Chapter 14
14
T HE SHINING BLADE PARTS THE mist rolling across the dense wood. I whirl, arm extended, imagining the dagger carving flesh—hip, gut, chest. My weight carries me through the arcing strike.
I am a blade.
If I were tougher in nature, I would not bend, and I would not break. I’d sting and sever, slice and wound. All who met the tip of my blade would weep blood.
As I move through the moonlit glen, striking and dodging an invisible opponent, I settle into the strength of my body, the power in my large, muscled arms. Duck, twist, deflect. I grip the leather-wrapped hilt with surety. The lightweight dagger appears weak, easily overlooked. Maybe that is why I love it so.
Sweat slithers down my cheeks and neck, but the mist kisses my heated skin, the cool air disturbed with each swinging arc. And if I imagine my target as Zephyrus’ head? No one but me is privy to that information.
The West Wind travels with us now. He is our keeper, our guide. I question my good sense in having agreed to his company.
To my surprise, Harper has been amenable to this arrangement, proceeding to spend the days chatting his ear off. Most of the stories are lies. No, she did not invent the spinning wheel. Neither does she know how to speak four languages. But I’ve held my tongue.
A flying leap around a tree, and my dagger thwacks into the solid trunk. I yank the weapon free, panting heavily, and repeat the exercise despite my wobbly thighs, the cramp searing white-hot up my back.
Why should I care about their burgeoning friendship? Zephyrus is free to converse with anyone he likes. If he chooses to speak with Harper, it is no concern of mine. Nor are his lingering glances at her; I should expect such behavior from someone whose depth goes no further than the skin.
No, my concern is Meirlach. At our current pace, we should arrive at Under in one day’s time. From there, it is another four days to the Grotto—or so Zephyrus claims. Who can say for certain how many days or weeks will have passed aboveground by the time we reach our destination.
Out of curiosity, I’ve been thumbing through the Text for additional information about the Stallion. The Book of Power contains tales of strange creatures underground, in the blackest depths where evil lurks. Apparently, the Stallion guards a massive hoard of valuables: jewels and weapons, silks and armor and rare poisons.
I have not forgotten my mission. I must kill the beast to obtain the fabled blade. When I ponder what awaits me, I’m almost inclined to return to Thornbrook empty-handed. The true danger of this quest, I believe, has yet to present itself. And as I complete the final exercise, I end with my arm extended, the dagger’s iron point catching the throat of an imaginary foe.
Drenched in sweat and thoroughly fatigued, I return to camp.
Harper and Zephyrus sit beneath the lean-to, shoulders brushing as though they have had years to grow comfortable in each other’s presence instead of days. I’ve warned her not to trust him. Unsurprisingly, she has ignored my advice.
I pay them no mind as I search my pack. The fire snaps merrily in broad daylight, though the smell of cooked meat makes my stomach turn. We live a vegetarian lifestyle at Thornbrook. Meat belongs to the old, the infirm. I should eat the hare Zephyrus has trapped and skinned, considering our dwindling food supply, but I’ve little appetite today.
Harper murmurs something inaudible to her newfound friend, who releases a warm chuckle reminiscent of summer. At some point, she must have removed her cincture, for I spot the white cord dangling from a branch, holding her pack off the damp earth. I bite the inside of my cheek at the sight. She might as well spit on the church altar.
Pulling my last clean dress free, I stand and clear my throat. “I’m—”
“Tell me more about your brother, Eurus,” Harper cuts in. She angles her body toward Zephyrus, who uses his cloak as a makeshift blanket, the laces at his collar loose, fabric gaping at his throat.
I swipe the dampness from my face in frustration. Harper has hoarded Zephyrus’ attention for days. I can barely get a word in.
“What were you going to say, Brielle?” The overcast haze has muddied the jewels of his eyes, though they appear no less direct. I swallow, and his gaze dips, tracking the motion.
“It’s obvious she doesn’t remember,” Harper snipes, tugging his hand toward her leg. The motion ensnares me. There are his fingers, in dangerous proximity to Harper’s thigh. She voluntarily touches a man, yet condemned his presence in my room?
“Calm, Harper.” He tugs free of her grip. “I was talking to Brielle.”
Her teeth snap shut with an audible click.
