Chapter 14 #3
Fox returns several minutes later with several rolls of parchment paper clutched in one hand and a quill pen in the other. He lays the scrolls out on the small wooden table, and bends to scribble something, before holding the scroll up for me to read by the light of the lantern.
No magic. No talking.
I scowl as he hands me the pen.
This is stupid
Fox rolls his eyes and refuses to take the pen when I try to hand it to him. Sighing, I scribble:
I can’t talk to you like this
It must be difficult for you to be quiet for once
Asshole
The corners of his mouth tip up.
Who’s Eugene?
It takes me a minute to understand that he heard me calling the name after he left the tent.
My squirrel
Wolves eat squirrels
You’d have to catch him first
Just be careful. Keep him in the tent during the day
A wave of anxiety crashes over me. Would the wolves really go after Eugene? I could tell them he’s my pet and not to hunt him by accident…but what if that made them more likely to target him just to hurt me?
I glower and grab the pen back.
Why do they hate Fae?
Fox looks irritated that this is the direction that I’ve gone in, but writes:
Because of the magic
They’re afraid?
He shakes his head vigorously.
Not afraid. Angry.
I furrow my brow.
Angry because of what?
Complicated. Would take too long to write.
I feel like he could explain it if he wanted to, he’s just avoiding the topic. Rolling my eyes, I scribble:
But you’re half Fae
Yes
They didn’t seem bothered by you, just me
He furrows his brow, seeming to be thinking, then writes.
Some used to be. Not anymore.
Why?
They’re impressed I survived Dyaspora.
I didn’t hear anyone mention Dyaspora.
He doesn’t bother to write anything back, just gives me a pointed sideways glance and underlines the word “hear” in my last note.
So they were all talking the whole time?
He nods.
Talking to you?
He nods again.
Interesting. I must have missed a lot more than I realized. That’s perfectly infuriating, and we’ve only barely scratched the surface of my questions.
There are a lot of children…?
Wolves have big families.
Do you have siblings?
No. Parents died.
My chest squeezes and I want to do…something. I want to be comforting, but that’s not the sort of relationship we have. Instead, I write:
I’m surprised there aren’t more wolves here, since there are so many children.
Fox’s expression turns dark. He holds the pen tightly, his hand shaking slightly with what I think must be anger. He gives me a meaningful glance and gestures around as if to say “look where we are.”
His hand is still shaking as he writes two words:
Soldiers die.
My blood runs cold. Of course I know that, but Thermia isn’t at war. There haven’t been any wars in Ellender for centuries.
I understand that the Thermian army is used to keep the monster population under control, but how many monsters must there be if the soldiers are dying at such a rapid rate?
I’ve seen Fox fight. Clearly he had no difficulty with the wyvern or that frost troll from a couple of years ago, and there’s only one of him.
Surely an entire army all trained like Fox shouldn’t be decimated so easily.
Fox is watching me warily, probably worried I’ll make him talk about it more, so I change the subject.
Who’s Runa?
His brow furrows in irritation, then takes the pen and underlines his previous sentence halfway up the page.
Complicated. Would take too long to write.
I reach for the pen, but he refuses to hand it to me, and takes it with him as he strides over to the bed. He glances back at me pointedly, then grabs a pillow off the bed and puts it on the ground, clearly offering to sleep there.
I shake my head. “You don’t need to do that.”
His eyes widen in alarm, and he strides back over to the table, pen still in hand.
You can’t speak out loud if it’s just the two of us.
“Right, sorry,” I mutter without thinking.
He makes a frustrated growl in the back of his throat as a muscle in his jaw ticks.
I suck in a breath. “Sorry!”
Fox looks exhausted.
My face burning, I hold my hand out, silently asking him to give me the pen. He looks wary, but finally hands it to me. I scribble:
Tell them I find it easier to talk out loud.
He shakes his head and takes the pen back.
No one would believe that.
Maybe just tell Kai we’re not really bonded. He seems like he’d understand.
Fox shakes his head sharply.
We’ve been over this. He wouldn’t be as nice if you were just some Fae and not mine.
I shiver. It’s stupid—he’s not saying I belong to him. Not really, just that others think I do—but even reading it makes my stomach turn over and the still raw bite on my throat burns.
Fox waves the pen in front of my face to get my attention.
I’ll sleep on the floor.
I shake my head and take the quill back.
That’s stupid, you don’t have to.
The obvious unspoken issue is that we both know we’ve shared a bed dozens of times, just not to sleep.
Never once in all the times I went to his room did I stay the night, except for that one time he wasn’t there. Thinking of that sends a cold realization washing over me.
He’s never wanted anything from me other than what it was, and clearly even then, I always wanted more otherwise I wouldn’t have been so hurt.
The realization is painful, but in some ways I’m glad to have had it. It’s a good reminder that just because we’re pretending to be bonded, it doesn’t mean it will ever happen for real. We should have no problem sleeping in the same bed, because it doesn’t mean anything.
Fox takes the quill back from me and bends down to write something else, but I turn away and walk back toward the bed before I can read it. I don’t want to argue with him about it. I don’t want to discuss it at all.
Seeming hesitant, Fox puts the quill down and follows me over to the bed.
I didn’t pack any nightgowns, assuming that I wouldn’t need them.
I pull out one of my human made t-shirts and some leggings and then realize that I can’t change while he’s standing right there.
Obviously thinking the same thing, Fox points toward the entrance of the tent then walks outside.
I hear his footsteps moving away, so I know he must be going somewhere.
I don’t know how long he’ll be, so I dress quickly and climb into bed, wishing Eugene were here to cuddle with me.
Fox returns ten minutes later, and barely looks at me as he kicks off his boots and strips his shirt over his head. With a gasp, I turn on my side, my back to him, and squeeze my eyes shut.
I forgot he usually sleeps naked. Shit!
I hold my breath, not sure what I want to happen next.
Mercifully—or tragically, I can’t decide—Fox leaves his trousers on. Still, I don’t relax as he climbs into the bed, staying as far away from me as is possible…which isn’t very far at all.
Oh Gods, this torture.
He lets out a long breath, as he shifts around, clearly struggling to find a comfortable position. Finally, he turns on his side too, facing away from me.
Despite our best efforts, it’s impossible not to touch. His spine brushes mine and I can feel the warmth emanating from his skin as acutely as I feel the throbbing from the bite on my throat.
I sigh, and shut my eyes, trying to think about anything other than the man beside me.
My mind drifts instead to the mystery of my supposedly dead mother and the sister I never knew I had, and I finally fall asleep with visions of the dancing lights in the dark sky bursting behind my eyes.