In years to come Issima might look back on this moment, this night, and recall his words. "I could tell you my story when we go to Riverfall." It was almost casual, the way he referred to this impending trip as if it were a sure thing, as if he already knew it would take place. And the way the word we sounded when he said it, the connotation clearly including her, made Issima feel warm inside, the tiniest flutter of a butterfly wing in her stomach. Because, as he said it, she realized just how very much she wanted that. To travel, not only because she had wanted to for so long, but with Sama'el. Because he was handsome, and his voice soothed her somehow, and he must intuitively know how she felt, when no one around her seemed to be able to relate. She felt a kinship with the watchman with the flushed face, the lovely braids, and the beautiful horse. An attraction that flirted along the edges of something that was the beginning of treachery against the cousin who swore she could love no other. Issima liked Sama'el. The weight of that realization was a little startling, because Issima had felt little more than numbness for so very long. She didn't want him to leave, not at all, and somehow she felt that he might agree - if it were a conversation appropriate to have. As it were, this was not a chance meeting. He had come because more than one person hoped he would marry into the family, and not through the sad little orphan, either. Menali would be furious if she could have seen the smile Issima offered Sama'el unwittingly. It was hardly flirtatious, Issima was no good at that. But it was decidedly feminine, almost fond. Lovely. "Safe travels, then, Sam. Perhaps I will see you again." |