“I don’t need any gifts, Alistair.” Ember smiled. Or surprises, she thought.
“It would be a shame to let your recovery go uncelebrated.” Alistair winked at her. “Besides, if you say no, you’ll only feel left out. Everyone else will be there.”
Ember peered at him suspiciously. “Be where?”
“Open this and see if you can guess.” Alistair brought his hands around from behind his back, revealing a cloth package bound with twine.
With a puzzled glance, Ember took the parcel from him. She drew her dagger and cut the twine. When she pulled back the cloth covering, a soft green fabric peeped out at her. Ember shook out the dress that had been folded within the plain cloth. It was the color of faded grass. Lovely, but simple—its fabric smooth and light, lacking the finery and weight of the gowns she’d worn at home and had donned for her audience with the abbot. It reminded her of something that female servants wore when they gathered in the manor for the annual Yule celebration, when her father distributed gifts.
“Do you like it?” Alistair asked.
Ember nodded but asked, “Why have you given me a dress?”
“The village on the loch is celebrating the spring planting with a ceilidh,” he told her. “I’d like to take you.”
She hesitated and he quickly said, “As your friend, Ember, nothing more. You’ll see when we get there that everyone from Tearmunn is in attendance. The village festivals never fail to impress. Food, dancing, drink. Surely you want to go?”
“Of course,” she said, and Alistair’s eyes brightened. “I’ve been hearing about it. But aren’t we required to be here for the ritual of Fidelitas tonight?”
“We are,” he said. “But the ritual takes place at midnight. There’s plenty of time for festivities before the ceremony.”
She smiled at him. “Then I would love to go.”
“Wonderful,” he said. “Change your clothes and I’ll be back to fetch you soon.”
When he’d left her, Ember stood holding the dress in her hands. The ceilidh did sound appealing, but despite what she’d told Alistair, part of Ember was reluctant to go. If all of Tearmunn would be at the celebration, that meant Barrow would also be there. And Ember had made a habit of avoiding him. Not that it took much effort. Her former mentor seemed to be avoiding her as well. She saw him at meals and occasionally on the practice field when she and Sorcha had sparring matches.
As Barrow had predicted, Sorcha was an exceptional teacher and Ember had made significant progress. But she didn’t fully credit her new mentor’s skill for her swift advances in combat. After Barrow had disowned her, Ember had thrown herself into training relentlessly. She was determined to fill the void in her chest with an unparalleled commitment to her training. For the most part this strategy had proven successful. It was only when she saw Barrow, or when he acknowledged her with a polite but restrained greeting, that she felt like he’d punched her in the gut.
It was all foolishness, she thought as she unbraided her hair, letting it fall in waves down her back. Had she not let herself become overly admiring of Barrow, she wouldn’t be in this predicament. She might have more relief if her overactive imagination would spare her nightly visits from the tall knight. In her dreams Barrow recanted his words from the stable. He asked her forgiveness and promised never to leave her side. But the worst of it was that her mind didn’t stop at a simple reconciliation. Instead it pressed her into his arms, showed her the shape and strength of his body in far too intimate ways, and made her wake breathless and bathed in sweat.
Ember shed her usual clothing and found a clean kirtle. She slid the dress over her head. It buttoned up the side so the waist and bodice hugged her curves. Though she didn’t quite know what to make of Alistair supplying a dress so perfectly tailored to her size, she was grateful for its lovely shape and the way the skirt swirled around her ankles, flaring out if she turned in a circle or twisted side to side.
After a soft knock at the door and Ember’s invitation, Alistair reentered her room.
He looked at her for a moment and she saw him swallow. “You’re lovely.”
“Thank you,” Ember said. “You look quite the dashing knight yourself.”
And he did. Alistair had traded the Guard’s uniform for finely woven chausses, a fitted linen shirt, and a dark vest. He was clean-shaven and he smiled at her, his face full of the boyish charm that so many women would surely find irresistible. But not Ember.
For a moment she wondered what could be wrong with her that she would reject the professions of love from one so desirable as Alistair. He was her lifelong friend, a proven warrior, and inarguably handsome.
Though she might muse about her own heart’s failings, she knew it was no use to speculate about Alistair. She could think of him as nothing other than her friend.
His brow furrowed. “Has Eira spoken to you yet?”
“Eira?” Ember shook her head. “Does she need to see me?”
“She’ll seek you out, I’m sure,” he said. “When she does, please listen to what she has to say, Em. Eira is a great leader. She can do so much for us. For all of us.”
He drew something from his vest pocket. “In the meantime I know she wanted you to have this.”
Dangling from his fingers was a pendant suspended by a thin gold chain.
“Why?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” he said with a weaseling smile. “Perhaps she thought you’d be suffering without the fineries of home.”
“Ugh.”
He looped the chain around her neck. “You should wear it tonight.”
“I don’t know,” she said as he fastened the clasp. “It’s a fine gift. What if I lose it?”
“Don’t lose it.”
She cupped the pendant in her hand. It was rimmed with gold, its surface delicately carved to reveal a rose crossed by two swords.
Alistair leaned over her shoulders. “The Bloodrose. It represents the love and sacrifice required of a true warrior.”
He took the pendant from her fingers, turning it over. “See.”
“Sanguine et igne nascimur.” Ember read the inscription. “In blood and fire we are born. And Eira’s name is here as well.”
“She has great faith in you,” Alistair said.