Chapter 7
Chapter
Seven
Iwake up feeling poorly, as if I ate something spoiled yesterday. My tummy is swirling as if a dark storm is trapped inside my body.
Maybe there is.
The words of Mr. Bagley still sit heavy on my heart, and every passing day of Mayor Hawthorne being here makes me more anxious, unsure of what he will do, and when.
I get up slowly, opening the windows, letting the bird song float through the cabin, but nothing seems to ease the heaviness in the pit of my stomach.
I can’t rid myself of the unsavoury flavour left on my tongue after my interactions with the mayor and his unpleasant councilmen.
I can barely imagine the discomfort they have already brought to this place.
How many women they have looked up and down, using nothing but their eyes to decipher whether we are to be strung up next.
It’s terrifying.
I pour out my tea, not having the stomach to finish it. I shut the windows, grab my cloak, and head for the door. There’s one place, one person that can always make me feel better, so I walk to the stables.
“I’m looking for a kind of shaggy-looking guy with brown hair,” I say as I step through the barn doors. “Kind of looks like he sleeps on the floor of his barn most nights—”
“Ha-ha. You think you are so clever, don’t you?” I hear the grin in Silas’s voice before I see him, and when I do, he looks comically like I described. Little strands of hay caught up in his waves, like he’s been running his dirty hands through them.
“No need to pretend,” I say. “We both know my intelligence stretches an inch further than yours.”
“Do you know how to decipher when a hoof is infected?” he asks, easily pulling a smile to my face.
“Do you know what herbs to mix to make a salve that can heal wounds, calm the skin, and aid in the healing process to lessen the chance of scars forming?”
His nostrils flare, and the dark horse behind him chuffs. “I don’t like this game anymore.”
“Didn’t think so.” I smile to myself as he turns around and walks back through the barn.
“Is that why you’re in town?” he asks. “To give someone a salve.”
“Partly,” I say. “Partly because I wanted to see you.”
“You flatter me,” he says, his voice cocky as ever.
“I know.” I plop down on top of an upturned bucket, throwing my cloak beside me. “And I hate to boost your ego, but I woke up feeling uneasy about everything, and I just wanted to see your face. To be reminded there are still good people out here.”
“You’ve been spending too much time with Cedar,” he responds from where he’s filling a bucket with feed a few stalls down. “You’re getting dramatic.”
My mouth drops open as he hangs the bucket over the stall door. That is not the reaction I was expecting. “I am not.”
“Yes, you are.”
“No, I am not.”
Silas wanders towards me with the widest grin on his face, and I can’t help but mirror it with my own. Just seeing a smile on his face makes all of my bad feelings disappear.
“There it is,” he says. “There’s my Everleigh.”
I roll my eyes. “Stop it.”
“Stop what?” He folds his arms across his chest.
“Stop calling me that.”
“Why?”
“Because I—” He raises his eyebrows in question. I want to tell him that he can’t keep calling me his without doing something to prove it, but instead, I only stare at him dumbfounded until a metallic clang sounds from the back of the barn.
“That’ll be the blacksmith,” he says before disappearing deeper into the barn.
My mind pings with the vague memory of Cedar and Hazel talking about the new blacksmith last night. About how he’s young and supposedly quite attractive, but the old Mr. Smithson isn’t a hard act to follow in that regard.
I get up from my spot, making my way down the stalls, giving every horse a bit of love as I wait for Silas.
There’s something about horses. It’s as if they can interpret your intentions as soon as you step into view. Like they can read you so easily, yet you can’t read them at all. Or many people can’t. But in some ways, I feel like I can.
I watch their ears, their tails. I pay close attention to their body language, to every little movement they make. And the white horse a few stalls down is telling me he wants my attention.
“I’ll be back in a second, Evie,” Silas yells, his voice bouncing off the walls as he springs up the rickety staircase that leads to his loft space. “Don’t go anywhere.”
“I won’t,” I yell back. “I don’t think Merlin will let me, will you?” I say quietly to the horse who is fighting for my attention, his head hanging over the stall door.
I’ve thought about this horse more than I care to admit since we rode through the forest together. He’s got a wild spirit, and he likes to run. I’ve daydreamed about riding him through an open field that goes on for acres, the wind pushing my hair back and feeling his strong body beneath me.
I whisper my hellos to him and give him a kiss on his nose before I notice the human-shaped shadow in the back of his stall.
“Gods,” I yelp, my hand flying to my chest as I stumble back from the stall. “Holy tadpoles!”
“Holy tadpoles?” I hear repeated back to me.
