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Their heads were still dangerously close, and Hali’s breath caught in her throat. “Yes, well. Where’s the fun in that?”
She shifted in her seat, and to her dismay, her shoulder bumped against his. She felt a jolt, like a current of electricity, and she was suddenly all too aware of the heat of his body so close to hers. She was sure he must hear her heart pounding, steady and insistent.
“Hali.” Her name was a soft rumble in his chest, and she shivered. “Your shoulder.”
“What about it?” She asked, but her voice came out as a breathy whisper, and she knew he’d felt it too, the sudden surge of heat, the pull between them that neither of them could name.
His hand twitched, and for a fleeting second, she thought he might reach for her. But then he returned to the book, and with a small, strangled noise, Hali snatched her hand back into her lap.
“The translation,” she said, her voice embarrassingly high-pitched. “Right.”
She had been talking about something. The stars, maybe. Or the way the ancient dwarves used to sing their prayers to the primordials, a haunting melody that echoed through the stone halls. Or perhaps she was just babbling, as she was wont to do, her mouth moving faster than her mind could keep up.
She was so focused on the book, on the words that swam before her eyes, that it took her a moment to realize Osric was staring at her, a bemused smile playing on his lips.
“Are you all right, Hali?” he asked, and his hand found hers on the page. “You seem a bit . . . flustered.”
She felt like she might melt into a puddle at his feet. His hand was so warm, so steady, and she wondered if he could feel how hard her heart was pounding, how her whole body was trembling with the effort to stay composed.
“I—”
She had to say something, anything, to cover the way she was suddenly at a loss for words. And so, of course, she said the first thing that came to mind.
“Dwarven poetry,” she said, and then winced. “There’s a, um, a great deal of romantic subtext. In the verses. Not that I’m implying?—”
She stopped, mortified, and closed her eyes. She was making an utter fool of herself, and Osric was never going to want to return to her shop, and she was going to have to set herself on fire, right here and now, to spare herself the embarrassment.
But then, to her surprise, she felt Osric’s fingers curl around hers, and when she risked a glance in his direction, she saw that his smile had widened.
“Is there, now?” he asked, his voice teasing. “Perhaps you could recite some for me.”
Hali quite abruptly forgot how words worked at all, much less words in poems. “Errrrrr?—”
Osric chuckled. “Another time. I didn’t mean to put you on the spot.”
DOCKS. Hali forced herself to concentrate. She was at least somewhat confident now that the sole word she’d managed to decipher in the scrap of paper was DOCKS. And yet it still failed to yield any further clue as to what the message’s content was, or what it was doing hidden in a book in her shop. Pippa proposed it was someone leaving a love letter for someone they knew would buy the book (which Hali rather doubted, given how rarely those books sold). Sooty suggested it was some kind of thrilling spy message being left for an agent in the field. Osric, though, thought it was someone’s notes for themselves that they’d encrypted in their own private language. Whatever the case, though, it was reluctant to surrender is secrets just yet.
“I have a friend at Luminara University,” Hali said, as they emerged from the dusty archives a few days later, the midday sun harsh after the dim recesses of the stacks. “Professor Thornsley. He’s one of the foremost experts on ancient languages in the whole of the Heart Realms. If there’s anyone who can help us decipher this, it’s him.”
Osric’s hand tightened on the strap of his satchel, the one that never left his side. “Are you certain you can trust him? To keep it a secret, I mean.”
Hali chewed on her lower lip. “He’s an old family friend. I’ll impress upon him the importance, and I’m sure he’ll understand.”
They walked in silence for a few moments, Osric lost in thought, before he spoke again. “I—thank you, Hali. For all your help with this. I know it’s a great deal to ask.”
Hali’s heart gave a little flutter, but she waved off his thanks with a snort. “Nonsense, my dear. Why, this is the most fun I’ve had in ages. It’s just like one of the old adventure tales Uncle Lysander used to tell me, about brave knights and clever sorceresses on a quest to unlock some great mystery.”
Osric’s lips quirked up in a half-smile, and Hali’s heart did that ridiculous fluttering thing again. “I’m not sure I make a very good knight,” he said. “I’m more the brooding, mysterious type, I think.”
Hali laughed, the sound echoing off the stone walls of the narrow street. “Oh, please. You’re entirely too dour for that. If anything, you’re the handsome prince, with a tragic past and a smoldering stare.”
His eyebrows shot up, and he looked at her askance. “Smoldering, you say?”
She flushed, but she refused to back down. “Well, perhaps you need a bit more practice. But the raw material is there, I’m sure.”
She bumped her shoulder against his elbow, and to her delight, this time, he didn’t pull away. And then, to her even greater delight, he laughed, a low, rich sound that made her heart sing.
“Very well, then. If you’re the clever sorceress, then cast your spell, and let’s be on with the adventure.”
