The corners of his mouth lifted in a stiff smile, and he nodded. “One day I will.”

With the days growing warmer, I appreciated Rafe’s and Kaden’s help even more, but it made me wonder why they had no work of their own to attend to. They were young and able, and while they both had very nice steeds and tack, they didn’t seem wealthy, yet they paid Berdi cheerfully for the loft, board, and stabling of their horses. Neither one ever seemed to run short of coin. Could an out of work farmhand and an idle trader have that much money saved?

I would have questioned their lack of direction more, but most of Terravin was full of summer visitors who were only biding their time until the festival, including the other guests at the inn, many journeying in from lonely hamlets, isolated farms, and apparently in Rafe’s case, regions with no names. Rafe did say that his lack of work as a farmhand was temporary. Maybe his employer was only taking a break for the festival which also gave him free time.

Not that either he or Kaden was lazy. They were both always eager to pitch in, Kaden fixing the wheel on Berdi’s wagon without any prompting, and Rafe proving himself as an experienced farmhand, clearing the trenches in Berdi’s vegetable garden and repairing its sticky sluice gate. Gwyneth and I both watched with more than a little interest as he swung the hoe and lifted heavy rocks to reinforce the channel.

Perhaps, like other festivalgoers, they appreciated this chance for a break from the usual drudgery and routine of their lives. The festival was both sacred obligation and welcome respite in the middle of summer. The town was decorated with colorful flags and ribbons, and doorways were draped with long garlands of pine sprigs in anticipation of the celebrations that would commemorate the deliverance. The Days of Debauchery, my brothers called it, noting that their friends observed in greatest earnest the drinking portion of the festivities.

The festival lasted for six days. The first day was for holy rites, fasting, and prayer, the second for food, games, and dancing. Each of the remaining four days were given to prayer and acts to honor the four gods who had gifted Morrighan and delivered the Remnant.

As members of the royal court, our family had always kept strict festival schedules set by the Timekeeper, observing all the sacraments, the fast, the feasts and dancing, all given just and proper time. But I was no longer a member of any court. This year I could set my own schedule and attend the events I chose. I wondered which portion of the festivities Kaden and Rafe would most indulge in.

For all his attentions, Rafe still kept a measured distance. It made no sense. He could avoid me altogether if he chose, but he didn’t. Maybe he was just filling his time until the festival, as so many others were, but more than once, in one task or another, our fingers touched or our arms brushed, and fire would race through me.

One day as I walked out the tavern door, he was entering, and we stumbled into each other, our faces so close our breath mingled. I forgot about where I was going. I thought I saw tenderness in his eyes, if not passion, and wondered if the same fire raced through him. As with our other encounters, I waited and hoped, trying not to spoil the moment, but just like the others, it vanished too as Rafe remembered something else he needed to tend to and I was left confused and breathless.

Every day we seemed to share some sort of banter, maybe several times in one day. As I swept a porch outside a room, he’d appear as if on his way somewhere and then pause and lean against a post, asking how Pauline was doing or if there might be a room opening up soon, or whatever topic served the moment. I wanted to lean on my broom and talk endlessly to him, but to what end? Sometimes I’d just forget about hoping for more and enjoy his company and closeness.

I figured if things were meant to be, they happened sooner rather than later, and I tried to put it out of my mind, but in the stillness of the night, I hung on our conversations. As I drifted off to sleep, I dwelled on each word we shared, thinking about every expression on his face, wondering what I was doing wrong. Maybe the problem had been me all along. Maybe I was destined to be unkissed. Unkissable. But as I lay there wondering, I would hear Pauline sleeping fitfully next to me, and I’d be ashamed of my shallow worries.

One day, after listening to Pauline toss and whimper through most of the night, I viciously attacked the spiderwebs in the eaves of the guest room porches, imagining Mikael sleeping off another all-nighter at a pub with a new girl in his lap. He’s nothing but trouble. Make sure she stays away from him. But still a soldier in the Royal Guard. It sickened me. A soldier with a sugar-coated tongue and an angelic face, but a heart as black as night. I took his deception out on every eight-legged creature that hung from the rafters. Rafe happened by and asked which spider was responsible for putting me in such a foul mood.

“None of these crawling vermin, I’m afraid, but there’s one with two legs to whom I’d gladly take a club instead of a broom.” I didn’t mention names but told him of a fellow who had deceived a young woman, playing games with her heart.

“Surely everyone makes a mistake on occasion.” He took the broom from me and proceeded to calmly swipe down the webs that were out of my reach.

His unruffled sweeping maddened me. “Deliberate deception is not a mistake. It’s calculating and cold,” I told him. “Especially when aimed at the one you profess to love.” He paused mid-swipe as if I had swatted him on the back of the head. “And if one can’t be trusted in love,” I added, “one can’t be trusted in anything.”

He stopped, and lowered the broom, turning to look at me. He seemed struck by what I’d said, absorbing it as if it were a proclamation deep and profound instead of a hateful rant against a horrible person after a sleepless night. He leaned on the broom, and my stomach flipped over as it always did when I looked at him. A sheen of sweat lit his face.