Page 96 of Knight from the Ashes (Crown and Crest 1)

“Trying to commit it to memory—just in case you wake up and find most of it missing.”

Laughing, I swat his hand away. “Go away.”

“Sleep well, Clover.” With one last look, he turns down the garden-lined lane toward the bachelor’s cottage.

Clutching a hand over my heart, I stare after him like a lovesick fool.

“Are you coming inside or not?” Maisel demands through the window, scaring me half to death. “Don’t you realize it’s freezing out there, or are humans too stupid to sense the cold just like they’re too stupid to sense magical wards?”

27

Clover

I’m fully preparedto pull out my uncomfortable bedroll, but much to my surprise, I find Maisel has already created a cozy nest of blankets for me on the floor in front of the fire.

She makes me a cup of mint tea and then sits in the tiniest rocking chair I’ve ever seen and begins to knit.

I study her over the rim of my earthen mug, smiling. She’s exchanged her armor for a long nightdress that has lace on the hems of the sleeves and neck. The cream-colored fabric is embroidered with tiny pink rosebuds, and she wears knitted pink slippers upon her feet. She’s taken down her braid, and now her dark strawberry blonde hair falls in waves to her waist.

She’s gone from pint-sized warrior of the woods to an adorable doll in less time than it’s taken me to drink a single cup of tea.

She looks vulnerable now—and far younger than I first realized.

“What are you smiling about, human?” she says gruffly, her eyes never leaving her project.

“How old are you, Maisel?” I ask.

She briefly glances at me. “Two hundred and thirty-seven.”

I don’t mean to gasp, but it escapes me before I can stop myself.

“It’s not so old for my kind,” she says, “though I suppose you wouldn’t know that.”

“Why…” I stop myself, wondering if the question I want to ask would be considered impolite.

“Why what?” Maisel asks over the constant clicking of her smooth, wooden knitting needles.

“Why do you live alone?”

Again, her eyes briefly flicker to mine. “My parents and brother died during the war. They were fighting to keep our village safe when a battle between the High Vales and the humans came too close. I’ve lived here by myself ever since.”

“Are you old enough to marry? Or maybe you prefer to live alone?”

Her expression becomes hard, and I realize I’ve made a misstep.

“Never mind,” I say with an exaggerated yawn. “I’m exhausted and forgetting my manners.”

“No, it’s all right. I do wish to marry, but…it hasn’t come to pass.”

Sensing she actually wants to talk about it, I ask, “Why not? Is there no one you like?”

Her cheeks go pink, making her look even more like a little doll. “There is a man. His name is Devlin. He’s a good man and a fierce hunter—fought a bear alone once.” She smiles to herself. “Dragged the animal back to the village by himself, too, the stubborn man. Took him three days. Thank goodness it was winter, or the meat would have gone bad.”

“Does he know how you feel about him?”

“No.” The clack of her knitting becomes a little more agitated. “He’s been flitting about Bitsy, like all the other eligible idiots in the village. She refuses to choose a beau—an attention-hungry heifer if you ask me—so all the men keep circling. I’m not sure they even like her that much; they’re just too blasted competitive.”

“What’s so special about Bitsy? You’re pretty, and you’re wicked with your spear.”

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