When they were close to the Torre’s main hallway, to the courtyard and horse that would take him home for the evening, he asked, “Why are you cringing?”
Yrene crossed her arms, scanning the halls around them. Quiet at this time of day, right before the dinner rush. “That oasis, Aksara. It’s not exactly … easy to get to.”
“Far?”
“No, not that. It’s owned by the royals. No one is allowed there. It’s their private refuge.”
“Ah.” He scratched at the shadow of stubble on his jaw. “And asking to access it outright will lead to too many questions.”
“Exactly.”
He studied her, eyes narrowing.
“Don’t you dare suggest I use Kashin,” she hissed.
Chaol lifted his hands, eyes dancing. “I wouldn’t dare. Though he certainly ran the moment you snapped your fingers the other night. He’s a good man.”
Yrene braced her hands on her hips. “Why don’t you invite him to a romantic interlude in the desert, then.”
Chaol chuckled, trailing her as she started for the courtyard again. “I’m not versed in court intrigue, but you do have another palace connection.”
Yrene grimaced. “Hasar.” She toyed with a curl at the end of her hair. “She hasn’t asked me to play spy recently. I’m not sure if I want to … open that door again.”
“Perhaps you could convince her that a trip to the desert—an outing—would be … fun?”
“You want me to manipulate her like that?”
His gaze was steady. “We can find another way, if you’re uncomfortable.”
“No—no, it might work. It’s just Hasar was born into this sort of thing. She might see right through me. And she’s powerful enough that … Is it worth risking her entanglement, her anger, if we’re just going on a suggestion from Nousha?”
He considered her words. In a way that only Hafiza really did. “We’ll think on it. With Hasar, we’ll need to proceed carefully.”
Yrene stepped into the courtyard, motioning to one of the awaiting Torre guards that the lord needed his horse brought around from the stables. “I’m not a very good accomplice in intrigue,” she admitted to Chaol with an apologetic smile.
He only brushed his hand against hers. “I find it refreshing.”
And from the look in his eyes … she believed him. Enough that her cheeks heated, just a bit.
Yrene turned toward the Torre looming over them, just to buy herself some breathing room. Looked up, up, up to where her own little window gazed toward the sea. Toward home.
She lowered her gaze from the Torre to find his face grim. “I’m sorry to have brought all this upon you—all of you,” Chaol said quietly.
“Don’t be. Perhaps that’s what it wants. To use fear and guilt to end this—stop us.” She studied him, the proud lift of his chin, the strength he radiated in every breath. “Though … I do worry that time is not on our side.” Yrene amended, “Take all the time you need to heal. Yet …” She rubbed at her chest. “I have a feeling we have not seen the last of that hunter.”
Chaol nodded, his jaw tight. “We’ll deal with it.”
And that was that. Together—they’d deal with it together.
Yrene smiled slightly at him as the light steps of his horse approached on the pale gravel.
And the thought of climbing back to her room, the thought of hours spent fretting …
Maybe it made her pathetic, but Yrene blurted, “Would you like to stay for dinner? Cook will mope that you didn’t say hello.”
She knew it was not mere fear that spurred her. Knew that she just wanted to spend a few more minutes with him. Talk to him in a way that she so rarely did with anyone else.
For a long moment, Chaol only watched her. As if she were the only person in the world. She braced herself for the refusal, the distance. Knew she should have just let him ride off into the night.
“What if we ventured out for dinner instead?”
“You mean—in the city?” She pointed toward the open gates.
“Unless you think the chair in the streets—”
“The walkways are even.” Her heart hammered. “Do you have any preference for what to eat?”
A border—this was some strange border that they were crossing. To leave their neutral territories and emerge into the world beyond, not as healer and patient, but woman and man—
“I’ll try anything,” Chaol said, and she knew he meant it. And from the way he looked to the open gates of the Torre, to the city just starting to glow beyond … She knew he wanted to try anything; was as eager for a distraction from that shadow looming over them as she herself was.
So Yrene signaled to the guards that they didn’t need his horse. Not for a while yet. “I know just the place.”
Some people stared; some were too busy going about their business or journeys home to remark on Chaol as he wheeled his chair alongside Yrene.
She had to step in only a few times, to help him over the bump of a curve, or down one of the steep streets. She led him to a place five blocks away, the establishment like nothing he’d seen in Rifthold. He’d visited a few private dining rooms with Dorian, yes, but those had been for the elite, for members and their guests.
This place … it was akin to those private clubs, in that it was only for eating, full of tables and carved wooden chairs, but this was open to anyone, l
ike the public rooms at an inn or tavern. The front of the pale-stoned building had several sets of doors that were open to the night, leading out onto a patio full of more tables and chairs under the stars, the space jutting into the street itself so that diners could watch the passing city bustle, even glimpse down the sloping street to the dark sea sparkling under the moonlight.
And the enticing smells coming from within: garlic, something tangy, something smoky …
Yrene murmured to the woman who came to greet them, which must have amounted to a table for two and without one chair, because within a moment, he was being led to the street-patio, where a servant discreetly removed one of the chairs at a small table for him to pull up to the edge.
Yrene claimed a seat opposite him, more than a few heads turning their way. Not to gawk at him, but her.
The Torre healer.
She didn’t seem to notice. The servant returned to rattle off what had to be the menu, and Yrene ordered in her halting Halha.
She bit her lower lip, glancing to the table, the public dining room. “Is this all right?”
Chaol took in the open sky above them, the color bleeding to a sapphire blue, the stars beginning to blink awake. When had he last relaxed? Eaten a meal not to keep his body healthy and alive, but to enjoy it?
He grappled for the words. Grappled to settle into the ease. “I’ve never done anything like this,” he at last admitted.
His birthday this past winter, in that greenhouse—even then, with Aelin, he’d been half there, half focused on the palace he’d left behind, on remembering who was in charge and where Dorian was supposed to be. But now …
“What—eaten a meal?”
“Had a meal when I wasn’t … Had a meal when I was just … Chaol.”
He wasn’t sure if he’d explained it right, if he could articulate it—
Yrene angled her head, her mass of hair sliding over a shoulder. “Why?”
“Because I was either a lord’s son and heir, or Captain of the Guard, or now Hand to the King.” Her gaze was unflinching as he fumbled to explain. “No one recognizes me here. No one has ever even heard of Anielle. And it’s …”