Tears burned behind her eyes, too sharp to fall.
“What if we didn’t visit with the venerable Master Matheus today?” Behind her, Raffe twisted her vacated chair, straddling the seat and folding muscular arms over the ornately carved back. “What if, instead, we did . . . literally anything else?”
Had it been anyone other than Raffe, Neve would’ve snapped at them to leave her be. As it was, the grin she cracked was half genuine, though exhaustion made the edges pull down. After her ill-fated trip to the Shrine, she hadn’t slept much. “I assume by not visiting, you mean we should skip his lecture on southern weather patterns and their effects on imports?”
Valleyda was at the very top of the continent, landlocked, with the Wilderwood to the north, the Alperan Wastes to the east, and Floriane blocking the way to the western coast. It made trading a nightmare, but that was why Valleyda was the best place to learn about it— they’d thought through to the bottom of any commerce issues one might encounter, because they’d encountered all of them.
Valleyda’s only power was in religion, in sharing a border with the Wilderwood and being locked into the Second Daughter tithe that protected the world from monsters, but it at least led to most countries being willing to offer fair prices. No one wanted to anger the Kings by cheating the kingdom that might one day provide the sacrifice to set them free, or sour the prayers they paid for from the Temple.
Still, crop scarcity would always be a fear, especially when the passes blocking Valleyda from Meducia and Alpera froze so early in the year. Neve’s marriage to Arick was mostly to lock in a sea route, making Floriane a province and providing Valleyda with unfettered access to its coastline.
The tired grin on Neve’s face became slightly harder to hold.
“Precisely what I mean,” Raffe answered. “I find I can’t summon a shred of enthusiasm for the subject of commerce at present.” The late-afternoon light through the window teased muted gold highlights along his long, elegant fingers.
Neve pressed her lips together. She spent far too much time watching Raffe’s hands.
“It’s summer,” he continued, “or as close to it as it gets around here. Forgoing one droning diatribe won’t kill my father’s business. And if it does . . . well.” A shrug. “I’m not terribly worried about it.”
Neve dropped into the chair across from him. “What if you didn’t have to worry about it at all?” She picked at the wrinkled reference paper, tearing it into a tiny snowdrift. “If you didn’t have a business to run, trade routes to learn. What if you could do anything?”
Raffe’s playful smile fell a fraction, handsome features turning introspective. “Well, there’s a question.” His gaze strayed to her hands on the table.
Warmth rushed to Neve’s cheeks. She couldn’t deny an attraction to Raffe— she didn’t think anyone could; the man was handsome as a fairy-tale prince and had the kindness and charm to go with it— but nothing could happen between them, not with her betrothal cemented. Still, that didn’t stop the want, and it didn’t stop the simple pleasure of knowing that her wanting was returned.
Raffe settled his chin on his arms, dark eyes curious as they flickered from her hands to her face. “What about you? If you could go anywhere, where would you go?”
Her answer came instantly, and it banished all the warmth his eyes had brought her, replaced it with an inexpressible ache. “I’d go find my sister.”
A line drew between Raffe’s brows. When he spoke, it was on the end of a sigh. “You did all you could for her, Neve.”
She had, and it wasn’t enough.
“It isn’t your fault.”
Then whose was it? Fate twisted one way, and Neve was born first. None of it was fair, and none of it was right, and she should’ve tried harder to change it. Should’ve done something other than beg Red to run, long after it became clear she wouldn’t.
Raffe’s hand stretched out. It hovered over hers, a moment’s hesitation, before his fingers settled across her wrist. He was warm, so warm, almost enough to call her out of the cold place she retreated to inside herself, where she could grow numb and distant. She’d spent a lot of time there, recently. Numb and hollow was better than raw and hurting.
“You have to stop blaming yourself, Neve. She made a choice. The least we can do is honor it.” He paused, swallowed. “Honor her memory.”
Memory. The word slashed her open. “She isn’t dead, Raffe.”