[This post is from Phelan’s point of view.]
“Phelan?”
Phelan turned at the sound of Marin’s voice, blinking. “What are you doing up?” He winced as soon as the words had left his mouth, wishing he could take them back. I could have phrased that better, more gently. She’s not an invalid. “Sorry. Come on. I was just starting breakfast.”
Shoving her hands into the pocket of her sweatshirt, Marin nodded, moving slowly to sit down on one of the hewn benches near the cooking fire. She chewed her lower lip, watching Phelan as he poured some water from the kettle over the fire. He could feel the weight of her gaze, sensed that something was amiss.
Let her find the words, he thought as he slipped some tea into the cup, setting it down on the stones ringing the fire to steep as he prepared a second mug of the stuff. Whatever’s bothering her, she came to talk to me about it, right? If she’d already chosen her words, she’d have blurted them out by now.
His stomach sank at the idea that something was wrong—he prayed nothing was wrong. He’d slept the previous day away, recovering from the magic he’d called and the multiple assaults Thesan had launched on him. This morning had been better, and Jacqueline hadn’t stopped him when he’d given her a kiss and slipped out of bed. Phelan liked to think he knew his own limits, even if he pushed himself beyond them with alarming regularity.
Marin still hadn’t found the words she needed when he handed her one of the mugs of tea. He sat back on his heels, watching her as she stared down into the depths of the mug. He cleared his throat.
“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, leannán.”
A bitter laugh escaped her and she shook her head. “It’s not that. You need to know. If I don’t tell you I’m not sure who else is going to help me figure out what this means.”
His brows shot up and she glanced up at him, chewing on her lower lip.
“Something tried to get into the barrow,” she said. “And Matt and I can’t figure out what it was.”