“I’m going to bathe,” I announce, my clean, dry garments gathered in hand. “I won’t be long.”
Harper watches me beneath lowered lashes, spite razing her features. My heart skips at the sight, but I’m likely imagining it, anticipating the lash before it falls. As I turn to leave, however, Harper’s voice cuts across the clearing, her words horribly familiar.
“ Sometimes, I question my worth as a novitiate, ” she reads, with blatant mockery. “ I question whether I am needed here, whether I will ever make a difference, or if I am only taking up space .”
My own words slap against my back. Heat flees and cold proliferates, scouring my insides, closing my throat.
Paper rustles before Harper continues, “ Today, I experienced a terrible panic .”
I can’t move. I can only receive the blows as they fall.
“ I was busy harvesting cabbage in the garden when I caught Isobel’s voice in the distance. She wasn’t alone. She never is. There’s always someone lending strength to her voice. This time, it was Harper .” She pauses for effect, and I whirl, catching sight of my journal in Harper’s hand, her toothy grin as she relishes my mounting distress.
“ I tried focusing on my work, ” she continues, “ but it was impossible. She called my name, and I remembered all the times I’d been humiliated, an object of others’ laughter and scorn. Idiot. Pig. Pathetic. My breath shortened, and the world grew dark .”
I sense the change to my skin, how I long to retreat inward, into the very marrow of my bones. Zephyrus glances between us. Did he see her stealing the journal from my pack? Perhaps he turned a blind eye to the transgression.
“Give it back.” The whisper emerges limp and threadbare.
Harper merely returns to reading. “ Now here I am ,” she whispers, still smirking. “ Chest tight. Sheltering in bed. Door locked for the first and only time since I arrived at the abbey. ”
I remember that day. I remember feeling so overwhelmed I thought I might vomit. The darkness, Isobel’s callous laughter as she cornered me. I could not bear it, and fled to the dormitory.
I wish I’d done things differently. I wish I’d stood up to Isobel. I wish I’d drawn an uncrossable line. But I’d yielded to the weakness in me.
“That’s enough,” I croak. “Give me my journal.” I stride forward haltingly, hand outstretched.
“If you want it,” she says, “you’ll have to take it from me.”
Reaching over, Zephyrus presses a hand across the pages, temporarily shielding the cramped, scrawling ink. “Return what is not yours.” Though he speaks to my companion, his gaze rests on me.
Her nostrils flare. “If she didn’t want me reading it, she shouldn’t have left it lying around.”
“It was in my bag,” I snap. “You went through my things.”
Zephyrus flips the cover shut, for which I’m grateful. Snatching it from Harper’s possession, I shelter it against my chest. How much more did she read? Is this her first offense, or has she rifled through my belongings before, while I’ve been sleeping? My chest pinches fiercely, and I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe .
As if sensing my affliction, Zephyrus begins to push to his feet. “Brielle—”
I run.
The River Twee glimmers in pockets between the trees, a bright line drenched in the afternoon sun. Its eastern branch widens, transitioning into multiple tranquil pools lined with smooth rocks. Brush and boulders fringe the largest basin.
Placing my belongings between two rocks, I peel away my clothes, the chemise momentarily sticking to my chest. I bite back a hiss as the skin tugs painfully.
The water’s reflection reveals my pale, round face and freckled skin. Above my breastband, a thin scratch where the beast’s claws caught me draws my attention. Two days ago, it was pink. Now yellow-green ooze seeps from the puckered scab. Gently, I press the pads of my fingers around the area. Its slight heat melts into a burn that carves deep.
My hand drops away. I’m panting, seized by that vicious pain, or is it the shame of having been stripped bare by Harper’s cruel game?
After tossing aside my soiled garments, I lower myself into the cool water with a groan. It’s shallow enough to stand, my toes gripping the slippery, pebbled bottom. I sink lower until the water encloses my skull. Let these thoughts empty out: Zephyrus, Harper, this unsettling awareness of their togetherness, the memory of his hand on her leg.
Forgive me, Father.
The night Zephyrus slipped into my room, I’d unbuttoned my gown and exposed my naked back to his hands. In that moment, the thought of a man’s touch did not disgust me.
My head breaks the surface of the water, and I wipe my face, slick back my heavy russet hair.
