Cade came around back. “Here now, what are you doing?”

Luke had already gone to the inn to secure their rooms for the night. She clamped her hands on Cade’s arm.

“I need my things,” she said.

“Your things?”

“The hidden things,” she whispered.

He looked uneasy. “You mean your, um, walking cane?”

“No, not that. The satchel.”

“I don’t know if it’s a good idea to—”

“Please,” she said. “It’s important.” She did not explain it was probably only important to her.

He gazed hard at her, then nodded. “All right, after supper, when it’s a little darker. Now remember, you’re supposed to be sick, so no more leaping out of wagons.”

She nodded, and when she realized she was still hanging onto his arm, she reluctantly let go. Luke returned with their bunk assignment and wished them a good night. Karigan wondered how much extra Luke was paying out to ensure their privacy and if they’d have enough to reach Gossham, but neither he nor Cade seemed concerned. The professor’s stash in the stable must have been considerable. She shrugged and decided that since they were not worried, she wouldn’t be.

“I should probably pretend to be holding you up, like the other nights,” Cade told her.

She raised her eyebrows. Pretend? Despite her leap from the wagon, she still felt weak enough that she would not have to pretend. Yet this time, when he wrapped his arm around her to support her, and hers settled around his waist, it felt different. She was more conscious of their bodies touching, their hips bumping as they walked. She bowed her head so none could read her face, see her blush.

When they reached the bunkhouse, they stood inside, arm in arm for a lingering moment until Cade cleared his throat and pulled away from her. As though there had been no closeness, they began what had become a routine of settling in and sitting down to supper, this time with a platter of pork roast and potatoes.

Karigan was pleased once again to have solid food and made admirable inroads on her meal. She was quickly full, however.

“So, what happens when we reach Gossham?” she asked Cade. She’d been too deep in the fog of the morphia to worry about it before now.

“Luke has a letter of introduction from the city master of Mill City to be presented to Webster Silk. Forged, of course.”

“Dr. Silk’s father,” Karigan said.

Cade nodded. “It should get us into the palace, and that is, invariably, where they are taking the Eletian. Of Arhys, I’m less certain. It depends how much Silk suspects, if anything. Perhaps he is simply amused by her.”

“Amused?” Karigan couldn’t imagine anyone being amused by that girl, but she made no joke of it for the lines of concern were deeply graven on Cade’s face.

“Just like the professor, Silk is a collector, and he will be intrigued by anything that was once the professor’s. He will want to know why the professor found her interesting enough to shelter her.”

“Lorine, too,” Karigan said.

“Perhaps. And you. Especially you.”

“All of us. We were all collected by the professor.”

“I’ll be of less interest,” Cade replied. “Silk already knows my story.”

“That you were a button thief?”

Cade nodded and smiled. “Yes.”

An uneasy silence fell between them. The very air felt charged. Did he feel it, too? She wished to shatter that silence, say something—anything at all—but she couldn’t seem to put two thoughts together, and she had never been like some girls to whom inane chatter came easily. When Cade cleared his throat, she jumped.

“I was wondering,” he began.

“Yes?” she asked too eagerly.

He couldn’t quite look at her. “I mean, I know little of your life back . . . Well, back at your home. I know it’s the circumstances. It was not appropriate for me to ask when you were Miss Goodgrave, and so much has happened since.”

“What do you want to know?” She wondered if he were about to quiz her about her time like the professor once had. Did he want to know about society and customs, or religion and law? All those ordinary details that had brought life to the objects in the professor’s collection.

“What I’m asking . . .” There was a slight tremble to his voice. “I mean . . .”

Now she was worried. He shouldn’t have such trouble asking about what was, to him, history. Something in particular was on his mind. He looked at everything in the bunkhouse but her.

“What is it? I won’t bite your head off whatever it is—I swear.”

Quite suddenly he grinned. “You do? You swear?”

“I do.”

He nodded. “It is not the easiest thing to ask, but here it is. Back in your home, do you have a suitor?”

“A what?” she asked faintly.

“You know, is someone waiting for you? A man who is special?”

Karigan’s fork clattered on her on her plate and she sat back in her chair, gazing at him in astonishment.

“I—I want to go back with you,” he said, “and I need to know the lay of the land, so to speak.”

A suitor? A wave of warmth rolled over her. Yes, once before he had expressed a desire to accompany her back in time. She had not known if he’d spoken in whimsy, until now. And now he watched her intently, waiting for an answer.