Free Jeweled by Anya Bast Page B

virgin, though your hymen was broken long ago. Now you won’t be able to stand the touch of any person unless you care about them. The force of the emotion you feel now will not allow it. There’s no way you could ever be a courtesan.”
    She stared at him for a long moment before pushing away from the table, rising, and backing away. “Anatol, thank you for all you’ve done for me up until now. Lilya, thank you for your kindness.” And she left without a backward glance at Anatol.
    She didn’t need him. She’d never needed anyone. All she had to do was remember to keep her mouth shut in the presence of those questioning her origins, never draw attention to herself, and she’d be fine. She’d survived at Belai; she could survive this.
    Once out on the street, she headed in the opposite direction of the palace, down the road past shops and street vendors. The chill bit into her unprotected flesh and she drew her arms over her chest. She wasn’t going to think about the fact that she didn’t want to be alone. As much as Anatol rubbed her the wrong way, she would miss his presence, the low, soft way he spoke with her, and she would especially miss the heat of him at night.
    Damn it, she would miss him.
    But her pride couldn’t allow her to stand there and take his abuse. He didn’t know her. He didn’t! He could not presume to know her heart—now that she had one. He couldn’t tell her what she could or could not be, or determine the shape of her future.
    Anyway, she could travel faster on her own—not that she knew what direction she was going. But being alone was something she knew. Being paired with someone else was complicated and messy. Fraught with risks she didn’t want to take. Too much emotion. Too much danger. If she aligned with one person she might come to care for him. Eventually he might reject her; surely at some point he would. A cold ball fisted itself in her stomach as the ghost of a memory reared its head.
    No. She wouldn’t be able to bear that.
    “Evangeline, wait!”
    Anatol.
    Her feet came to a shuffling stop on the cobblestone street, but she didn’t turn. All she did was wrap her arms even more tightly around herself and stare at the tattered shoes he’d managed to find for her.
    “I’m sorry I said that back there.”
    She closed her eyes for a moment and drew a breath before speaking. “Don’t be sorry. You were right.”
    “Even if I was right, it wasn’t fair of me to throw it in your face. You did what you had to do to stay alive and worked with the reality you were given. You’re a survivor, Evangeline.”
    She looked up at him. “I never said I regretted anything I did. I never said I was ashamed. I never said I wanted to hear your opinion of me. I just said you were right.”
    His face shuttered.
    Rage bubbled through her veins. “Don’t ever talk that way to me again, Anatol.” She pushed past him. “You have no right to assume you know me so well. It’s irritating.”
    He caught up to her. “Does that mean you don’t want to go your separate way?”
    They’d come to the end of the street, to an area that began to make way for a lower-class residential neighborhood. Fewer people passed them here and the cobblestone was slowly turning to packed down dirt. If one traveled farther, one would end up at the steam transport station. There you could take a transport to anywhere in Rylisk, even rural Cherkhasii Province.
    She turned to face him. “I’m used to being on my own. It’s easier that way.”
    Anatol looked up at the sky, where heavy white clouds had begun to roll in. “Snow’s coming. Warmer with two.”
    Perfectly rational. Rational stood no chance against strong emotion, especially when that emotion was fear. Her eyelid twitched. Still, she was determined. “I do fine alone.”
    He shrugged, dropped his gaze to hers, and held it. “All right, good luck, Evangeline.” He turned and walked away.
    “Anatol?”
    He half turned toward her.
    “How