“Fell siralla,” he says, and I giggle. “Nah,” I say. “Fell bellama. Fell garrant. Fell vale.” “I hope those aren’t worse than stupid.” I shake my head against his neck. He must feel my blush through his shirt. “Beautiful man. Brave man.” He waits, then says, “There were three.” “You notice everything!” “What is the third?” He never lets me back away from anything either. I love it and hate it. “You’ll have to learn Syssalah to find out.” “Fell vale,” he muses, and his terrible accent makes me giggle again. “You’ll have to give me more lessons,” he adds.
