Page 217 of The Witch Queen

“Well…” Roland scrubs the back of his neck. “You can come around mine, if you like.”

I blink. “Are you inviting me to your house?”

“That’s what I said, isn’t it?” he replies. “Tilda and I will be busy, what with my council placement and all the work at the Mines. You can stay there. Loads of chores to do—seeing as you’re the one who wrecked it.”

Leave it to Roland to disguise a good deed with hard labor.

“But don’t even think about bringing that cat of yours,” he adds.

“Cat?” I echo, crossing my arms. “That’s the first time you haven’t called her a beast. I think she must be growing on you.”

Nettle trills and swishes her tail, evidently agreeing.

Roland just grumbles and rolls up the parchment.

“Aye, well. Make up your mind and let me know. Don’t keep me waiting.”

With that, he heads to the wall, summons a door, and disappears into the tunnels.

“I don’t know why he pretends to be so heartless,” Joan comments. “Will you take him up on his offer? Perhaps it will be good for you and Jacquetta to get away.”

“I wouldn’t know,” I say, fussing with the papers. “I haven’t spoken to her.”

“Still?” Joan shakes her head. “You two, honestly.”

Heat climbs up my neck. “She said she would send for me and she hasn’t. I’m trying to be respectful. Give her space. And maybe…”

“What?”

“Maybe I was wrong,” I admit, the confession barbed as it tumblesout of me. “About her feelings. About us. Perhaps too much has happened and there’s no way back.”

The fire crackles in the silence. Joan squeezes my hand.

“Maybe you don’t need a way back,” she says. “But a way forward.”

“I’m not so surethatexists, either,” I grumble.

A knock at the door interrupts us. Anora halts as soon as she steps into the chamber.

“Sorry,” she says. “Your—”

She starts to curtsy, but then evidently remembers that I’m not the queen anymore and the gesture falters awkwardly midway through. It’s a common occurrence around me these days.

“Just call me Ayleth,” I tell her.

She presses her lips together and I hazard a guess that she willneverdo that.

“Dinner is ready,” she says to Joan instead. “Are you coming?”

“I’ll be right there,” Joan answers.

Anora nods, then bobs another clumsy half curtsy and hurries out the door.

“When did she get back?” I ask.

“A few days ago,” Joan replies, stacking her papers. “We’re working on things.Talking.Like rational people do.”

She arches an eyebrow.