Chapter 25
Maddox
“Always hug her tight.”
— Nia Quill’s List
“Where are you going?” Nia asks from the shore as I carry the slightly crooked spear back toward the water.
Is it not obvious? “To the river to find us something to eat.” Her stomach has been protesting ever since she helped me build our fire.
Her hands settle over her middle, the skin sun-kissed like the rest of her. I saw as much at the quarry, so this should not feel different, but knowing we are well and truly alone makes it feel as if anything is possible.
If she were not in love with the Nolan, that is.
I tell her to add a little more wood when the coals are good and red, then I wade back into the frigid water. Fishing is not my favorite of hunts, but when you are entirely without, you will do what you must to provide sustenance for your female.
Not that Nia Quill is my female, but she will be for a little while.
Mine to protect. To feed. To keep warm.
The cold water is a much-needed shock to my desire, dampening but never quite ridding me of the yearning I feel when she is near.
Does she realize the strength it takes to look away from her on any given day, let alone one where she wears only two thin strips of fabric that could be easily ripped away?
“Can I wash my dress?” she calls from shore.
This will disturb the water and scare the fish. Although she is clearly anxious to have her dress clean, and I am selfishly happy that she will be left in her undergarments while she waits for it to dry.
Not that I will be staring at her. I would not want her to wrongly believe that I am only interested in her lithe body and pretty face. I like Nia Quill because of who she is. The fire in her heart and the husk of her voice. Her wild hair and even wilder laughter.
There is nothing about her that I do not like except the fact that she is in love with someone else.
I tell her that she can wash it downstream but ask that she stay where I can see her. There is no telling what else might visit the river this day.
Planting my feet on the slippery stones, I stare past my wobbly reflection, searching for movement, doing my best to concentrate while my mind insists on returning to the list safely folded in my pocket on the shore.
3. Listen to her hopes and dreams
Would Nia tell me these things if I asked? Her future might not be with me, but I still long to know what sort of life she would like to lead. How she wishes she could spend her time. The places she visits when she is asleep.
A flash of white flickers beneath the water’s glassy surface. The wood bites into my fist as I tighten my grip on the crude spear and stab at the flicker.
My weapon hits home, piercing a wriggling fish.
I hold up my catch in victory, only to falter when I realize what I have killed.
Hopefully Nia’s hunger will outweigh her indignation over eating one of her fishy friends.
This one should be enough to feed us both, which is a relief because my head is beginning to spin from lack of sustenance.
I will clean this fish and then return to the river while it cooks on one of the flat pieces of slate I found on the shore.
Nia comes back from washing her dress a short time later, wringing the soaked garment between her hands. “I bet you could do this better than I can. Your hands look a lot stronger than mine.”
What have I done to earn such a generous compliment? I will show her exactly how strong my hands can be. When I am finished with this dress, the fabric will be drier than ash. I take the garment and twist with all my might. Water dribbles down my forearms, splashing my bare toes.
She laughs and shakes her head, but her smile leaves when she catches sight of our dinner, my fear becoming reality.
“I am sorry for murdering your kinsmen,” I say.
Her brows lift toward her hair, which is even more springy in its damp state. “What does that mean?”
“I have killed a trout.”
Her laughter warms me more than any fire ever could. “I’m just glad there’s food. If it were up to me to provide for us, we’d starve.” She sinks down on one of the two flat rocks I have added to our small camp. If only I could give her more than sticks and stones and fish.
I drape her clothes over a boulder to dry while we eat, although with the dampness hanging in the air, this will take quite some time. “That is not true. You have been taught to make pie.”
“If we had an oven, I’d bake you ten.”
Her comment is offhand, meant to be teasing. Still, the words spread sadness through my veins.
If Nia were to ever bake me a pie, it would be out of pity.
A pity pie.
She glances up from the fire, her face obscured by a white puff of smoke. “Is this a proposal?”
I shake my head. “I have already told you that it is a trout. Chew carefully. There could be bones.” I have done my best to remove them, but one can never be too sure when bones are so small.
Hunger gnaws at my stomach while she picks at the fish’s flaky white flesh with her small fingers. I will not eat until she is thoroughly satiated. I will catch her a hundred fish if I must.
“What was it like growing up in the Unseelie lands?” she asks, drawing me from my internal reverie.
Cold. Lonely. “Ever, Gryff, and I went on many hunts together.”
“You’re lucky to have so many close friends.”
This is true. My life would have been a tragedy if not for the two of them.
She takes another piece of fish, popping it and the tips of her fingers into her pink mouth. “What about your parents? What are they like?”
I would rather discuss pity pie.
I have not seen my parents in so long, I can hardly remember. One trait stands out, though. The one that hurts the most. “They laughed a lot.”
“So that’s where you get it from.” She licks her fingers before going back for another piece of fish. For a Seelie fae, she does not seem to mind consuming the flesh of animals. This will serve her well in the days to come. “Do they still live in your village?”
