Dipping his fingers into the dark orange cream, he thickly painted the salve on the burn on the top of my right breast. As soon as the salve touched the wound, its throb numbed, and the redness disappeared before my very eyes. I didn’t even mind the coldness of Lethe’s fingers. Next, his fingertips trailed across my face, moistening the scratches. And then, he infiltrated my torn slip and painted the salve over my side. At this, my eyes popped open and I shuddered. His eyes flicked to mine and for a moment we stood, eyes linked; then my eyes drifted from his, down to his chest. There—there!—winking at me in the folds of his tunic was a shard of milky crystal. Was it—could it have been?—the other shard of the magical mirror, belonging to the Aena dynasty?
Was it possible that contact with Theon was again within my grasp?
Lethe withdrew his touch, smearing the remainder of the salve on his own damaged fingers and sealing the disc beneath a pewter cap. He deposited the balm into his pocket.
“You must be terribly bored,” he said, clearing his throat. “There are books, you know. Dozens of books. You should educate yourself on our ways, on the history of our land, whilst you are here.”
I wanted to mention that he could easily undo my circumstances, but I did not. He knew. He simply refused.
“What did your father say?” I asked, advancing after him.
At this question, Lethe hung his head.
“You should learn the ways of the ice dragons,” he went on, as if I had not spoken. He stepped to the bookcase and slid a thick tome from its utmost shelf. “Here. A History of War. It is not as conclusive as we would have hoped—but the ice people were never in charge of The Hearthland’s presses.” He turned with pursed lips, but his eyes remained glued to the cover of the book. It was as green as the grasses which no longer grew here, and its leather binding was etched in filigree. “This explains our history, and delves briefly into our customs.” His eyes rose to mine and I was surprised to see that they were not the ice I had come to expect. In fleeting moments, there was warmth there, as if I had seen through a tiny window, a chink in metallic armor. “There are not many books in existence which honor my people,” he went on, extending the tome toward me.
I swallowed, uncertain, but took the book. I didn’t want to be rude. In spite of kidnapping me, and those occasional flares of rudeness, he’d been oddly kind.
I traced my fingers over the filigree. “Does it mention you in here?” I asked.
Another hesitation. “Yes, actually. I was just a boy at the time of its publication. My people had already lost their foothold on the castle.”
I flipped the book open, and he darted forward, clapping it shut again. He almost caught my fingers.
“Don’t—don’t read it whilst I am here. Just… read it later, when you are alone; I have greatly treasured the company of books in my lifetime. Haven’t you?”
I offered a small smile. “Me, too,” I said. Something about him made me sad. “Why don’t you want me to read this in your presence?”
“This is our country too, you know.” He was constantly changing the subject. So evasive. So… afraid? “We were relegated to our sliver at its tip. But we are another people on the same land. We deserve more. The Hearthlands are not the inherited right of the fire dragons.” His jaw tensed. “My people have struggled to coexist here. And I have been promised this opportunity. Why must Theon receive it as his birthright?” His voice rose and sharpened. “What has he done that is so noble?”
“Theon is a good man,” I said.
“I am a good man,” Lethe replied, his voice as low as mine. “Do I deserve to burn in the sun, Lady O’Hara?” His hand rose to my cheek and cupped my face. I hissed at the iciness of his flesh. “Do I deserve the abuse of a family which blames its children for its failures?”
“No,” I promised him. And I meant it. I shuddered as his thumb stroked my sore cheekbone. “Of course not, Lethe.”
His hard eyes softened. “You’re cold. Come. Let us sit by the fire.”
I settled in front of the hearth and peered up, hesitating with surprise as he sat next to me, so near to the crackling fire. “Does this hurt you?” I asked.
At this, Lethe offered a self-effacing smile. “I’m no stranger to pain,” he replied. “What has been your impression of my home country, so far?”
Well, Prince Lethe, it’s freaking freezing. But he needed a gentle touch. He was only beginning to crack open, and the slightest misstep could cause him to snap shut again. “It is beautiful, as Theon told me it would be.” I did not want him to forget—nor did I wish to forget—that I belonged to Theon.