The West Wind stands at the pool’s edge.
I scream, recoiling against the far side of the basin, my face redder than an overripe tomato. “I’m bathing!” I send a splash toward him for good measure.
Grinning, he crouches on the balls of his feet. The water shimmers with dew-drop clarity, and I worry that the paleness of my skin against the dark rock will draw attention to my shape, the curves of my breasts, stomach, and thighs.
I tighten my arms over my chest. How much of my body has he seen?
“You forgot your soap.” He holds up the bar of tallow soap.
“You can place it on the ledge there,” I state, sinking lower so the water laps at my chin. “Thank you.”
There’s a distinct tightening in my lower stomach as he continues to peruse me.
“You can leave,” I clarify, leaving no room for him to misinterpret my dismissal.
The West Wind twirls the soap lazily. His long, naked fingers possess remarkable dexterity for someone who I’ve never seen handle a weapon.
“Zephyrus—”
“What were you doing under the water?”
An unwelcome tingle rolls across my skin. “Praying.” Of a sort.
His impolite snort puts my back up.
“Do you have an issue with that?” I snap.
“Your friend has humiliated you by reading your journal and you choose to pray ? Seems rather avoidant.”
How little he knows of me, my situation, and my world. “Harper and I are not friends.”
“You give her too much power,” he says.
He dares speak of power when he is the one pulling strings? “I give her nothing.”
“Then what was that story about Harper and Isobel?”
I do not have to answer him. I do not have to even acknowledge his question, not for something as private as the heart. “I’m not discussing this with you.” My legs cross in an attempt to conceal the secret place where they meet. If I had more courage, I’d wipe that smirk off his face with the palm of my hand. Traversing the pool, however, is not an option.
He shrugs. “She will only use your jealousy against you.”
My mouth parts in astonishment. “Jealousy?” The word breaks, too loud, too revealing. “ Jealousy ?” Surely this is a joke.
The Bringer of Spring, however, does not laugh. He awaits my reply at his leisure.
“Why should I wish for anything Harper has?” I demand.
“You do not like the attention I give her. I have seen it in your eyes.”
“You are delusional.” A voice of cold I do not recognize flows unhindered across my tongue. “What I feel is certainly not jealousy.”
“Then what is it you feel for me?”
Why does this sound like another question entirely?
“You exasperate me to no end.”
“I do.” His eyes sparkle, and I’m momentarily stunned into forgetfulness as he eases forward, a trouser-clad knee digging into the soil. “Tell me more.”
“You infuriate me. You refuse to think of anyone’s well-being but your own. Your voice is your favorite sound in the world. You—”
He sidles nearer to the water, then stops. “I what?”
The dappled glow upon his face reveals both light and darkness. It is fitting. No matter how homely I find him, I’m unable to look away.
“Nothing.” I shake my head. Water sloshes into my mouth.
“Come now, Brielle. We’re friends, aren’t we?” The lovely melody of his voice seems to rein in the encroaching shadows.
“No.”
“I gave you my special salve,” he points out. “That was a friendly thing to do.”
“Yes.” He could have let me suffer. “Though you were the cause of my punishment in the first place.” Let’s not forget that particular detail.
The curve of his mouth loses shape. After a moment, he nods. “I was, and for that, I’m sorry.”
How little his sincerity moves me. “Please leave. I’m sure Harper is eagerly awaiting your return.” A shiver puckers my skin beneath the water.
Still holding the soap, he begins to round the pool toward me, his boots soundless on the damp stones.
“What are you doing?” When he does not slow, I move toward the center of the pool to avoid being cornered, my entire body submerged save my head and neck. The water ripples with my movements, but it cannot hide my shape, the curves I display for no one but myself. “Stay away.”
“Regardless of what you believe you feel toward me,” he goes on, completely disregarding my stuttering command, “I am certain that the attention I pay to Harper irks you.” His golden curls catch the light, and for a moment, I swear his face changes shape. “But why would you care, I wonder?”
“I don’t.” Zephyrus is free to flirt with whomever he wants. I hold no claim to his affection.
With every purposeful stride, he nears. My throat tightens. He will see. It is forbidden, but he will see.
“Why?” I whisper. “Why do you torment me so?”