I wish I could say yes. That my parents were growing old together just across the bridge. That I could stop by their wagon to ask the many questions I have had through the years instead of relying on my friends and my own faulty intuition for answers.
Alas, I cannot.
“They always wanted to travel, and when they had the chance, they took it.” Along with our barrel top and unicorn named Shadow. The only thing they did not take was me.
“I wish my mother wanted to travel. Then again, she would find a way to make the experience a miserable one.”
I prefer this direction of conversation, one where Nia reveals her truths and mine can stay hidden. “The two of you do not get along?”
“Not lately. She has these notions about how I should look and how I should behave and is constantly disappointed by my choices for both.”
Nonsense. “You could not possibly disappoint.”
A chuckle. “If only she shared your sentiment.”
“What of your father?” I have never met the male who sired her. Ever told me that he counts other fae’s money to provide for his family. I do not understand how this is an occupation, but then again, I am not Seelie. Their ways are strange and fantastic. This is why I moved to Rosehill.
I glance at Nia as she gathers her hair behind her shoulders.
One of the reasons, anyway.
“My father works all the time. I used to think it was necessary, but now I wonder if it’s to avoid coming home to my mother.
” She reaches down to our small wood pile, snatches one of the branches, and snaps it in half.
It lands in the center of the coals; the flames lick at the fresh fuel, tasting before consuming. “I doubt he even realizes I’m missing.”
I find that difficult to believe.
I think I knew Nia Quill was missing from my life before my eyes ever met hers.
Not that I say as much. What she first told me about winning another’s affection has stuck with me like these fresh scars. Caring too much is a sure way to send her running in the opposite direction.
“You will not be missing for long. I will return you safely to your Nolan. I swear it.”
Her hand stills and instead of going for more fish, she folds her arms over her chest like she is hugging herself, making me think of number five on her list.
I would love nothing more than to wrap my arms around Nia and feel her head against my chest the way it rested over my heart last night.
Instead, I add more wood to our fire.
“He’s not mine,” she murmurs.
Not technically, I suppose. “On the anniversary of your birth—”
“No. I mean, he’s never going to be mine. We aren’t together anymore.”
Is she saying . . .
This is . . .
I blow out a breath, and when my lungs fill once more, they are full of the most foolish of hopes.
Care less.
Do not wear heart sleeves.
Breathe.
Nia is clearly in despair; I must offer words of comfort and not shouts of joy.
Another branch snaps between her hands. “He’s marrying Ivee Lynch.”
I have heard this name before. Ivee, the Seelie word for a clinging vine.
Now, if only I could picture which fae it belongs to.
There were two with hair the color of celery, but I do not think they were Ivee.
And the red-haired Amber. Wait. Ivee was at the castle gardens, was she not?
“Your Nolan is marrying the yellow-haired female?”
She nods.
“He is the biggest fool to have ever lived.” Even a bigger fool than I am for lying.
“To have had a place in your heart and then to have lost it.” I would never recover from a loss such as that.
“He has surely descended into madness.” That is the only explanation there can possibly be.
Otherwise, I would have seen him at her door begging for another chance.
She snorts, then sobers. “Ivee is beautiful.”
In truth, I cannot even recall the female’s face, so I am unable to comment on her looks. Not that her beauty would matter. “She is not you.”
Nia stares at me, and I do not know if this is something I should have said or if I should have swallowed those words. They are out now, dancing in the smoke between us. There is no taking them back.
“Maddox . . .”
From the way she is frowning, whatever she intends to say next cannot be good.
Foolish mouth. Now I have made things awkward. I need to fix this.
“We should seek shelter before the night finds us.”
She lifts her gaze toward the gray clouds swallowing the sky above.
“Darkness will come quicker than in your world,” I add. She is used to Seelie sunlight that never seems to go away.
With a nod, she rises and crosses the stones to where her garments wait, while I pick at what is left of the fish, filling my belly with cold meat.
She returns a moment later carrying both garments, along with her mud-caked slippers. “My clothes are still damp.”
This is what I was afraid of. “When we make camp, we can hang them over the fire. Until then, you may wear mine.” If only I had a shirt to offer as well. This would be only the second good reason to wear one.
“What will you wear?”
“The air does not bother me.” The only cold I feel is that which lives inside a lonely heart.
My trousers are far too large, but with the belt high on her waist, Nia is able to keep them up well enough to traverse the shore.
Although my hunger is far from satiated, it would be unwise to waste time trying to catch another fish.
We will remain close to the river so that I can return for more once we find somewhere safe to spend this night.
Luck is upon us, and we find a space beneath an overhanging rock that is not far from where we ate.
When it is time to build a fire, Nia asks to help.
The determined set of her shoulders makes me think this is important to her, so I teach her once more how to coax the fire into existence.
By the time she succeeds, darkness has fallen.
She sits close to me, her thigh and arm pressed against mine. The crackle and pop of fire fills our silence, orange flames licking at the dark. Nia’s head falls onto my shoulder, her breaths deepening with sleep. I settle my back against the hard stone and let myself pretend that she is mine.