Page 61 of House of Marionne

I don’t know what to say, and after a moment we keep walking. Jordan glances at me.

“You should drink some water. It’ll help.”

“I feel amazing.”

“Yes, but in the morning.”

“You wanted to take me on a walk to tell me to drink water?” I fold my arms, the boldness coursing through me altogether foreign.

“I wanted to take you on a walk to—” He stops, and those hard lines meet the challenge in my expression.

“Yes?”

He glances at my diadem, then keeps walking. “You need to keep your wits about yourself. You’re different.” The lilt of disdain I usually find in his tone isn’t there. He speaks with respect, admiration even.

Because I emerged.

“I thought you never come to the Tavern.”

“I don’t, only when I have business there.” He rests on a railing wrapped around another memorial.

“You were alone at a table looking like you’d lost your best friend. What sort of business were you onto tonight?”

He looks at me but says nothing.

“I’m your business?”

We walk another beat in silence.

“You’re not drinking.”

“Does that surprise you?”

I sneer at the rhetorical comment. He points at his eyes, then mine. His tone shifts. “You need to be observant.”

“I notice more than you think.” Because I’ve always had to.

“Oh?” he asks with a challenge.

I clear my throat. “You were in the Tavern tonight because you wanted to be, not because you had to be. Though you have convinced yourself otherwise. You carry around some kind of candy in your pockets, which is just weird. You haven’t had a haircut since I met you. And you haven’t been able to meet my eyes without looking away since I’ve emerged.” I gaze right at him.

He, predictably, looks away to keep from smiling.

“Impressive, though you’re not as right as you think you are. Add humility to your goal sheet.”

“That’s comical coming from you.”

He huffs and it’s almost a laugh. “You have no . . . filter.”

“Maybe you just have too much of one.”

Suddenly, hushed voices slice the air in the distance. Jordan stops me with his arm. My body buzzes at his touch. I move back a bit, to put some distance between us. We spot a couple biking through the park, and his posture softens. Slightly. We keep walking.

“So tell me, what’s it like being a Dragun?” I ask. Maybe now he’ll tell me what I really want to know: Does he use toushana? “I read you must master three types of magic.”

He doesn’t respond.

“What are yours?”

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