Page 90 of Lady Knight and the Thief

A’aravos Paravale even hosted its own bushel of Cypress’s favored Fire Vine Flowers. The delicate spicy aroma made Cypress feel as if she were home.

Eventually, she resigned to wait while lounging under the open arched windows and kept an eye on the two entrances.

She was going to throttle Torren whenever he decided to appear.

They were supposed to talk, to plan their next moves. The Hounds were still running through the shadows. What if more had freed themselves while Cypress and Torren were galivanting to Jimemelle?

Torren needed the scepter, and Cypress had promised to help him get it. But now that Cypress and Torren’s faces were plastered on wanted posters across the kingdom, Cypress didn’t know where to begin.

She sighed and pushed her hair out of her face. The lengths now fell past her waist, as if the roads she had traveled were marked in the new growth. Cypress had left it free for the day, which was unlike her.

Her hair was the best tactile solution Cypress could think of to remind herself that she was no longer Captain Cy. The long braid she had always worn, tucked under her armor, felt like part of that persona's uniform.

The clothes on her back also served the purpose of reminding Cypress that she was not the King’s tool.

Like the night prior, Athima had given her a dress that sat low on her shoulders, with ties up the hips and long slits at either side. Though because the heat of the day already pressed in on the palace, Cypress had also been given a garment Athima called‘shorts’that stopped around her thighs, leaving the length of her legs bare. She had removed her sandals soon after arriving and walked barefoot through the garden paths.

Cypress imagined the ladies at Court fainting at her appearance.

But still,Torren wasn'there. A frustrated growl left Cypress’s lips as she rose to pace the gardens once more.

“You know, Lass,” Torren drawled, “If you’re having troubles by yourself, you can always ask me to lend a helpinghand.”

Cypress whirled around and marched toward him. “You little,” she said, finger pointed at his chest.

Torren grabbed her hand and pulled their bodies flush with his hand around her waist. “What was that?” He asked. Storm grey eyes looked at her through heavy lids and thick lashes.

“You’re late,” Cypress said with a glare.

“Oh,” Torren crooned, then he said, “I’m sorry.”

Cypress almost opened her mouth to say it was okay. That familiar rakish grin flashed at Cypress though, so she instead bit her tongue, and pressed her lips together.

“How can I make it up to you?” Torren asked, squeezing their hips together.

Cypress pulled a face and pushed out of his grip. Everything was always some crude joke to him.

Torren let her go, but not without some hesitation. Cypress ignored the sudden jump in her pulse, willing her traitorous heart to calm as she looked away, steeling herself.

“Stop doingthat,” she said with a gesture toward him and all his rakish swagger. “And start talking.”

Torren scoffed. “I’m notdoinganything, but fine,” he said, raising his hands. “So.”

“So,” Cypress echoed, arms crossed.

“So Caelith wants us both dead.”

“Yep.”

“Why would he wantyoudead, Cypress? I know why he wants my head.”

“All I did was know you. So what did you do?”

“It’s not so much what I did but what I know. Who I come from.”

“You’ve mentioned your mother, is that what it all boils down to?”

Torren shrugged. “I suppose you could say that.”