The Ivory Rite

Chapter 6

Eyes watering, I grit my teeth as Adair uses the end of a small knife to remove the last piece of glass from one of my hands. We've walked the horses a good distance away from the Mart gates, taking cover just within the tree line. It's important that we put some space between us and the scene I just created, but I can't hold the reigns with my hands in their current condition.

"Tell me again, what exactly did you say to him?" 

This is the third time he's asked. The friendliness shown on our earlier ride is a distant memory, replaced by an anger that radiates like heat. I can almost feel it warming my own face.

"I already told you! Nothing," I say, harassed, yanking my hand away. It's bleeding freely now. I think he's done more damage than he has helped.

"Why was he touching you?"

"He was trying to help me! How many times do you want me to repeat myself?"

"Men from Hearth don't touch women from Glace, Diem. I should have been there to help you. How could you be such a fool, running away from me like that? Don't you know what could have happened to you?" He sounds impassioned, but it's hard to take him seriously with his gaze fixed on the ground. He's been avoiding eye contact with me since our reunion. 

"Your concern for my well-being is touching," I say, the words bone dry.

"Don't you know what they'd do to me if anything happened to you?" he snaps, swiping the blade of the knife against his pant leg to clean it. He sheathes it in his boot, still refusing to look at me. 

"And there's the truth," I snort. "Everything is always about you." I clench my fists, trying to stop the bleeding. More blood seeps through my fingers, mixing with the paling makeup to create a pinkish paste. I'm grateful it held while that boy was examining my hands.

I should never have allowed him to touch me.

Adair is right about that, but I keep the thought to myself.

"Believe whatever you want to believe, Diem." He stands up and stalks over to his horse. "Can you ride now?"

"Yes. Please, let's just get this over with," I say, yanking on the end of one of my belled dress sleeves. The stitching lets go with a statisfying rip, but I struggle to wrap my left hand with the fabric, unable to secure it. There's no way I can apply the make-shift bandages to both of my hands alone, and Adair is already on his horse. 

"Are you coming?" he demands. 

I sigh, somewhat defeated.

"I need your help." 

He finally looks at me. Dismounting without a word, he strides over and grabs one of my hands, tying the fabric in a tight knot. When I wince his eyes dart to my face, and although his expression is difficult to read, I think I see a trace of regret. He softens his grip, but still says nothing.

"You aren't going to tell Margret or your father, are you?" I ask, losing some of my heat. If Margret hears about this I'll never be allowed to leave the castle again, with or without an entire army of her Watchmen.

He moves on to my other hand, shaking his head. "No," he says, his attitude dropping along with mine. "They can't find out about this."

"Thank you," I whisper.

"I'm not doing it for you," he reminds me, the sharpness returning to his tone as quickly as it left.

"I don't care why you're doing it, as long as you keep your mouth shut." Taking back my hand, I give him a withering look before walking over to Ki.