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Chapter 16 ~ Confessions

Dàibhid

“What about your family?” I asked, finishing with Dove’s tail. The hair had been atrocious, not that I was surprised given her track record. “I hardly know anything about them.”

Rígan focused on a pesky spot of mane, her forehead pinching. Strands from her braid stuck out haphazardly, no doubt a result of riding. I wanted to touch the whisps; the wildness suited her.

“My parents are still in the house where Bryn and I grew up. It’s where my father grew up, too.”

“Family business?” A lot of people in Glaochnamara had small businesses, built for trading.

She nodded.

“Did you like living there?”

“It’s a beautiful city. Rich with all sorts of stories. New people always coming and going. But I wouldn’t want to live there again.”

I rinsed the brush in a clean pail. “Why not?”

She hesitated. Perhaps I shouldn’t have brought it up?

“I felt confined.” Her words were strained, like she wasn’t certain she wanted to say them in the first place, but she kept going. They came out in quick succession, like mine had when talking of my mother. Unbidden. Necessary. “It’s nice, and I miss it sometimes. But I found my life outside of where I grew up. Returning would feel . . .”

“Like going back in a cage?”

Her eyes snapped to mine. “Like going back in a cage.”

“I’m glad you’re here, then. That you found your life.”

“So am I.”

We stared at each other, and I reveled in it. Rarely did she let us hold eye contact for this long in silence. Her eyes were beautiful, a shade of brown that reminded me of the proudest trees, the most comforting blankets, the richest chocolate. The freckles of her cheeks went right to her bottom lashes. I wanted to trace a line between each one.

She broke the contact first. I refocused on Dove to hide my disappointment. Rígan might have been known to throw me a flirtatious smile, but that meant nothing. She was friendly, nothing more, at least not yet, even if I hoped for it.

“Is that invitation to train with you still open?” I asked, hoping a change of subject would bring her back around.

She smirked. “Feel like getting your ass kicked, do you?”

“Who says my ass would be the one getting kicked?”

“I suppose we’ll have to see.”

“Is that a yes?” Being here, in the stables with her, made me want more. More time with her, more chances to get to know her. To grow into that friendship lurking to the side of where we stood now.

She snatched a towel and began drying Dove. “I’d say that’s a yes.”

I grabbed another towel and started on the opposite side, keeping the extent of my joy to myself. I didn’t want to come off too enthusiastic lest it scare her off. We hadn’t known each other for that long, and I was higher ranked. Not that that mattered to me in the least, but it could be intimidating to some.

Not that Rígan seemed intimidated.

I whistled to let the happiness out.

She smiled. “You have perfect pitch.”

I stopped, amusement bubbling in. “What makes you say that?”

She hesitated, considering. “I don’t know. Your whistling sounds nice, so I assumed. And I like music. You do have it, though, right?”

Having a love of music in common with her—despite it being a commonality between many people—sent a warm, content current through me. The compliment didn’t hurt, either. “Well . . . It feels like a brag to say yes.”

“Say it anyway.”

I almost laughed, but she looked serious. “Yes?”

“You aren’t sure?” When I said nothing, she reached across Dove and swatted me with her towel. She quickly drew back like she regretted it. I found it strangely endearing. “If you have it, own it.”

“Alright,” I said. “Yes, I have perfect pitch.” She nodded once, appeased. It made me want to keep going. “I play the harp. Well, ‘played’ may be more accurate. I haven’t touched it in a while.”

“How long is a while?”

“Since the Exiles arrived.” We both slowed our drying at my mention of them.

“That’s only a few months,” Rígan said. “I’d say you still play, present tense. I doubt you’ve forgotten.”

I moved my fingers to my favorite song to play, easily recalled. “I suppose you’re right. Do you play anything?”

“Gods, no. Instruments are not my strong suit.” But she’d guessed my perfect pitch? Did she sing, perhaps? “My father—” She broke off like she’d never started.

I stepped around Dove, done drying her off, and came to stand beside Rígan. “You miss him?”

“I do.” She said it so quietly I almost didn’t catch it. She shook her head as though bringing herself back. “I’d say Dove is good to go. What do you think, my four-legged menace?” Dove tossed her head. “Yes, that’s what I thought.”

Rígan stepped away from me, making for the exit. “Thank you for helping.”

I jogged to hold the stable door open for her. “Anytime.”

I could have sworn she glared at the hinges.