After removing his boots, Zephyrus lowers himself onto the ledge, hangs his legs into the water. “Because you intrigue me,” he says, “and I want to know why.”
He slides fully clothed into the pool.
My back hits the rocks. Indecision winds through me and tightens to the point of pain. “You would touch a woman against her will?”
The West Wind’s eyes darken. “Never against her will. Never without her permission.” He says, “Tell me to go, and I will.”
“I’ve already told you,” I grind out.
“I’ll need you to repeat it, I think. My memory isn’t the best.” He tosses me an impish grin.
I stare into the water. “If you please—”
“Look at me.”
I’m helpless to do otherwise. What power is this, that I cannot even control my own mind? “You can’t be here,” I whisper. If Harper were to see…
“Can’t I? Let your mind open. Let it experience the vast range of possibilities.” Pushing off the wall, he glides through the water. Another step closer brings him within arm’s reach. The water warms between us, as though he carries sunlight in his grasp. His soaked tunic clings to his contoured chest, the lean strength of his arms.
“Your gaze is bold today.”
My face heats. I glance away, but only for an instant. “I apologize,” I stammer, “for staring. I did not realize…”
His lips curve. They are like soft pink petals, concealing those pretty white teeth.
“Do not apologize for what you desire, Brielle.”
Look at him . His muscular neck; the wet, curling tips of his hair; the hint of stubble along his jaw; the lovely dusk of his skin.
“If I might offer a suggestion?” He all but purrs.
“Is the suggestion,” I whisper, tongue darting out to lick the water from my lips, “that you will leave me to bathe in peace?”
He tracks my tongue with his gaze. “Quite the opposite, actually.”
That stare unnerves me. It takes every effort not to break it. “Well?”
“A kiss.”
I rear back, forgetting about the sharpened stone behind me. A collection of points digs into my spine, and I wince. “No man may touch a Daughter of Thornbrook.”
“But you’re a novitiate,” he says, sliding closer. “You have not taken your final vows. Don’t you want to be selfish, Brielle, just once? Don’t you want to claim something for yourself?”
My arms tighten around my front even as my breasts begin to grow sensitized. Zephyrus and I are of a similar height, but in this moment, I feel small. It’s so rare a feeling I’m momentarily taken aback.
Admittedly, I think of these things. The life of a novitiate isn’t easy. We are given the basics to survive, but nothing more. I remember a time before the abbey. My mother and I, curled in bed, her delicate fingers stroking my tangled hair. Sometimes I ache for that memory so much I cannot breathe.
But then I think of what followed. How her hands would tighten, dragging at my scalp. The shrill quality of her voice when her grasp on reality warped. Her giddy highs preceding the inevitable crashes, days lying in bed. A young daughter forced to care for her mentally unstable mother.
Another shift brings his mouth closer to mine. His trousers brush my thighs underwater, and the coarse texture sends a dart of heat through my core.
“You don’t actually want to kiss me,” I whisper. His smell, like rain on baked earth, lifts to cloud my senses.
“Is that so?” Curled lashes dip over his eyes, shielding them from view. “I have thought of your mouth since our last parting. I have thought of it too often.”
“You lie.” My voice wavers.
“I do not.”
Suddenly, he is that much closer. He exhales in one long stream, his breath slipping into my open mouth.
“Why?” I hate the insecurity a single word can hold. I should not care. I have Thornbrook. I have the Father, and my smithing, and the Text. It has always been enough.
“Because you are an enigma,” he says, eyes gentle. “Because you are most generous. Because you are discovering what lies beyond your abbey walls, and I find myself drawn to your bravery.”
“I’m not brave,” I stammer, searching his gaze for deception. I find none.
“Aren’t you?”
If I were braver, I would turn my back on people leading me down unfulfilling roads. I would have fought for myself years ago. Being swept up in the whims of others? That is not bravery. That is complacency.
Zephyrus hesitates, then says, “I am old, Brielle. Very old. The world does not hold the same allure for someone who does not age.”
Pulling away, he lifts himself from the pool, water dripping from his clothes to splatter onto the rocks. “I have enjoyed watching you experience life,” he says, features shadowed by unexpected grief. “Do not take it for granted, because soon enough, it will end.”