Chapter 26
“Don’t give out. Give in.”
— Author Unknown
Iwake to the smell of smoke, the sound of a crackling fire, the feel of my shift draped across my bare arms, and the sight of Maddox cooking two more fish.
The way he’s used the slate as a cooking pan of sorts is genius; I certainly wouldn’t have thought of that.
His head snaps up, and his lips form a smile. “Good morning, Nia Quill. How did you sleep?”
“Surprisingly well.” All things considered. “You?”
“It was a good night.”
My shift slips to my lap when I sit up and stretch my arms above my head. This new angle affords me an unobstructed view of the ground where he crouches . . . and the leather rucksack sitting next to him.
“Is that . . . ?”
The skin around his eyes crinkles when his smile widens. “My rucksack. Yes. I found it this morning, hooked on a limb upriver. It must have fallen when we did.”
“I can’t believe you found it.”
“Our luck is changing, Nia Quill.”
Thank heavens for that. We’re in dire need of some good luck. I roll to my feet and join him by the fire. When we settle in for breakfast, I discover the fish has been pleasantly seasoned with a mix of pepper and spices. “This is really good.”
“It pleases me to know you like it.” From his rucksack, he withdraws a large canteen filled with water.
Our luck is changing, indeed.
I drink my fill, and he has a few sips without me having to prompt him.
It’s truly amazing that something so small can bring so much hope and joy in the direst circumstances.
“I want to thank you for taking care of me. Keeping me safe.” If only I knew how to return the favor. When we reach Rosehill, I’m going to bake him as many blueberry pies as his heart desires.
“Caring for you is a great honor, Nia Quill.”
I’m not so sure about that. This trek would certainly be faster if he were on his own—probably easier as well. Still, I’m grateful for his company. And his resourcefulness.
I think back to the day I found him struggling to open that bottle of wine.
He always seemed so out of place in Rosehill, easily distracted by the smallest things. Here, he is clearly in his element. It’s impressive. Undeniably attractive.
Just what I need—yet another reason to be drawn to Maddox Finch.
“I almost forgot.” He drags over his rucksack and starts combing through its contents. After a few moments of searching, he withdraws a small brown object. “I found this for you.”
I accept the gift, smoothing my thumb over the oblong brown pebble. “You found me a stone?” Is this an Unseelie courting custom I don’t know about? The thought doesn’t distress me as much as it once did.
I wouldn’t mind being officially courted by Maddox.
He kneels next to me, the excitement on his face catching. “Turn it over.”
Would you look at that? Someone—Maddox, I assume—painted a fish on the other side.
“When I found it, I thought it looked like a trout,” he says.
“It really does.” Even has the fluted tail and a crease where the fins go. “When did you find this?” Surely not this morning. Unless he carries paint in that rucksack of his.
The color of his ears deepens. “I came across this on one of our hunting trails and thought of you and your desire to be a trout of the lake.”
This might be the sweetest present anyone has ever given me. Certainly the most thoughtful.
“It is only a silly stone. You may throw it back in the river if you do not wish to keep it.”
Is he mad? My fist tightens around the beautiful treasure. “Of course I’m going to keep it. I love it, Maddox.”
He glances away, but not before I catch sight of his grin.
After another day of walking hand-in-hand and eating fish for every meal, the river’s banks expand from stones to thick green brush dotted with plump purple berries.
My skirts, which have finally dried, flutter against my shins as I jog toward those beautiful bushes, excitement expanding in my heart like rising bread dough.
If these are what I think they are, they’ll make a wonderful dessert.
I snag one and lift it up toward what little light there is in this giant crevice. The color isn’t quite as deep as it should be. I think.
Curse it all. Why didn’t I study harder in botany?
Probably because the closest I ever got to harvesting crops was stealing a few black raspberries from our neighbor’s hedge. Everything I needed could be purchased in a shop. I never anticipated being stranded at the bottom of the bloody Divide.
Maddox gives the broad leaves a shake, and a few drop off into his palm. “What are these?”
“Bonny berries. Maybe. Or Pilton berries.” The former makes excellent jam.
The latter could kill you stone dead. “I don’t know if they’re poisonous or not.
” Although it kills me to do so, it’s best to err on the side of caution and leave them behind.
There are bound to be more bushes with fruit I can identify.
If not, I’ll eat my weight in berries when we reach Rosehill.
Maddox rolls one between two large green fingers, then pops it straight into his mouth.
“Maddox!” Did he not hear me say it could be poisonous? I thought the Unseelie had exceptional hearing. I catch his jaw and try to pry it open to no avail. “Spit that out right this minute.”
Does he listen? Of course not. He chews once, then swallows it straight down.
“Have you lost your mind? You could die.”
