A Hand Weaving Chaos (Book 2 of The Fallen Gods Trilogy)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Hugging herself, Jill finally turned back so she could watch Brexten work. Part of her wanted to leave and put as much distance between them as possible. But, she'd sought him out, so how could she go? Instead, she watched as he piled the logs, laid the kindling, and had a satisfactory blaze going in a short time. He crouched before it, feeding it kindling and building up the flame. The room warmed and Jill became drowsy watching him. She lay on her side, arms propping up her head. Brexten came to sit on the floor at the edge of the bed. He stretched out his long legs, crossing them at the ankle. With a sigh, he unbuckled his sword belt and let it fall to the floor beside him.

"You're angry at Nia?" she tried hesitantly.

"No. At myself. She's right. Once, I would have been amused by her. Now..."

"Now what?" she prompted.

"Now it makes me shudder to realize what you must think of me."

"Oh." She pulled her knees up to her chest and stared into the fire. "You said it was in the past. I...I believe you."

He paused a moment, then said, "That was an interesting choice of clothing Aden created for you today. He has very definite ideas as to how he sees you and it would seem they're not far off from my own. Do you think if you went back to your room now he would be there waiting for you?"

Her breath caught in her throat at the words and what she heard in his voice. Uncertainty. Anxiousness. Even a hint of jealousy. Did he suspect the magic wanted to push her into Aden's arms? Of course he did, and if he didn't, no doubt Rafe would have cheerfully pointed it out to him. Yet as much as the magic might demand, she had refused to answer its call.

"It doesn't matter where he is. I'm here with you and don't plan on going anywhere else."

She saw his shoulders relax. The leather of his boots creaked as he moved. "What were you and Perren talking about? Pydia?"

"Among other things," she murmured, relieved he let the subject go. "We talked about Kachine. She told me she wants to have his child. I passed the message along to him."

The silence lasted several beats. "You're serious, aren't you?"

"Very."

"And what did Perren say?"

"I think he'll do it."

He sighed and let his head tip back against the bed. If she reached out just a little, she could brush the hair from his forehead. Unable to control herself, she gave into the urge and played with the errant lock of blond hair.

"Do you have any idea what it means?" he asked.

"Not a clue, but it's probably something that's going to be a big problem for everyone later if Kachine's involved." The hair slipped out of her fingers. "Brexten, I'm sorry about today. I'm sorry about Rydorel. I wish it could have gone better. Your father—"

"Is dead. He's dead because he chose to be. We have to accept it and more on."

She wanted to touch him again, but couldn't. In the span of a heartbeat, he had grown too remote for her to reach. "You need to let yourself grieve for him."

"I can't afford to. Tamas hasn't allowed me that luxury. He'll pay for that along with everything else."

"You're right. What your father did was his own decision. He wanted to do things in his own time. You couldn't have stopped him. I think he would have resented it if you had."