I take a step forward, hesitantly looking back into the stall where a man with sandy blond hair sits behind Merlin. “Oh. It’s you…” He’s the blacksmith?
“Holy tadpoles?” he asks again.
My body relaxes at the sight of him, which surprises me considering I know nothing about him. I force it to stiffen—to straighten my back and pull my hand from where it still rests on my chest.
He’s still looking at me for an answer. “It’s something my mum used to say, and it just kind of stuck.”
He looks at me with narrowed eyes as if trying to figure me out, and I find myself unable to look away, just as I couldn’t last night.
I want to mention the fact that he was outside my cabin last night, but Merlin snorts, pushing my hair into my face.
I give him a sideways glare before pushing it back behind my ears.
“You said trouble always finds you, Evie. But you seem to be the one who keeps finding me.”
“Does that make you trouble?” I ask.
He tips his head. “That depends on who you ask.”
It’s a ridiculous comment, but I can’t help the way it pulls at the corner of my mouth.
“I seem to recall that you were the one who found me last time, and it’s not Evie, it’s Everleigh.”
“Everleigh.”
I pull my lip between my teeth as he does nothing other than pick up Merlin's foot and fit a shoe to the bottom of his hoof.
“You’re a blacksmith?” I ask, still surprised.
He nods. “It’s okay coin, but this is my favourite part—getting to be with these guys.” He rubs Merlin's leg affectionately, and the corner of my lip pulls once more.
There’s something about seeing men with animals; it does things to a woman. I force the thought away.
“So only he gets to call you Evie?” he asks.
“If the he you are referring to is Silas, then yes. He is the only person who really calls me that anymore.” The only other people who did were my family, it brings me a warm sense of comfort hearing it from Silas.
He hums a sound of understanding—or interest. I can’t put my finger on it. “Why is that?”
“Sorry?” I ask.
“Why is he the only one that calls you that?” He looks at me now, his green eyes focused on mine.
“I—” I stutter. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”
“Well, considering the fact that I’ve seen you in nothing but your shift, I’d say that it’s a fair question.”
My mouth pops open as I scoff. “You didn’t look.”
His gaze goes back to his work, but his attention is still on me. “Didn’t I?”
My cheeks flush with heat. It seems to be a common occurrence when I’m in his presence. “No,” I say confidently. “You didn’t.”
He lets go of Merlin’s leg and rubs his hands on the rag in his lap. He doesn’t say anything, but the way the corner of his mouth twitches reveals everything he isn’t saying.
“And what do people close to you call you?” I ask, realising I still don’t know his name.
“My name is Rylan.”
I don’t miss the way he dodged my real question, but I don’t pry any further. Not with the way his attention is stolen back by his work.
Rylan. Rylan who? Where is this guy from? And why did he come here? Silence stretches between us, but oddly enough it’s not uncomfortable. It’s only quiet.
“I know we aren’t supposed to have favourites, but he is mine,” I say, running my fingers through Merlin’s mane.
“Do you ride?” Rylan asks.
I nod. “Do you?”
It is his turn to nod. “Not as often as I would care to. But when I do,” he shakes his head slowly. “It’s the freest I’ve ever felt.”
I smile. “I know what you mean.”
“Okay,” Silas’s voice cuts through the room like a knife. “I’m—” His eyes jump from me to Rylan, then back to me before he says, “Am I interrupting something?”
“No,” I say as Rylan mutters, “somewhat.” My eyes cut to his, but his gaze is downcast as he picks up his tools.
I just frown before I’m turning around to walk to the front of the barn and away from that situation.
“What was that?” Silas asks, following behind me.
I shake my head. “Nothing.”
“Do you know him?”
“No,” I say, picking up my cloak. “Not really.”
“Not really?” Silas traces my every move, his voice with an edge to it.
“No, not really, Silas,” I say, not finding it necessary to relay my first interaction with Rylan at the lake. Or to mention the fact that he was in the forest outside my cabin only last night.
I know Silas, which means I know exactly how he would react. He would probably fire the guy just for talking to me.
He’s protective of me. He always has been, but even more so since Finnick disappeared. As if he needs to make up for the fact that I don’t have my brother around to look out for me anymore.
But I don’t need someone looking out for me. I can look out for myself.
“I need to go drop this salve off,” I say before he can question me further.
“Okay,” he says, running a hand across the back of his neck. “Hey...”
“Yeah?”
He pulls me into a hug, and all of my frustration slides away as my heart squeezes inside my chest. “Be careful.”
I pull away and give his hand a squeeze before I turn to leave. “I always am.”