He flashes me one of his smiles, this one stained slightly purple. “Or I could live, and you would have your berries for breakfast.”
As pleasant as that sounds, his life isn’t worth risking over a few bloody berries.
“You can’t go around eating things to test if they’re poisonous.” I plant both my hands on his chest, shoving him away. “I won’t survive without you. That was reckless and foolish.”
He stumbles back a step, his smile fading. “I am sorry. Frightening you was not my intention.”
“I know that. You just . . .” I rake my fingers through my tangled hair.
“You need to take better care of yourself—and that means not letting me hog all the fish.” It took me until this evening to realize that he lets me dine first and then picks at the scraps when I’m through.
The man is a giant; the little he’s eating cannot be enough to sustain him for long.
He nudges the withered berries that have fallen on the ground with the toe of his boot. “I do not wish for you to go hungry.”
“Well, I don’t want you to go hungry either!
If anything happened to you, I’d be devastated, all right?
” There. I said it out loud. Clearly, the man doesn’t realize how important he is.
Maybe it’s time I tell him. “Just promise me that you won’t eat anything else unless I can be sure it won’t harm you, all right? ”
“This I promise you, Nia Quill.”
Again with the “Quill.” Maybe it’s exhaustion. Maybe it’s fear. Maybe it’s both, I don’t bloody well know. The truth is on the tip of my tongue, and I no longer feel like holding back. “I hate it when you call me that.”
He turns to me with wide eyes, adjusting the leather pack on his back.
“Why do you insist on tacking ‘Quill’ onto the end of my name every time you say it?”
“This is a sign of respect,” he says quietly. “You are an unmated female, and I have no claim on you.”
True, but that explanation only incenses me more. I whirl back toward the bushes and take out my frustration on the innocent branches, shoving them out of my way, snapping them clean off. “You don’t use Amber’s surname.” Does that mean he has a claim to her?
The thought makes me want to stuff a bunch of berries down her short throat.
He catches one of the larger branches, holding it back and allowing me to pass. “Who?”
“Amber. The woman from the quarry that we met again at the café.” He still doesn’t look as if he knows who I’m speaking about. “The one with red hair.”
We continue moving forward, slower than before, Maddox holding the branches aside like he’s opening a door, and me stomping through the gap, seething.
“Ah, yes. Now I know the one you mean.”
It’s about bloody time . . .
“I do not use her surname because she did not give it to me.”
Wonderful. Now I feel silly for being jealous and thinking about killing her with poisonous berries.
Oh well. It’s not as if I would actually kill her.
I’ll probably never see the woman again.
Unless Maddox decides to marry her. The thought makes me sick to my stomach, and I can’t even blame it on the berries.
“We’re friends, so I don’t think you should use mine either.”
He comes to a halt in front of a snarly tree with gray bark that only has leaves on half of its branches. “You and I are not friends.”
Not this tired argument again. “Yes, we are.”
“No.” He twists on his heel and stalks off.
Has a more obstinate man ever existed? “Why are you being like this? If I can forgive you for lying to me about Gia Gill, why can’t you find it in your heart to forgive me for saying I wanted nothing to do with you?”
“I have forgiven you.”
“Then why won’t you be my friend?”
He stuffs his hand into his pocket and drags it back out again, clutching a folded piece of parchment. “Because this list was never meant for Gia Gill. It was for you.”
I suspected that, didn’t I? Even without Kerris’s confirmation, I thought he was far more enamored with me than he ever said aloud. But I never put two and two together.
That the list wasn’t a pointless exercise. That he might want to use the knowledge I imparted in order to win my heart.
His chest heaves as his breaths come quicker, riding the waves of his frustration. I watch him struggle for words, waiting patiently for him to find them, the weight of this moment wrapping me in something akin to hope.
“The moment we agree to be friends,” he says, “that is all we will ever be. I do not want to be your stepping stone.”
I don’t know what being a “stepping stone” means, but the first part, that I understand. At least I think I do. “You don’t want to be friends because you want to be more.”
He shoves the list back into his pocket with a curse. “That is right. I want to be more.”
There they are, the cards flat on the table, the words I’ve been waiting for him to say hanging in the air between us like the fog between our worlds.
This man literally leapt into a canyon for me. He ate a potentially poisonous berry because I might like some for breakfast. He has kept me safe and warm, watched over me every single moment we’ve been in this terrible place.
As for me . . .
I’ve sought him out, craved his company and attention for far longer than even I realized. I’m scared to death of heights, and yet I ventured across the bloody bridge for him.
Yet it took being stuck here in this desolate place, without distractions or inhibitions, to tear the wool from my eyes and the hesitation from my heart.
To give me the strength and confidence I need to step right up to him, the toes of my slippers brushing the tips of his homemade boots and say, “All right, then. Let’s be more. ”