Page 41 of A City of Flames

Huffing out a breath, I spin towards Lorcan’s stoic stare, his lips in a firm line though I can see the faint tug at them.

It just had to be him.

“I didn’t see you at supper.” He takes two strides and our chests almost touch. His leather against the soft linen of my tunic. “Where did you go?”

As always, he is so observant.

“I was picking up wood,” I lie. He lifts a brow.

“Wood?”

“Yes.”

Narrowing his eyes, he glances down at my empty hands. “And where is that wood right now?”

I give him a long look, likely unblinking. If I weren’t so caught off guard, I could have made up a better lie than wood. “I couldn’t find the right type.” I hold my head high. “Carving requires special wood most of the time, now if you’ll excuse me—”

“You carve?” He asks, ignoring how I was preparing to push past him.

“Yes.” I square my shoulders. “Does that surprise you?”

Something flickers in his eyes before moving his gaze elsewhere. “No, not at all.” He clears his throat, and that unknown flicker is gone once he looks at me again. “What do you like to carve?”

At the question not many ask, my body relaxes, and I lean back onto the wall. “Everything,” I breathe a wistful sigh. “I like knowing I made something, be it small or grand.”

“And have you carved anything since your arrival here?”

“Yes,” I say. “Flowers for Freya on her chest of drawers and—” I conceal my smile. “The marigold tree on mine, the one just at the center of the city. I thought it was beautiful from the moment I first saw it.”

It’s quiet while Lorcan’s stare remains as if he can’t decipher what it is with me. “You are so... intriguing.”

There’s that word again. “Intriguing because I like to carve wood?”

“Intriguing above all,” he amends, taking another step so that his cedar and spice scent mixes between us.

I straighten. “You’ve said how intriguing I am twice now.”

“I guess I have,” he says, so low that if we weren’t this close, I wouldn’t have heard him. It’s hard not to focus on his eyes, now like emeralds shining among the sconces or the russet strands falling over his brows.

“So, do you use knives or other tools to carve?” His voice is still quiet... deep.

“I have a set. Whittling knives, chisels for bigger woodwork, but um—” I unsheathe the blade from my waist, lifting it between us as a barrier, but he doesn’t step back. “—This dagger is one I’ve always used to carve smaller objects.”

He laughs through his nose, staring at it and then me. “You look like you’re more ready to stab me with it than carve.”

Well, I have tried to stab with it before.

I shake my head. Words don’t seem to fall from my lips as his hand lowers the dagger to the side for me and doesn’t make any plans to let go of my fist. I feel every bump, every uneven surface of his skin from the scars on his palm and fingers, shortening my breath with each swirl of his thumb against my knuckles.

“Run out of ways to answer me back, Nara?” He murmurs, deepening his gaze. I scowl.

“I didn’t see the need to answer back to such a stupid remark.”

He chuckles, smoothing the hard lines I always see when he’s out during training, the laidback stance that people rarely witness. “Have you always been one to talk back to superiors?”

“You don’t seem to mind it.”

His other hand comes to my waist, and I almost gasp at the touch... almost. “I don’t mind when it’s from a particular adventurous blonde.”

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