Page 72 of The Sorcerer's Thief
“I’m fine. But Julian could use stitches.”
I flinch and cover the wound on my neck. It stopped bleeding ages ago. “No stitches.”
“We’ll see about that. Inside with you both.” She shoos us in and hollers toward the second floor. “Girls!”
Her home smells of cooked apples, reminding me my stomach is empty and Cricket’s must be too.
Footsteps shuffle down the stairs, and two young women appear. “Cricket!” they greet him excitedly.
Roslyn puts a quick stop to it. “There’ll be time for that later. Flora, there’s a half-blind pony outside that could looking after, please.”
“Yes, Grandma.” She hurries outside.
“Hatty, I could use your eyes. Cricket’s brought a friend, and someone has confused his neck for a cutting board.”
“Really, just a wash is all I need. No stitches.” I’m afraid of needles.
The glare she sends my way has me shutting up quickly. “Sit.”
I sit and wonder, has Cricket ever gotten away with anything with this hawk of a woman looking after him?
I doubt it.
Chapter 25
Cricket
Once Julian’s been tended to—no stitches, though I swear the cut would heal twice as fast if he’d have let Hatty put a couple in, the big baby—and we’ve had a meal and a wash, Roslyn sends us to her room to get some rest.
They’ve taken all our clothes to be laundered, so we’re both wearing women’s robes. Mine at least fits well enough, as Roslyn is about my size, but Julian’s fits so snuggly against his shoulders it’s like a second skin.
A second, pink cotton skin with white lace ribbons and dainty opal buttons.
I giggle. “You’re adorable.”
“And you’re a menace.” He scowls, but it’s his teasing scowl, not the real one.
We climb into bed together, even though it’s the middle of the afternoon. The lack of sleep has caught up to me. The coin has gone dormant, silent on the bedside table where Julian put it when we changed clothes, no longer ordering me around or boosting me with its power.
“I feel as though I could sleep for a week.” I lie on my right side.
Julian lies on his left so we’re facing each other. “A week doesn’t seem like enough. A month? A year? Maybe then we’ll be caught up.”
I lean forward and kiss him like I’ve wanted to do about a hundred times today. But he’d seemed so lost I’d held back.
He returns the kiss, a bit too gently, a bit too hesitantly for my taste, and breaks it off before it has a chance to deepen. Not that I want things to get all hot and steamy, not in Roslyn’s bed anyway, but the need to reconnect burns deep.
Where do I start? We have much to talk about, though this may not be the right time with both of us half dead from exhaustion. “Are you all right?”
“Thanks to you, yes. I’m all right. And you?”
“I’m fine.” Why do things between us feel stiff and formal suddenly? I toy with the laces at his collar. “Bit worried, I guess.”
“About seeing your friends?”
“That and also you.”
“Me?”
