Preview Continued Follow Me to the Yew Tree
CHAPTER 2
A pressure on my bladder rouses me, but I pull up my blanket to cover my nose against the early morning chill. I’m reluctant to crack open my eyes, because the moment I do the pleasant dream I had will be gone.
“Be very still.” Elin’s voice is calm and quiet but firm.
My eyes fly open.
He’s crouched beside me, a finger pressed to his lips. The shadowy pallor over his face is still there, but it hasn’t worsened overnight, which eases some of my worry. “We’ve got company,” he murmurs. “But I’ve got you. Just be very still.”
And then I feel it. A wriggling between my left leg and the crease made by the tent’s canvas and the ground. Without so much as twitching a muscle, my gaze dips down. There’s an adder tucked half in, half out of my sleeping roll. Hardy and long-living, I may be, but not invincible, and I’m one venomous bite away from a bad day.
“What should I do?”
Picking up his blanket, and holding it between his hands, Elin answers, “Just slowly slide toward me. Don’t jostle or squish it.”
I do as he says, slowly inching my body across the ground until I’m pressed against his legs in the cramped space. For all that I’m one false move away from being bitten, a small thrill tingles in my belly at the contact. The vision of his lips on mine, thumbs stroking my neck, infiltrates my thoughts, insistent I don’t forget. And how could I? It haunted my dreams in the dead of night, the sweetest, most persistent torture.
“Okay, slowly sit up,” he instructs, his eyes never leaving the snake.
When I’ve done it, he continues, “Now get up and back out of the tent.”
I like the command of his voice, and the assurance that it gives. It keeps me calm. As long as he’s here, I’m safe, and I desperately want to offer him the same in return.
The snake is indifferent to my exit, just slides the rest of its body into the warm spot I vacated. Elin gingerly backs out. Together, we stare at the tent awhile, saying nothing, the air brisk.
“Wanted my body heat.” I shiver, rubbing my arms.
“Mm.” He nods, draping his blanket around my shoulders. “Were you bit? Anything hurt?”
I shake my head.
“We should check, just in case.”
Putting ample distance between myself and the tent, I sit down on the ground, and he follows, crossing his legs. As I pull up my skirt, just enough to expose my calf and lower thigh, pale white flesh on display, my heart skips a beat. If the future’s to be trusted, he will one day see all this and more.
If he’s tempted by what he sees, he doesn’t show it.
Brow furrowed in studious concentration, Elin rubs his hands together, then cups them over his mouth, blowing hot air. He repeats this process a few more times. When he places his hands on me, one behind my knee, the other my calf, they’re warm and assured. Although he’d averted his eyes to my partial undressing the night before, he’s not shy now as he examines and rotates my leg, pausing once to brush a finger over two beauty marks north of my knee.
Determining them innocuous, he moves on, palms skimming bare flesh.
The skin-to-skin contact is more comforting than I could’ve ever imagined, and there’s a pleasant, buzzing sensation racing up my limbs and settling in my chest. It’s no wonder humans seek touch so arduously; Elin hasn’t yet let go, and I’m already craving more.
“No bite marks,” he concludes, knees cracking as he rises to his feet.
I lower my dress and hold out my hand. Even though I don’t need the help, I’m a newly made glutton. His grasp is firm as he pulls me to my feet.
Clutching the ends of the blanket to my chest, I nod toward the tent. “Now what?”
“Snake stays as long as it wants,” is all he says, before setting off to gather kindling.
We leave when the snake does. It’s a later start than either of us intended, but we manage six miles by midday. Elin is a quiet companion, but I like his presence.
When he takes a drink from his canteen, and wordlessly passes it to me, I notice the shadowy pall over him has darkened.
Alarm stabs in my chest, my eyes swimming with unbidden tears. In my haste to dry them , I’m clumsy with the canteen and spill our water. There’s a wail, too, building in my diaphragm that I forcibly suppress. A bad, bad sign.
“You okay?”
“Gnat in my eye,” I lie, trying to discreetly scan our surroundings for a threat.
He offers a handkerchief, and I take it, making a show of wiping an eye.
The vision that follows is fuzzy at the edges—a clear sign what I see isn’t set in stone, at least not yet. It’s a warning, and one I know I should convey, to give him time to prepare. It’s why I’m here, after all, why I must’ve been assigned to him, but this can’t be the end, not when we’ve barely begun. And not after all he’s endured. To survive a war only to die on the journey home, that’s not fate, it’s cruelty. There should be so much life ahead of him to live. He deserves so much more than what this one is giving him.
But what if…
What if there’s a silver lining to these visions? What if knowing what will happen ahead of time means I can stop it? What if I can save Elin?
It’s not a thought I’ve had before. But I have to try.
There’s two ways what comes next could play out, three if I’m quick enough.
But before the vision fully clears from my eyes, and before I can warn him, Elin is shouting. His horse rears, spooked by the snake I now know to be slithering through the heather around its hooves.
“Elin!” I yell as his horse bolts, unresponsive to his commands.
This only ends in tragedy if I don’t stop it.
Dropping the canteen to grab my reins, I kick my horse into a hard sprint, leaning forward and low, giving it its head.
A dark, familiar voice whispers in my ear. “Meddling with fate, are we?”
“Not here, not now,” I hiss through gritted teeth. Only I can hear this voice. It belongs to the one I serve—the one who sent me to this country in the first place, saying there was someone I needed to meet, but was infuriatingly sparse on the details.
“What will be, will be.”
“Please,” I beg. “Not this way.”
“All living things are mine to take. Or have you forgotten?”
Bitter tears leak from my eyes. Loss and grief are my constant companions, the question almost cruel. One doesn’t serve Death for centuries, witnessing countless ends, and not keenly understand life’s finality. “But you can’t have this one.”