Page 122 of The Last One
“I’m notthatcruel.” He places my clothes on the bench, then fills the cups with plum-colored wine.
“This is now the best day ever,” I say, taking a cup. “What should we toast to?”
“Let’s see.” He brings a stool over and sits beside the tub. “To new friends. New adventures. Clean water. First kisses.”
We tap cups and sip. Jolts of flavor, first tart and then sweet, punch my mouth. “Oh. Yeah.” A boozy warmth travels through my veins, and I cackle and shout, “Yes!”
A hot bathandgoodwineanda gorgeous man just a reach away?
Jadon grins and sips from his cup. “When was the last time you drank wine?”
I flick bubbles at him. “If I knew that, then I’d know how and why I ended up in Maford.”
“I know why you’re here.” He stretches out his legs.
“Tell me, Jadon.”
“You’re here because of fate. You were supposed to meet me.”
My eyebrows raise. “I’m here foryou?”
“Mmhmm.” He smiles at the wine in his cup, but then the muscles in his jaw flex and his smile dims.
“What?” I ask, sipping, relaxing, loose as a goose.
“You’re a lifesaver,” he says. “At Azzam Cavern—”
“I didn’t do anything,” I say. “My fighting, my hands, none of it helped you.”
“But you were my prize,” he counters. “Wanting to see you again… I wanted to survive so I could see you again.”
I give him a soft smile and bring a shaky hand to my mouth. “I was so happy to see you. I cried when I thought I’d lost you. And then I cried when I found you alive.”
His skin flushes. “I was relieved that you were the first person I saw when I opened my eyes. There’s no one in the world like you, Kai.”
I tilt my head. “I am unique, aren’t I?”
“I didn’t say all that—”
“What the hell you think the word ‘unique’ means, Ealdrehrt?”
I lift my injured leg that no longer makes me fret anytime I move it.
Jadon watches suds slip back down to my thigh, now hidden in the lather. “Your scabs. They’re gone.”
I tilt my head, finallylookingand seeing healthy skin, unscarred skin. “How aboutthat? And your forehead. No more scar.” I point at him. “Maybe you’re unique, too.”
“I am.” He pours more wine into his cup.
I tip my head back, sinking this time to my ears to stare at the—
The markings!
“Hey,” I say, sitting up. “Draw what my markings look like.” I give him a bar of soap Veril left for me. “Use the pot I’m cooking in.”
“But that would require me to…” He waggles his finger at my shoulder.
“You scared of bubbles?” I ask. “Or are you scared of skin?”
