Part 23 (1/2)

Nevertheless, the way they'd both used ”cool,” I could only a.s.sume he meant to ask if I was over my pique.

I was not, of course, but that didn't factor.

”Yes, Noc, I'm fine,” I lied.

His lips quirked, his eyes didn't leave mine, and he murmured, ”You so aren't.”

I faced forward again.

This allowed Noc's lips a direct line to my ear, and I fancied I could actually feel them whisper against the skin there, causing a chill to race down my spine that was not chilly in the slightest as he said, ”Also cute.”

Considering where his mouth was, he couldn't see my face. Therefore, I rolled my eyes.

I felt him pull away.

I decided silence was my best course of action for the rest of the journey (and the return one).

However, this was the wrong decision.

Although Noc and Cora chatted amiably together the entire distance, both of them made frequent attempts to draw me into their conversation, to which I was not rude, just short or monosyllabic, and they eventually let me be, leaving me in my head.

This was not a good place to be, especially these last nine days.

If I was honest with myself-something I tended not to be for reasons of self-preservation, but even more so the last week-I would have admitted that their company, any of them, was a boon. It kept me out of my head. It kept me away from melancholic, ashamed or anxious thoughts of what had befallen me and what was to come.

But now, as we sledged ever closer to the jail (a place I had no idea where it was so I didn't know exactly how close it was, just that we were moving, so naturally we were getting closer), I wondered why I'd decided to visit my parents.

Yes, I was where I was. Healing. Standing. Free. And they were where they were, imprisoned, their rights stripped, my mother's magic stripped, their abundance of pride and conceit likely (hopefully) being chipped away day to day.

But what was to be gained from this visit?

And further, what could be lost?

They had power over me. They always did. I didn't have to admit that to myself. It was a fact I'd lived with since I could ruminate. That power they wielded whether I was young or old, near or far.

Would their being in a jail change that?

Would my confronting them somehow be turned on me and cause more shame?

These were the thoughts that plagued me not only during our journey but at the end of it, through Noc a.s.sisting me out of the sleigh and while we made our way to the front door of the jail.

Frey opened the door, Finnie on his arm. They swept through followed by Lahn and Circe, then Noc and I, and we were trailed by Tor and Cora.

By the time we made our way through the door, Frey was speaking with someone who looked official and was wearing a city guard uniform of brown leather shorts, thick brown stockings, high brown boots and a warm-looking brown sweater with deep-red epaulets st.i.tched in along the shoulders.

The moment Noc and I entered, both men's eyes came to me.

Unexpectedly, I had the instant desire to bolt. In order not to do it, I made my body lock.

Noc felt it.

”Frannie?” he called quietly.

My gaze shot to his. ”Do I look all right?”

In the many ”nevers” that I'd experienced happening recently, this was another.

I'd never asked a soul that question.

And in my heart I knew I looked nothing but like I always looked. Josette made sure of that, going extra distance considering where I was heading, fas.h.i.+oning the lovely chignon she'd fastened at my nape and selecting the perfect accessories for my ensemble. It was also she who'd decided on the wine-colored gown that skimmed my figure beautifully, showing only a hint of cleavage at the square neckline, the subtle, thin, vertical cable-knit at my midriff, waist and hips giving the impression that entire area was nipped in and tiny.

She'd also chosen my most expensive, most fabulous cloak. A luscious, luminous sable, its high collar when flipped up (as it was not now) covered not just my neck but up beyond my ears.

I knew all this.

But I did not.

And when I asked this question of Noc, he had an odd reaction.

His expression grew soft and kind (er) and he turned into me so we were front to front, close, dipping his chin into his throat to bring his face near, all the while holding my eyes.

”You look beautiful, Franka. You always look beautiful. Your cheeks flushed from being out in the cold, your eyes brighter because the pain is subsiding, you look more beautiful than yesterday and the day before, and I could go on with that.” His hand that was covering my fingers he'd curled inside his elbow tightened as his lips tipped up rea.s.suringly. ”It's all good.”

I heard his words and yet I did not.

And it didn't matter that I did and did not.

I promptly and fretfully asked him another question.

”Can you tell I still have pain? When I move,” I hastened to add. ”Or even stand,” I kept at it. ”Can you tell,” I got up on my toes, ”at all?”

”No, baby,” he whispered hearteningly. ”You can't tell at all. Where you were, where you are now, every day I've thought it. You may just be the strongest woman I've met.”

My hand reached up and clamped over his sweater at his biceps, curling around, but in my state I didn't notice the hardness of muscle underneath his wool.

”You aren't saying these things just to soothe me, are you?” I pressed.

He shook his head. ”No way. Truth. All of it, Frannie. Swear to G.o.d.”

I stayed right where I was, this close to Noc, holding on to his arm, but I turned my head toward where Frey was still standing, beyond which was a pa.s.sageway that seemed dim and bleak.

Noc's free arm slid carefully along my waist and my attention returned to him when he stated firmly, ”If you're having second thoughts, we're outta here.”

I stared up into his eyes.

They'd all come. Out in the cold, they'd all come. To be there with me.

To be there for me.

And Noc was right there, close, holding me, rea.s.suring me.