“I don’t want you to think I was perving on you earlier,” Jaren began, but then he stopped.

Kiva’s eyebrows shot upward, since she hadn’t been expecting that opener. Her body tightened slightly with surprise, but then she relaxed again, remembering who she was with and how cautious he seemed. Plus, from the sound of it, he wasn’t going to ask about the Trial, and she was eager for any kind of distraction.

Seeking to assure him since she felt confident that, whatever he was about to say, he hadn’t been perving on her, Kiva joked, “If you don’t finish, I’m going to assume that’s exactly what you were doing.”

Her attempt at humor didn’t ease him at all.

“It’s just . . .” He shifted uncomfortably, like he didn’t know what to say. Or perhaps how to say it.

“What, Jaren?”

He rubbed his neck and avoided her eyes, finally blowing out a breath and saying, “Never mind. Forget I said anything.”

“Just tell me,” Kiva pressed, both curious and concerned now.

For a long moment, Jaren remained silent, as if debating with himself. But then he inhaled deeply and met her gaze again. “Your scars. On your thighs.” He paused. “I saw them when I was carrying you here. They look a lot like . . .”

He trailed off again, but this time Kiva didn’t prompt him further. Her insides had frozen with his words, her mind locking and unable to form a coherent thought.

“It’s nothing. They’re nothing,” she said, waving a hand dismissively. But her voice was too high, her attempted indifference too obvious.

Jaren’s blue-gold eyes were steady on hers, and this time it was she who looked away, as if fearing he’d drag the answer right up out of her soul.

She cleared her throat, winced at the residual pain, and wished she’d asked for a stronger dose of poppymilk, if only so that it could have knocked her out and kept her from this conversation.

“They didn’t look like nothing,” Jaren said, his voice quiet. Coaxing, but not demanding.

From the careful way he was holding himself and waiting patiently for her response, Kiva knew that if she repeated her answer, he’d let it go and likely never ask again. She opened her mouth to do just that, to keep her secret, but when she tried to lie to him a second time, the words wouldn’t come.

She wasn’t sure if it was just the heady combination of all the remedies now swirling within her, but when she made herself meet Jaren’s eyes again, she wanted to tell him the truth. She’d seen the scars on his back, learned of the abuse he’d sustained in receiving them. His own hidden tapestry, and the story behind it. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad to share her story, too.