CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
I stretched in the bed, my legs sliding along the cool sheets, and smiled again. I had half slept, half dreamed, and half relived every moment all night long—too many halves to fit into one night.
There was a bond between us I couldn’t name. A sadness, a regret, a falling short, a past. I saw the yearning in his eyes, not just for me but for something more, a peace, a wholeness, and I wanted to give it to him.
I was immersed again in his tenderness … his finger tracing a line down my shoulder, slipping my strap free so he could kiss my back, his lips barely brushing along my kavah, my whole body tingling at his touch, our lips meeting over and over again.
From the first day, Lia, I wanted this, wanted you.
Our fingers laced together, tumbling in a bed of leaves, my head resting on his chest, feeling the beat of his heart, his hand stroking my hair. I had to get some sleep, but I couldn’t stop reliving it. I hadn’t thought it could be this way. Ever. With anyone.
We had talked for hours. He loved fishing from a riverbank, but he rarely had the time. He hesitated when I asked about his parents, but then told me they had died when he was young. He had no one else, which explained why he had no schooling in the Holy Text. He had worked on a farm, mostly tending the horses and other livestock, but also helping with the fields. Yes, melons were one of the things they grew, just as I had imagined. He hated pigeon meat and was glad we left the dinner early yesterday. I shared my stories too, mostly about forays into the mountains or forests with my brothers, who remained unnamed. I was careful to leave royal details out. He was surprised to learn I had favored swordplay over stitchery, backroom card games over music lessons. He promised to challenge me to a game one day.
It was late when he walked me back. Pauline had left the lantern out for me. Our words just kept stringing on and on, always one more thing to say to keep us from parting, one more thing we needed to share. Finally I kissed him one last time and told him good night, but as I reached for the door handle, he stopped me.
“Lia, there’s one more thing, something else I need to—”
“Tomorrow, Rafe. We have all day tomorrow. It’s late.”
He nodded, then lifted my hand to his lips and left.
A perfect night … a perfect forever.
I was in that half-awake dreamworld all night long, until the early morning hours, when the first muted light tiptoed along the ledge of the window, and my dreams finally gave way to sleep.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
“Lia.”
A nudge on my shoulder.
“Lia, wake up.”
Another nudge.
“Lia! You have to wake up!”
I startled awake, sitting upright. Pauline sat on the edge of the bed. The room was bright. I had slept all morning.
“What is it?” I said, shielding my eyes against the light. And then I noticed Pauline’s expression. “What?”
“It’s Walther. He’s behind the icehouse. Something’s wrong, Lia. He’s—”
I was out of the bed, groggy, rummaging for pants, a shirt, something to throw on. Walther behind the icehouse? My palms were damp with sweat. Pauline’s voice was shrill. Something’s wrong. I threw down whatever was bunched in my hands and ran out of the cottage barefoot and in my nightdress.
I saw his tobiano first, lathered and snorting, as if it had been ridden all night. “Take him to the barn and wipe him down,” I called to Pauline, who was running behind me. I rounded the corner of the icehouse and saw Walther sitting on the ground, leaning against a broken overturned wheelbarrow that was stored there along with unused crates and a jumble of other castoffs.
“Lia,” he said when he saw me.
My breath stopped dead against my ribs. He had a gash on his forehead, but worse, his expression was crazed—this was a wild man pretending to be my brother.
“Walther, what is it?” I rushed to his side and fell to my knees. My hand went to his forehead, and he looked at me and said “Lia” again, as if it were the first time.
“Walther, you’re hurt. What happened?”
His eyes were desolate. “I have to do something, Lia. I have to do something.”
I took his face in my hands, forcing him to look at me. “Walther, please,” I said firmly. “You have to tell me what’s wrong so I can help you.”