“And the risk to you?” Her big, sapphire eyes met mine. “It’s worth it?”
“No matter what I do, my life is at risk,” I said, setting my hands on the table to lean forward with focus, “it has been since the moment you ran.” It hadn’t been my intent to make an accusation of that fact, but Ava still glanced away with a stinging amount of remorse. I didn’t want her to feel guilty for running, not if her life was in danger. She had every right to protect herself. “It’s the risk to you now, and yes, it’s worth it.”
She looked at me again, staring at me for such a long, silent moment that I started to feel weak under her gaze. “If the king was the risk to my life,” she said, barely a whisper, “what then?”
My eyebrows furrowed at that. Was it another test, pitting my two oaths against each other? Or was she finally trying to tell me something? “Then our risk is the same, and my life is yours.”
Ava took in a deep, thoughtful breath. Her hand moved across the table, so slowly that there could’ve been time for me to move mine if I’d wanted to. But I didn’t want to. I let it land on top of mine, and it was inappropriate, but my cheeks colored. “The witch,” Ava said quietly, seriously, “she said my life was intertwined with another’s. I think she meant you.”
“Perhaps,” I agreed.
I paused for a silent minute to consider my options. What I truly should have done was taken my hand out from under hers because I enjoyed it too much. The warmth of her skin was contrarily comforting and stirring all at once, like every time her lips touched my cheek. But this conversation was an important one. It appeared she was so close to telling me why she’d run from the castle, and if I removed my hand from hers, it would be like removing a promise. There was safety in the contact of skin; I felt it, and I was sure she did too. So I left it.
I even clasped my free hand over the top of hers, so it was cradled between both of mine. “It’s all the more reason for you to trust me, and tell me what this is about.”
I don’t know if she saw through it and knew that I was trying to make her feel more at ease, but she blinked at me for a second before removing her hand and sitting back. “You should leave, you know,” she said, but every bit of it was full of genuine concern. “You should go home, and abandon this. You’ve been so kind to me… I can’t see you hurt.”
“I can’t go back without you,” I told her, “you realize this?”
Once more, her gaze fell. “I’m sorry.”
“I don’t blame you. I blame whoever’s threatening your life.” This time, I reached across the table to set my hand on hers, and her eyes met mine when I did, and there was a building brim of tears beneath their brilliant blue. It was torture to see her like that. “Ava, is it your father?”
Her watery eyes watched me, taking me in with due consideration before she blinked away the tears, sniffled, and motioned to the food. “You frightened the innkeeper something fierce,” she said with as much cheer as she could manage.
I sat back and removed my hand, and though I felt defeated that she wouldn’t entirely trust me yet, I tried not to let it show. I gave a small smile. “He earned it.”
The shutters hadn’t ceased their shaking, and I’d been so caught up in talking to Ava that I’d nearly forgotten about it, but now a gust of powerful wind hit them so hard they broke open. It startled me straight out of my seat, and I stood there, frozen as snow pierced into the room. Only a moment passed before Ava hurried over, struggling against the wind and the pain in her injured wrist to shove the window closed. Seeing the wince on her face snapped me out of it, and I rushed over to help her. Together, we replaced the shutters, and while I sat back in my seat, frustrated that I could no longer hide my worry, Ava secured the latch to keep them closed. Still, they rattled violently, and I sheltered my hand over my eyes as if that would shield me from the stress.
My heart kept hammering away in my chest, and now I was embarrassed because I could feel Ava staring at me. It’s only a blizzard, is probably what she was thinking. How could Kiena protect me if she’s frightened of a simple blizzard?
If it’s what she thought, she didn’t say it. She strode over, knelt at my side, and set a hand on my thigh. “Are you alright?”
I made an irritated motion toward the shutters. “If only they’d stop their bloody shaking!” I could handle the wind if it didn’t constantly sound like it’d break into the room.
Ava stayed there for a moment, and after casting a long look around the room, she stood and strode over to the small pile of firewood in the corner. She picked up a log and peeled off a thick piece of bark to carry to the window. There, she jammed the bark into the small crack between the two shutters. It took an obvious effort for her to wedge it in tight enough, but when she did, there was no more room for them to go about their racket. The noise ceased altogether.
She watched my shoulders slump, exhausted from the tension, but I was still too rigid and ashamed to express the gratitude I felt. When I said and did nothing, she walked back over, took my face in her hands, and leaned to press a slow kiss to my cheek. I closed my eyes against the warmth of her lips, and in spite of myself, I let out a revealing sigh.
“You needn’t be afraid, Kiena,” she told me, reaching for my hand and taking it across the small table with her so she could sit down again.
And that comfort in the contact of skin—which had been so useless when I tried to get a confession from her—worked wonders on me. “What I needn’t be and what I am are quite at odds.” She didn’t say anything, but I could see the question in her eyes: why? Instead of answering that question, I took my hand back and folded my arms on the table, groaning as I dropped my head onto them. “I hadn’t wanted you to see my weakness.”
“If fear is weakness,” Ava said, “then everyone is weak.”
“Your life is in danger,” I replied, lifting my head and blushing at the fact that there wasn’t a bit of amusement in her expression. I don’t know why it was more awkward for me that this wasn’t funny to her, but the last thing I wanted her to do was worry. “Your fear is reasonable.”
“I have others,” she said, her head tilted almost scoldingly. “I have many. My greatest is never finding somewhere to belong.”
My eyebrows furrowed. “But this entire kingdom is yours.”
“Is it?” she asked with a skeptical chuckle. “Were it mine, it wouldn’t mean the entire kingdom should be home. I belong at this inn no more than you do.”
“And the castle?” I asked.
“The castle has many parts, and is thus many things,” she answered. “I’ve yet to find a part that feels like home.”
I’d been speaking to Ava so freely, and so without formality this entire morning, that it didn’t cross my mind to watch what I said until now. “What about Ellerete?” It was a personal question—the implications of which could be wildly offensive—but this was as good a time as any. “Might a soul feel like home?”
Ava’s eyes narrowed the slightest bit with concentration, as though she weren’t sure I meant what I really did. “Indeed,” she began, the hint of a smile reaching one corner of her lips, and for the first time, her cheeks shaded. “Ellie was a stability amongst the castle’s commotion, and, when privacy permitted, a dear friend.” I don’t know if it was intentional, but Ava’s gaze fell and lingered at my mouth, so that by the time she met my eyes again, I’d colored furiously. “But I’ve yet to share that depth of the soul’s intimacy.”