Page 26 of The Iron Dagger
Suddenly, the idea of separate rooms seemed like a very stupid idea.
Angharad
Hara went to her room and closed the door, locking it behind her and resting her back against it with a sigh. It took much to stir her to anger, but the remorseless way Gideon spoke about profiting off of death came close.
Foolishly, she had felt herself letting her guard down around him ever since the day in the forest. They shared a bondnow, a subliminal connection of magic and memory. Though she treated him with a wary sort of caution, she thought that she could overlook all that and see him as a sort of amiable companion. But this was another matter entirely. This was a fundamental difference in values, and if she was smart, she would remember that he was a villain caught in a temporary act of good.
Angharad moved away from the door and set her satchel on the floor. Seraphine stepped out, giving a long stretch and a shake. They had stopped once in the afternoon to stretch their legs and take some food, and Seraphine caught a couple field mice in the underbrush. But it would be a long ride to Montag yet.
Hara stroked her fur and dug into the front pocket of the satchel to produce some dried fish. As Seraphine crunched her dinner, Hara was grateful to see a fire burning low in her hearth. She added some kindling, and was cheered slightly by the leaping yellow flames that warmed her face.
War was an ugly thing, but she didn’t expect him to see that. The rulers never did.
She thought of the family of orphaned children she had helped care for in the village. They were refugees, just as she had been, their village razed to the ground and their parents gone.
Gideon didn’t see that part of war. What did he feel when he passed smoking villages and desolate, blood-soaked fields? A sense of satisfaction that his weapons worked so effectively? Nothing at all?
These thoughts chased themselves around her mind until she felt her anger flickering as hot and bright as the flames in the grate. She opened her pack and dug through it to see if she had slipped anything that could bring comfort into the nooks and crannies. Her heart lifted as she found a wax-paper packet of lemon-balm resin. She took it from the pack and sprinkleda few bits of resin onto the fire. The plumes of fragrant smoke washed over her, and she focused on slowing and dissipating her tumultuous thoughts.
After a few moments, she sighed and looked over her shoulder. The bed seemed clean and comfortable, so she thought she might as well get some rest. Seraphine was already settled on it, washing with her paws at the foot of the mattress.
Hara loosened the woolen wrap from her bodice and reached behind her to pull her stays loose. She remembered the feel of strong hands undoing her laces as Gideon had helped her undress. It wouldn’t do to think of that now, and she was annoyed at the heat that swept through her body at the memory of his fingers gently tugging their way up her back. She undressed to her shift and went to the washbasin, splashing cold water onto her heated face. Over the splash of the water, she heard a soft knock.
Briefly she wondered if one of the flirtatious lads had made inquiries of the innkeeper and found their way to her room, but part of her knew who it would be when she opened the door.
Gideon stood on the threshold, his coat removed and his collar loosened. It looked as though he had imbibed a couple more tankards of ale from the soft, solemn expression in his eyes.
“Angharad,” he began. “I’m afraid we’re always at odds with each other, and I hate it.”
She blinked, waiting for more explanation to accompany this surprising statement. His gaze caressed her face, her throat, and Hara felt warm everywhere his eyes touched.
“I don’t want to make you cross with me. But I don’t know how to be . . .” He sighed, frustrated. “What I want to say is, I’m sorry for upsetting you.”
Hara was touched in spite of herself. “Thank you. And I’m sorry for making you jealous.”
His imploring eyes narrowed. “I wasn’t jealous.”
Hara smiled softly, amused by the wash of color rising in his hollow cheeks.
“But . . . you didn’t invite anyone to your room, did you?” he asked.
“Why do you care?”
His mouth had a sour twist. “I suppose it’s none of my business.”
“I didn’t invite anyone, Gideon,” she said.
“Oh,” he said, his expression clearing. “Well. That’s wise. I’m not here to look after you every minute, and I can’t know if you’re safe if you let strangers in.”
“I don’t know how I managed before without you to keep me safe. If you can believe it, I used to do foolish things like bring strange men into my home and nurse them back to health,” she said, looking down to his foot. “How is it? Do you need me to bandage it again?”
Gideon shook his head.
“Thankfully the ride didn’t jostle away your handiwork. But your sharp words have wounded my ego,” he said, placing a hand over his chest and clutching his shirtfront. “Don’t know if you have a cure for that in all those sacks you brought.”
Hara looked up at him, and he met her eyes with a good-humored expression. It slowly transformed as his pupils dilated and his mouth relaxed. This was the moment when, had things been different, she would have lifted herself up onto her toes and brought her lips to his, taking his hand to lead him into the room and closing the door behind him.
But she wouldn’t. She settled for brushing away a stray lock of dark hair that had spilled over his brow. He stiffened under her light touch, and she hastily withdrew her hand. Hetook a step back, his face falling deeper into the shadow of the hall.
