blink at him in bewilderment. His eyes bore through me, and I don’t know what he sees in me that erases all the lines from his face. “I read it in one of your books in the clock tower, and I haven’t stopped thinking of you since, Elphie.”
Elphie.
My childhood name.
And that quote.
Oh hell, he found my favorite book of poems as a child. With the best lines circled.Elphiewritten inside the cover in what was my best calligraphy at the time.
I gulp down my surprise and embarrassment more than anything else, and my words slip out before I can stop myself. “Don’t call me Elphie.”
I snap my hand away from under his despite very much liking the trickle of warmth trailing his touch.
It’s not right to encourage this. I shouldn’t enjoy it.
I’m as confused as I am mortified.
At first, I thought he was taunting me for my vulnerable confession, but he also said he hasn’t stopped thinking of me. I can’t allow his charm to soften my heart, even though for a brief beat, it does. Hemustbe toying with me. What is he playing at?
When I attempt to analyze the situation, suspicion laces my thoughts.
Is he manipulating my feelings, flirting to get the upper hand so I’ll defer to his decisions? Or is he trying to make me feel better in a genuine moment of honesty?
I have yet to figure out his ambitions and motivations.
Can I trust an assassin’s show of sentiment?
King Galke said never to trust him.
From behind me, Ivy’s shrill whistle cuts through the air. “Riev, stop trying to seduce Captain Fancy Bird, you depraved bastard. She’s too good for you.”
Her rough laugh is joined by Throg’s hearty one, and with a squeeze of my calves, I spur my elk into a trot, leaving Riev behind so I can’t see his reaction.
I’m far enough ahead now that no one can see the fiery red of my cheeks.
At least Ivy referred to me asCaptain, even if it was followed by a bit of scorn and a whole lot of ridicule.
