“I’m not supposed to trust you,” she whispered.

“Well, there’s that,” he replied dryly. “Let’s reframe that for now, shall we? For the time being—for tonight—you can trust me. Isabeau still doesn’t know I’ve helped you, so she hasn’t issued any countermanding orders.”

The solid weight of his arms around her felt too good. She couldn’t rely on it, and she shouldn’t enjoy it as much as she did.

But she did enjoy it, intensely. Comfort stole into her in like a thief and made itself at home. Burying her face into his chest, she said, “So I didn’t create any problems for you when I broke out of jail?”

He put his face in her short hair. She felt him smile. “You’ve been nothing but problems from the moment I found out you existed.”

“That sounds unfortunate,” she muttered, partly chagrined but mostly just grateful that what happened to her mattered to him in some way. The loneliness she had felt since being kidnapped was stronger than she’d realized.

One of his hands came up to cover the nape of her neck. “It was not a good moment when I discovered your presence in the cell had been replaced by five guards.”

Her head jerked up. “Oh, no.”

“Oh, yes.” Cupping her face, he rubbed his thumbs along the plump curve of her lower lip. He added, as if to himself, “I shouldn’t be telling you this. You’re still learning too much about me.”

She grabbed his wrists. “You can’t stop now. What happened? They didn’t attack you, did they?”

“Never mind. It gave me a chance to spin a story for how you got healed. It was a bit of a stretch, but they don’t have any other explanation—or any evidence—for what really happened.”

But her mind had gone down a different track. She said slowly, “You know I’m going to figure out who you are, don’t you? That is, if I live past the next two days. The whole reason you kept hidden from me was so I couldn’t tell anyone about you, or what you’ve done for me.”

“We’re not out of the woods yet,” he said softly. “You could still be questioned. Isabeau has kept you close for that very reason. If she does have you questioned, and she forces the truth out of you, right now the only thing you can tell her is an unknown man helped you.”

Her fingers tightened on his wrists. “I know she has you imprisoned in a spell,” she said tautly. “How many people does she control this way?”

Chapter Eleven

“Enough about that.” His hold loosened. “I have a present for you, if you would use it.”

“What?” That had come so far out of left field, she floundered a moment. “I—thank you. What is it?”

He reached into his pocket. “It’s a pair of earrings. Are your ears pierced?”

“Yes…” She blinked at him in confusion. How on earth could it be relevant for him to give her a pair of earrings right now?

Taking one of her hands, he dropped them into her palm. She fingered them, frowning. Small and still warm from being in his pocket, they felt like they were simple ball studs with round metal backs.

As she explored them with her fingers, he told her, “They’re very humble and plain, I’m afraid. They’re made with silver and they’re quite small. They look like something a servant might wear, but I’ve spelled them with telepathy.”

“Telepathy earrings…,” she breathed.

She didn’t know about Avalon, but on Earth there was a booming industry for magic items. Quite a few magic users used items to expand or enhance their abilities, and many deadhead humans liked exploring and using magic items. Telepathy earrings were one of the most common and affordable commodities on the market.

Curious, Sid had bought a pair and tried them once, but she found the sensation of hearing someone else’s voice in her head so uncomfortable she never wore them.

“I don’t like not being able to talk with you telepathically,” he said. “There are sharp ears in this castle. We’re fine for now. Most of the castle is asleep, and at the moment, there’s no one near this room. But there may come a time when we need to talk while someone else is close by. Would you consider wearing them?”

She turned them over in her hands. “I didn’t do so well with the earrings the first time I tried them. Telepathy felt too strange and intrusive, but at the time it didn’t matter if I got used to them or not. I’m certainly willing to try them again, but won’t somebody notice?”

The smile came back into his voice. She loved it when she heard him smile. It warmed his deep whisper. “Trust me, the spell I infused in those earrings is so subtle and insignificant no one will notice it at all. Telepathy is something even the youngest Light Fae child can do, and besides, there are flares of magic all over that fill the senses. Magic is imbedded in artwork, in weapons, sometimes utensils, the witchlights—those globes fastened to the walls—and most of the nobles are wearing much more Powerful items of jewelry. Many, including Isabeau, are wearing multiple pieces at once.”

“What do the witchlights do?” Her gaze slid sideways to eye the nearest one curiously.

“They’re simple illumination spells. You can activate them with a touch.” He paused. “Or at least, those with a spark of magic can activate them. But don’t worry, most rooms also have a few candles too.”

She sighed. “Normally I don’t care about being magicless, but the way you describe things makes me realize just how much I’m not seeing in the world around me.”

He cupped her head with both hands. “You’re full of your own kind of magic, and it’s much more rare and beautiful than all the other spells around you. They are commonplace. You are unique.”

She flushed all over at hearing his words, her body warming with pleasure. “Thank you,” she whispered. “If you think we can get away with it, I’d be glad to try the earrings.”

“Excellent.” He paused. “Have they searched you or shown any interest in what you might be carrying?”

She snorted. “Not at all. They probably scanned me for dangerous magic, and I just didn’t know it. But I still have the worry stones I picked up on the caravan trip. Nobody’s checked what I have in my pockets or even asked me what my name is. The indifference has been staggering. If I’d had an inflated ego, it would have been trampled to death days ago.” She thought for a moment. “The one person who might notice is the woman who cut my hair. Her name is Kallah. She’s Isabeau’s… what do the Light Fae call it? Lady-in-waiting?”