Chapter 18
I sighed heavily and turned my attention back to the window, announcing, "I had intended to read."
"Then read."
I looked back at him. "Alone."
"Then read alone. I'll run down to the library, find a book, come up and do it with you."
I tipped my head to the side. "You do have the word alone in your world, do you not?"
"Sure we do," he replied amiably. "But figure, you got your head in a book, you're always alone, even if someone's with you."
If one did indeed have their head in a book, he was quite right.
I s.h.i.+fted my gaze back to the window.
"Your book's not out the window, Frannie."
G.o.ds, that name.
"The green witch has disappeared," I stated, my curiosity at said disappearance getting the better of me for I knew I should say nothing that might strike up discourse. Even though I needed to say nothing to strike up discourse, Noc was adept at doing that all on his own.
"She has. According to the others, this is her way. She comes and goes as she pleases."
I did not turn away from the window when I asked, "With the troubles over, is she gone for good?"
"According to Lavinia, she reckons Valentine will be back. When? That's anybody's guess."
I said nothing for a long time, struggling with my thoughts that I found the green witch fascinating, and of all my visitors these last days, she was the one I'd actually wish to have.
I became cognizant of my reflection in the window, the chill coming off the gla.s.s, cooling my shoulder.
I needed my shawl.
I needed peace and quiet.
I needed my own company.
I needed...
"I can't picture him," I declared for reasons unknown, likely because taking in all this sociability and outgoingness was making me daft.
"Say again?" Noc asked.
"I can't picture him," I shared insanely. "Antoine. It's difficult to call him up. I might focus in on a feature, but it's elusive. The rest, hazy."
"Right, see you might not be good," he muttered.
He was correct.
I fought my shoulders slumping, and not simply because that minute movement might cause pain, but of what it would betray to Noc. A physical habit, this subterfuge, for even as I fought it, my mouth kept giving him what was in my head.
"I should have hired a portrait artist," I said faintly to the window. "Twenty of them. Hundreds of them. I don't have a single image of him and my mind is failing too soon." My voice fell to a whisper. "Too, too soon."
I was startled when Noc took my hand. I looked down to it and up to him to see he'd drawn his chair even closer, we were but inches away, and he was holding my hand in a warm, firm grip.
"He wasn't what he looked like, baby," he said gently. "He was always only what he made you feel. And I bet that isn't failing."
Looking into his startling blue eyes, eyes I knew instinctively I'd never forget, not for a moment, I feared he was wrong.
I slipped my hand from his grip, placed the ribbon back into the book, shut it smartly and again turned to the window.
"Am I right?" Noc pushed.
"He deserves more," I replied, not looking at him. "He deserves to have every memory held precious."
"Memories are what they made you feel too, sweetheart. But Franka," not attempting to grab my hand again, he curled his long fingers around my knee, "if you hold on too tight, you won't let go. You don't let go, you don't move on. You gotta hold on to what you can have, the good you got from him, how that made you feel, but hold on loose, baby, so you don't miss out on what might be in store."
I felt a tinge of pain in my back as my attention jerked again to Noc.
"And you a.s.sume I wish to move on?"
"Not now, maybe," he said. "It's too fresh. But someday, yes."
"Well, you'd be wrong," I snapped.
"And what would Antoine think of that?"
I shut my mouth and yet again diverted my gaze to the window, for I knew exactly what Antoine would think of that.
And it wasn't much.
He lived life to its fullest. He loved life. He taught me to do the same (when I was with
He'd be disappointed if I did not continue on in that vein, now even more so without the threat of my parents clouding my every move.
Noc gave my knee a squeeze. "This s.h.i.+t, it's not for now, Frannie. This s.h.i.+t, you think on in the future. They say there're five stages of grief. Wasn't around you to know if you hit the first, which is denial. But I know you worked through anger with the revenge you played out on those witches. Maybe you did the bargaining but it seems to me you're in the depression stage now and you just gotta feel it. Don't fight it. It's gonna suck. But then you'll get through that, get to the last stage, and accept it."
I turned back to Noc, declaring, "That's utterly preposterous."
"Tell me you haven't touched on all of those, babe. Say it right to my face," he dared.
"I haven't," I retorted.
His lips quirked. "Think on it and repeat that."
"This is a ridiculous exercise, Noc," I announced instead of "thinking on it."
This earned me a half smile and a muttered, "Right, maybe you're still in the anger stage."
