And maybe he did fit in, for what was fraternizing with the enemy if not a sin? What was his addiction to her conversation if not a vice that was as likely to get him killed as anything the people of these parts consumed?
Yet he found himself unable to help moving closer to her, inhaling her clean scent and allowing his eyes to drift over the hard curve of her bottom as she climbed over a stretch of rubble. She turned and offered him a hand, and his pulse roared at the sensation of her skin against his, palm callused from combat, though the top was as smooth as silk. The last thing he wanted was to let go, but not even he was bold enough to walk hand in hand with a Valcottan soldier on this side of the Anriot. “Where are we going?”
“I know a place.”
She turned down a dark alley, stepping over refuse, rats skittering ahead of them. It was dark and smelled terrible, the walls to either side teetering precariously. “You haven’t brought me here to do me in, have you, Valcotta?”
“We’ll see how the night goes.” She turned to face him, the torchlight from the street illuminating her face, so painfully lovely his breath caught in his throat.
Imagine what she’d say if she knew who you were? The thought soured his stomach, and he looked away.
Valcotta’s head tilted. “What’s wrong?”
Nothing. And everything. “I don’t like rats.”
“Then you must really dislike your king.”
More than you know, he thought, allowing her to take his hand and tug him forward.
“We’re nearly there.”
There was a tiny common room that smelled of cooking, tobacco, and the dark ale the Valcottans favored. The roof had collapsed at some point in the past, and boards were stretched across to replace it, from which dangled strings of colored lanterns. Like on the Maridrinian side, the furniture was scavenged and thus mismatched. There were six groups of patrons, but unlike most establishments, none were gambling and all were eating.
Valcotta pulled him down into a chair at one of the empty tables, a stout old woman appearing a moment later to set a stub of candle in front of them. “You’re wanting to eat, then? Pay first.”
Valcotta smiled, and Keris found the world fading to a blur as he examined her face in the candlelight, the soft glow illuminating her smooth skin and rounded cheeks, her bottom lip enticingly plump. And her eyes. Wide and dark and rimmed with thick lashes. He stared at them while she ordered and generously paid the old woman.
Then Valcotta focused on him, gaze expectant, and Keris found himself grasping for something to say. Theirs were always conversations of a forbidden nature, not things they could discuss surrounded by people. Yet idle chatter felt no more fitting, like the only conversation there could be between them were topics dear to the heart. “You’re beautiful.”
As soon as the words were out, Keris cursed himself, because he was normally better at this. Better at knowing exactly what to say to make women smile and laugh and eventually fall into bed with him. Except with her, he found himself wanting more.
She doesn’t even know your name.
“We haven’t even had a drink yet,” she said with a laugh. “I wonder what you might say when the ale begins to flow?”
His cheeks burned. “Bad poetry, I expect. Later I might sing, and the shame I’ll feel come dawn will mean I can never see you again, so perhaps I should drink water.”
“If you drink the water served here, you will suffer more than shame; that I promise.”
The proprietor returned with ale, setting the glasses of dark liquid between them. Keris took a mouthful, the cool, bitter drink welcome on his tongue. He waited for the woman to depart, then asked, “Do you like it? Soldiering?”
She drained half her glass. “Yes. I like the order and routine of it, and I like defending my country.” Her head tilted sideways. “What exactly is your role here? And don’t say soldiering, because I’ll know that’s a lie.”
This was dangerous territory. For while he was far from the only useless nobleman loitering about the palace, if he said too much, she might suspect his identity. “I’m a spy.”
She blinked, and he laughed. “I’m jesting. The best spies are those with unmemorable faces, which we’ve already established is not the case for me. The truth is, I’m an administrator—I keep the palace books in order. I was selected because I have perfect spelling, grammar, and penmanship.”
Her eyes narrowed. “That’s a lie.”
“Only part of it. My penmanship is as flawless as my face.”
“Fine.” She rested her chin on one hand, eyes narrowed. “What do you like to do when you aren’t doing the thing you won’t confess to?”
Treason, Keris thought even as he said, “I like to ride.”
One of her eyebrows rose. “Ride…?”
“Horses, Valcotta. Get your mind out of the gutter. Fast horses.” He paused as the proprietor set a platter of food between them, all of it unfamiliar. “I like climbing and gambling and reading.”
“Reading?” She leaned forward. “That… I didn’t expect that.” Then she frowned. “Or maybe I did. What do you read about?”
Her reaction eased the tension that had formed in his shoulders, because he was used to the admission eliciting sneers and derision. Which he’d long since stopped caring about, but from her… “I like to read about what other people think.”
“Think about what?” She picked up a piece of what appeared to be a fried bread of sorts, taking a delicate bite.
“Anything. Everything.” He examined the food, feeling disarmed by her question, though he didn’t know why. “If one only knows one’s own mind on things, does one really know anything at all?”
“I’d never thought of it that way.” Her brow furrowed. “When I was a girl, I read a great deal. But it’s been an age since I’ve picked up a book.”
“Why did you stop?”
“My mother died.” She gave a sharp shake of her head. “I… When she died, I dedicated myself to becoming someone who couldn’t be hurt like she’d been hurt. And I suppose part of that was setting aside anything that didn’t help me achieve that goal.” She hesitated. “My aunt encouraged my dedication, facilitated it, so all my time was spent learning to fight. And perhaps that was to my detriment.”
Keris didn’t comment, sensing that she was lost to her thoughts on the matter, and instead sampled some of the food. They ate in silence for a long time, and only once the old woman had taken away the trays and refilled their glasses did he say, “All the books didn’t disappear from the world because your young self decided to abandon them. They are still waiting for you.”
“I wouldn’t know where to start.” She sipped at her ale. “Or where to find the time.”
“What about right now?” Unfastening his coat, he reached inside and pulled a small volume from the inner pocket.
“You have one with you?”
“Always.” He dragged his chair around so that he was seated right next to her, deeply aware of how her leg brushed against his, feeling the heat of her through his trousers. “This is a book about stars.”