you this . . .” she begins, staring down at the path to avoid look-
ing at me. “Promise not to tell anyone else.”
“Tell me what?”
Her voice drops. “I’ve already given my heart away.
Remember Baron Durnhal’s visit?”
I nod. Another bored nobleman visiting Four Halls to
amuse himself. But the Baron was an interesting, thoughtful
sort of man. He brought Corene strange gifts of ostrich eggs
and wyvern-skin boots, told me fascinating stories from his
time on the war front, and spent an inordinate amount of time
with Thelia.
It wasn’t improper, but they had a way of making conver-
sation so that everything else around them disappeared. The
Baron understood her harsh, unrepentant humor. He fielded
her barbs and lobbed them back. I figured Thelia wanted his
connections, with her father’s dukedom being bankrupt.
Her eyes shine with tears. “He stole my heart like an outlaw.
Then he had to go home for business.”
That’s not what Corene said. He’d found himself a more
suitable wife elsewhere—someone with fewer masculine
pursuits, and not so well-muscled from her secret nighttime
kroga lessons. I’d thought the Baron was different from the rest
of these shallow Holy Kingdom nobles, but I guess not.
I study Thelia. I’ve seen her fake distress for attention,
for pity—but the way she folds in on herself now is different.
I reach out to pat her shoulder, and she jerks away. I forgot how
much she dislikes being touched. I fall back on words, saying,
“I’m sorry. That must be difficult.”
“I miss Red every day.” She inhales. “The sting hasn’t left.
So don’t worry about me falling in love with you. I have no
space in my heart for someone else.”
25
