Page 85 of Burn Her They Said
My mouth opens, then closes, as I try to find the words.
“If you need me to change something, I need to know. Because the more you seem to be repulsed by my presence?—”
I launch toward him with my hand outstretched, as if to take his hand.
His expression shifts, having proven his point whether he expected this reaction from me or not. He grins in triumph, though he knows not the despair wrought from such a win.
“Sleep well, Tasch,” he says with such care after all he’s just shared, tugging on that string wrapped around my heavily beating heart.
With what compassion he’s showing, a less stubborn witch might recognize it as forgiveness.
Malin begins to sing, and his deep baritone resounds in my chest, shifting to a deep hum as he begins the melody of his favorite local sailor’s song—as much for himself as for those of us who admire his luscious tone.
I lean back and glance at Varic, who stares down at me with a smile so relaxed, the lines near his eyes are almost nonexistent. Soothing warmth spreads from my heart as I offer him a partial smile—one I cannot banish now that I have seen him beaming down at me with such admiration shining from behind his irises—an image now seared into my mind long after I close my eyes.
Chapter Thirty
Nightmare
Varic
The way she just lunged for me.
Reaching out in a bid of compassion and concern. For me.
Her actions speaking louder than any words could. Witnessing her impulse to comfort me the second I named the way she has seemed to be repulsed by my presence lately. Her initial reaction—her first instinct—was to prove just how wrong I was.
“Varic,” Cirrin says, tone laced with concern and a hint of humor. “What’re you thinking?”
My ears must be red with the heat burning in them, flowing inward to infiltrate my cheeks and over the bridge of my nose, which I try to cover with my hands as I swipe them one after the other through my hair—a tactic of distraction I am learning does not work on the healing Guard who stares at me, awaiting my response.
“Tasch,” I admit, voice muffled enough he moves closer, indicating he didn’t hear. I pull in a breath and utter, “Just something between Tasch and me.”
He nods, stepping away while looking up at me with obvious amusement.
“Of course,” Fray starts. “Everything is about you two. However, since we never leave her side, anything to do with her is also something we are bound to learn, so you may as well say whatever it is, since we are all going to find out regardless.”
“To your point,” I say, gesturing over at the sleeping witch in question. “You were all here. You each witnessed the exchange I’m mulling over.”
“Where you divulged your fear of repulsing her, and she nearly launched herself off the bed in an effort to make you feel better?” Lars asks.
“Yes,” I admit, wishing I could cool my fucking ears down before they burn so hot they remain this reddened forever.
“She proved your point, so what concerns you?” Malin asks.
“She didn’t prove anything,” I say and am met with a cacophony of dismissive noises from each of them.
“You’re serious?” Lars asks.
“I thought you knew her better than to question her reaction,” Fray says, fanning the flames of embarrassment in my chest.
“She doesn’t talk much, or at least, she doesn’t anymore,” Cirrin says. “She’s learned to be calculated, so whenever she acts on impulse, that’s the real her.”
“Cirrin said it better, but that is what I meant,” Fray adds.
“What do you expect me to do with any of this?” I ask, like a young sorcerer completely uncertain of how to conduct myself around others.
“If she seems uncomfortable, back off,” Lars says.
