Priestess

Chapter 24

Chapter 24

Ara glanced up to see Coen hesitating in the doorway. She paused, her forkful of eggs halfway to her mouth. She quickly shoved them in and focused on the perfectly curved prongs of her fork.

Coen shifted his weight uncomfortably before sliding in beside her. In five mouthfuls, he’d practically cleared his plate. He wiped his mouth with a cloth and drained his cup. “I remember what you said as we left the canyon below Bondell.” He turned towards her, but Ara didn’t dare face him. “Take a piece with you and let the rest go.”

She dropped her head. “My mother told me that before she died.”

Coen leaned in closer and said softly, “I think I could stand leaving you, if I might have a piece of you to take with me.”

Stand leaving her? Had she heard right? Slowly, her head swung round.

“Ara, may I have a lock of your hair?”

She studied him, not really understanding why he would ask this of her. But how could she refuse him? Anything. “All right.”

Using his knife, Coen cut one of her locks and then pulled a leather cord from his pocket. He carefully tied it around the hair, wrapped it in a cloth, and placed it in his pocket. “Thank you,” he said reverently.

Perhaps she had mistaken his regret? Perhaps . . . Summoning her courage, she asked, “And what will you give me?”

Coen’s brow furrowed before smoothing. Picking up his dagger, the same one he’d cut her hair with, he tossed it from one hand to the other then handed it out for her, hilt first.

It wasn’t just functional, it was beautiful. Bejeweled with gold inlays. It must be worth a small fortune. Ara looked at him wide eyed. “I can’t—”

“Bomin and my father spent weeks making this for me before I left for the war,” he interrupted. “Fashioned of the best materials and decorated with jewels from my mother’s collection. It was created with all the cunning of the Miner and Fairone blade smiths. It would be an insult to refuse such a gift.”

She took it. Gingerly, she fingered the cabochonsapphires and rubies decorating the hilt, and then ran her fingers along the intricate designs carved along the blade. “I’m afraid I received the better trade.”

Coen fingered the cloth containing her hair. “No, you didn’t.” He paused, unsure. “You understand why I have to leave?”

She kept her gaze focused on her breakfast. Leaving her in this strange place, with a Fairone who despised her and thousands of Miners who had more than one wife, of all things. “You’re a soldier. You’re responsible for you’re your men.” The knowledge didn’t make her pain subside. If he died . . .

He scrubbed his hand through his hair. “You know there’s more to it than that, Ara. I can’t stay here. Not with you. Not with the way I feel.”

She froze. Every so slowly, she lifted her eyes. He didn’t meet her gaze.

“I would pursue you. My mother forgive my weakness, I would do everything in my power to make you mine. Like a thief in the night, I would steal you away from your destiny.” He finally met her gaze. “Do you understand?”

Her throat went dry and her palms began to sweat. He cared! Her mother bless her, he cared! “I do.” And she meant it. If Coen stayed, all the chiding and threats and destinies that existed couldn’t keep her from his arms.

She was tempted to beg him to do just that, but the thought of her mother’s bruised face, the inn girl, the Hebocks . . . her protests died in her throat, leaving a thick, sticky lump that she couldn’t swallow.