Page 47 of Fate's Wicked Oath

“Nuisance,” I muttered.

An amiable silence spread between us. Purple tinged the horizon, and as I gazed at the sky, my fingers continued to fiddle with the ribbon, coiling it and then letting it unravel. When I glanced at Faren again, he was watching my hands.

“So youarea touch magician,” he said.

I shoved the ribbon back into my pocket, feeling caught.

A smirk. “I suspected it yesterday, when you touched my arm, but—”

“How is your arm, by the way?”

“Improved.” He gestured at where my hand still lingered in my pocket. “But don’t change the subject.”

“Shouldn’t there be some kind of after-dark moratorium on you needling me?”

“It’s basically dawn.” His soft tone was filled with teasing. “You’re a touch magician—likeme.”

My stomach felt as if it were filled with snakes, squirmy and uncomfortable. Touch magic could be so intimate, and havingthat in common withhim… “I don’t know what gave you that idea.”

He arched a brow. “You think I don’t know what a touch trinket is?”

“Excuse me?”

“You know,” Faren said, gesturing at my pocket. “A scrap of fabric or leather that’s soothing to your magic.” He studied me. “Have you never heard of that before?”

I stared at him for a moment, reluctant—then I shook my head.

“I’m surprised no one taught you about that.”

“The knights in my Order tend to avoid sharing their weird personal habits.”

Faren did not seem embarrassed. “I’ll admit I’m not proud of having a crutch, but it’s normal for touch magicians to carry around something for comfort.” He procured a small wooden figurine from his own pocket. Without hesitation, he handed it to me.

Delicately, I turned it over in my hands. It was a small whittled fox, sitting upright with its bushy tail wrapped around its paws. I swiped a thumb across the rippled surface of its tail, pleased with the sensation of the grooves, which were worn smooth. Then I handed it back.

“My sister Eva made it.” Faren dragged his finger along the same path my thumb had tracked, a smile creasing his eyes. “Reminds me of home.”

I wrinkled my nose at him. “You’re so wholesome.” I said it like it was a bad thing, but Faren chuckled.

His talk of home made me miss my own—or, rather, the home I’d once had. Sliding the ribbon out of my pocket again, I fiddled with the fuzzy strands of its frayed end. “I don’t think there are many touch magicians among the Valiant,” I said.

“We tend to be lovers rather than fighters.”

Curiosity raced across my skin, but I shoved it down. I didnotneed to think about how much of aloverFaren could be.

“I know you are a legendary thief,” Faren went on mildly, “but there are better senses for it, I imagine.” He stroked his jaw, as if he were genuinely considering it. “My sister Beatrice is a sound magician, and her ability to sneak around and eavesdrop was a problem growing up.”

“Therearea lot of sound magicians among the Valiant,” I said. “Sight, too.”

“The bastards,” Faren joked, leaning back against the barn.

I snorted and faced forward again, mirroring his position. “They really are.”

The crinkles beside his eyes deepened with mirth, then smoothed. “I imagine that Valiant knighthood is a difficult existence for someone so attuned to sensation,” he said delicately, still facing the purpling sky. “Exposed to the elements and all.”

Something pulled in my diaphragm, a deep tug that made me ache. Heunderstood, and his empathy brought out a pain I’d been ignoring. A black bruise on my heart. “It can be,” I admitted. “Though I do prefer the outdoors and wide-open spaces.”

“I noticed,” Faren said. “Back in Fenrir, among all that jostling, you looked as if you were moments away from unsheathing your sword and cutting through the crowd like underbrush.”