"Weren't you going to go to the library and get a book?" I reminded him.
His brows went up. "Is that an invitation to come back and read with you?"
"Absolutely not. However, Frey had the rail taken out of the door so I can't bar it against you, so you, and everyone else in the palace, are free to come and go as you wish, something you, and everyone else in the palace, feel free to do. What I wish is that you'd go, and if it's simply to find a book, this would not be unwelcome."
He released my knee and sat back. "Don't be p.i.s.sed at Frey for that, sugarlips. I asked him to do that so you wouldn't get up to anything stupid."
"I've never been stupid a single day in my life," I rejoined.
"I bet that's true," he whispered, his eyes never leaving mine.
I drew in breath through my nose then stated, "As you seem determined to spend time in my presence, and you and Frey seem to have a good deal of accord, it would be prudent on my part to make you useful. Thus, prior to my brother arriving at the Winter Palace, I'd like you to request of Frey that I'm allowed to see my parents in jail."
He did an odd blink where he closed his eyes, lifted his brows keeping his eyes closed, then opened his eyes only to share his were filled with disbelief.
"Say what?" he queried just as oddly as the elongated blink.
"I'd like you to request of Frey that I'm allowed to see my parents in jail, doing this prior to Kristian and his family arriving here," I repeated.
"I heard you, babe, I'm just wondering if you've lost your mind in the last two minutes."
I found this offensive and foolishly straightened my back, controlled the wince that move should have caused and pierced him with a glare.
"I fail to see how desiring a visit with my parents is losing my mind."
"Frannie, you never have to see them again."
I carefully straightened my shoulders as I felt my mouth purse.
Then through it, I declared, "A barter, kind sir, my entire chest of Hawkvale gold if you never call me Frannie again. And while I'm mentioning that, my entire chest of Korwahkian jewels and the furs if you never call me sugarlips again."
A light hit his eyes I was coming to know so I braced for what was next.
"Seein' as tickin' you off makes you cuter and funnier, no matter how killer a deal that is, I gotta say no."
"I was being quite honest," I lied. Even if the danger no longer lurked, I was absolutely not giving him chests of gold and jewels for the favor of not calling me names I loathed.
Perhaps a fur and a jewel and several coins (that's how much I loathed those names for the truth was, I didn't even wish to part with that).
But not all of them.
"Liar," he returned.
I waved a hand in front of me and moved us back to the pertinent subject, but did it getting a cut in because I was, well...me. Or at least a shadow of me. But there was still that.
"I see. So I request you not call me these names. You decline. I request you speak to Frey in my stead to procure a visit with my parents. You decline that as well. This meaning you're not only annoying, you're also not useful."
He leaned again toward me, reaching out one hand to touch my knee before he asked carefully, "If you don't have to see them again, after all they've done to you, your brother, why on earth would you see them again, sweetheart?"
"Because I'm still standing."
He sat back in his chair and studied me.
But as he did so, a smile I'd never seen on him curved his mouth.
It was filled with viciousness and glee.
It was astonis.h.i.+ng.
And mouthwatering.
"I'll talk to Frey for you," he agreed.
"I'd be most obliged."
He leaned forward again and declared, "Just so you know, you aren't going alone."
I wasn't?
"Whyever not?' I queried.
"Because I'll be with you."
"Why?" That word came higher pitched.
"You're sharp as a tack but slow to pick up a few things, so I'll explain again," he started and promptly finished. "You no longer have to go it alone."
"I'm not being slow, Noc," I returned. "I want to go it alone and I'll explain that further. I don't want you with me."
"I give a s.h.i.+t about you," he stated suddenly sharply, speaking in a way he'd never spoken to me, something which made me fall silent. "You don't know how to cope with that and I get it, babe. I absolutely do. And you can take all the time you need to wake up and see what's happening around you. Through that, I'm gonna stick with it, and in case you haven't noticed, so are Frey and Finnie. In other words, Frannie, buckle up. You don't get with the program, it's gonna be a wild ride."
There was much I understood in his speech.
There was also much I didn't.
"I do believe I understand the word s.h.i.+t," I retorted. "And it means excrement."
His sharp mood was failing as a smile broadened his mouth. "Yeah."
"So why would you give an excrement about me? Isn't that saying you don't think much of me?"
"It's slang," he explained.
"Everything you utter is slang."
"Not everything."
"The vast majority," I replied.