“You don’t give yourself enough credit, Hellcat.”
Her scar had given her an affinity with broken things. And unlike him, she hadn’t let the darkness that touched her make her bitter. Instead, she used the glow of her personality to heal others.
She flushed, uncomfortable with his praise. “What doesminchorrómean?”
“It means someone’s ‘fancy,’ their lover.” He shot her a questioning glance. “Why?”
Her blush intensified. “Oh, no reason. I just heard one of the women using it, that’s all.”
He smiled. “Did Elvira read your fortune?”
“Yes.”
“Was it all dragons and knights?”
She bit her lip. “Not exactly. More like lions and boats.”
He raised his brows. “Stands to reason. You’re hardly the distressed damsel type. I doubt you’d want a dragon-slaying knight doing all the dirty work for you.”
She laughed. “You’re right. Knights are always galloping off on ridiculous quests. I’d much rather have the dragon. Big. Strong. Fiery breath to keep me warm on cold winter nights…” She ticked the list off on her fingers.
“I thought all young ladies spent their days dreaming of happily ever after?”
“Heavens, no,” she said, genuinely appalled. “Just think about that phrase. Happily. Ever. After. Even if it were possible, it’s not at all desirable.”
“It’s not?”
“Who’d want to beperpetuallyhappy? And how would you even know you were happy if you had nothing with which to compare it?”
He frowned. “You think you need to experience unhappiness just so you can feel happiness?”
“Yes, of course. Every shadow needs a source of light. Heaven can’t exist without hell.”
Raven didn’t even want to consider that argument. It was far too close to the way his own thoughts had been leading him recently. She might be as necessary to his existence as oxygen, but she was still Not. For. Him.
He stood and started to walk her back toward her caravan. It was set a little way from the others, near a stand of tall pines. A shard of broken pottery crunched under his boot. He bent and picked it up, turned it over in his fingers, filled with a sudden need to make her realize how extraordinary her own achievements were. She was such a positive force. She charmed and helped almost everyone she came into contact with.
“My mother used to collect porcelain,” he said. “She had cabinets of the stuff. Vases and plates and teapots and bowls. Beautiful things, all delicate, exquisite, expensive.”
Heloise froze, and he knew it was in surprise; he rarely spoke about his family. He didn’t know why he was doing so now, except he needed to somehow apologize to her for the way he’d treated her at the palace. He cleared his throat. “Father used to buy them for her as presents. One day, when I was maybe nine or ten, about a year before she died, she asked me which piece was my favorite. I told her—the two fat sumo wrestlers.”
Heloise smiled.
“She asked me to guess whichsheliked best. I thought it would be one of the plates, or maybe the fancy tulip vase, but she reached in and brought out this little tea bowl, like a cup without a handle, so small it fit in her palm.
“I thought she was teasing me. The thing had been dropped at some point, broken into four or five pieces then put back together. It had metal in the joins, like golden veins. Mother smiled at my confusion. ‘Don’t you see, Will?’ she said. ‘It isn’t the prettiest because it was broken, it’s prettiest because it was mended.’ ”
Raven’s heart thumped against his ribs. He wasn’t talking about porcelain.
Heloise cleared her throat. “Oh?”
“It’s taken me years to understand what she meant.” He glanced at her, but her expression was unreadable. “Someone loved it enough to repair it. It’s called Kintsugi, the art of fixing things with gold. The Orientals believe the piece is even more beautiful for having been damaged and restored.”
God, he wanted to cry. He felt the constriction in his throat, hot and tight. His eyes were stinging. Only she could do this to him, make him strip his soul bare. Unable to help himself he reached out and stroked her cheek, her chin, a lingering caress. She didn’t move. “Those suitors of yours who withdrew their offers? They’re all fools.”
She closed her eyes.
“You want to pretend this scar isn’t there, but it’s what makes youyou.” He stroked one finger over the slight ridge and felt a shiver course through her. “Don’t be ashamed of it. It’s a badge of pride. You should wear it like a bloody medal. It’s proof that you’re stronger than the thing that tried to hurt you. It’s proof that you’re a survivor.” He cupped her nape, drew her forward, and grazed the scar with his lips. She stood utterly still, but he heard her swift intake of breath.