He watches me with a steady gaze. “How couldn’t he be?”
“He’s taking me into Kellington tomorrow to purchase new supplies.”
“You could stay, you know. Remain in Kellington, resume your normal life.”
“Do you think the marquis will give me that option?” I ask.
The bandit’s eyes are solemn behind his mask. “Most likely.”
“So, is this our goodbye? Is that why you’re here?”
“You can’t have a life in Faerie,” he says, turning me so I face him and then dropping his arms. “Too many humans think it’s possible, but you must believe me when I say it’s not. Each day marches you closer to peril. Your life expectancy is far too short here.”
“What about you?”
“Me?”
“You’re a human in Faerie, aren’t you?” I press.
But is he? Is he really?
“I don’t know where I belong anymore.”
“Neither do I.” I let my fingers brush against his. “But there is one reason to remain here, and no reason to stay in Kellington. Arithmetic was never my strongest subject, but even I know the answer to that problem.”
“Your brother isn’t worth the risk.”
“I wasn’t speaking about Gustin.”
Incredulously, he asks, “You would linger in Faerie because of me?”
“I think you need me,” I say.
“I need you?”
Instead of answering with words, I set my hand on his cheek and let my thumb edge over his black, silken mask.
I expect him to shy away, but his hand moves to my side.
“You’re lonely,” I say quietly. “I recognize the symptoms. I’ve battled them most of my life.”
His grip tightens on my waist as though the statement cuts him to the core. “Were you unhappy as a child, Alice?”
I shake my head. “No, but when I was young, my parents were often gone. To be honest, things didn’t change all that much when they died. My grandmother tried, and I had a kind governess, but I was alone much of the time. And Gustin…well, my brother and I were never close. When he was old enough, he began drinking and gambling, spending most of his time in the clubs. I rarely saw him.”
The bandit’s frown deepens.
“Don’t misunderstand,” I say quickly. “I know what a blessed life I led. I never wanted for anything; I never went hungry. I’m not ungrateful for all I had. Even Gustin, vacant though he was, gave me a generous allowance, letting me have whatever I wanted, buying me expensive gowns and all the art supplies I could ever want. I was well cared for.”
“When did you begin painting?” he asks.
“I don’t remember exactly. It seems I always had a brush in my hand when I was little. When I was ten, Grandmother brought in a tutor to help me hone my gift. I completed my first commissioned portrait when I was sixteen. A friend of my grandmother’s asked me to paint her dog. Apparently, I did an adequate job. A month after the first portrait was complete, she commissioned me to paint her with the dog.”
He smiles a little. “And you’ve done other commissions since then?”
I nod, torn between humility and wanting to impress him. “I have.” I grin. “Even some without pets.”
Suddenly, he stands straighter as if something has occurred to him. “What did you do with your earnings?”