Chapter 20: Of Breathless Attendants and Borrowed Paper
Evander turned just as the sound reached him. While the footsteps were hurried, it was the breathing that brought a faint smile to his face. It was uneven and hurried and slow—poorly concealed.
He shifted his weight slightly, one hand resting idly in the pocket of his coat, and waited patiently.
The figure burst through the low line of reeds at the edge of the hollow and stumbled to a halt several paces away, bent forward, one hand braced against his thigh, the other clutching the lapel of his jacket as though it were the only thing preventing him from collapsing altogether.
Evander watched him with mild interest, his lips twitching.
"My," he drawled lightly, "have you been pursued by highwaymen, or is that merely the consequence of unnecessary enthusiasm?"
The man straightened slowly.
Brown eyes—wide and bright with alarm—fixed themselves on Evander as though he were some particularly troublesome mirage.
