Chapter 35
By the time I’m done training, dusk has draped over the village like a cloak of soft purples and pinks. I eat a quick meal in the inn, but when I climb the ladder to the second floor, Desmond isn’t there.
Then I remember he said he’d sleep outside. It shouldn’t surprise me, not when he stayed awake all night at Hawthorn Inn with his wrist tied to a chair. Not when Auri would lock him inside his bedroom at the guild every night.
It’s not safe for him to sleep outside alone, even if he is the ‘Prince of Death.’ I grab my pack beside the bed I chose this morning.
Finnian raises a brow at me. Auri frowns, but neither says a thing.
Min isn’t with them. I saw her run off into the fields earlier in her lynx form, probably to hunt small prey for fun.
After leaving the inn, I visit the general store and buy a bedroll. Then I walk the perimeter of the village, searching for Desmond.
There.
A campfire crackles beside the boulder I trained with earlier.
I clutch the bedroll as I approach. Desmond turns to face me.
The dying pink light frames him with an ethereal glow that makes my chest tighten.
We haven’t crossed paths since the almost-kiss, and I can still feel the phantom heat of him against me.
“Why are you out here?” he calls out.
I don’t answer until I stop right beside him, close enough to frown at him. “Not letting you sleep alone. Even if the villagers aren’t a threat, you don’t know what kinds of beasts lurk out here.”
Or whether the fomorians will return in the cover of darkness.
“Go back to the inn,” he says, his trepidation coiling around me through the bond. Then it darkens into fear.
“Because of the nightmares?” I quietly murmur.
He hesitates, then nods. “You don’t need to worry. I’ll be fine on my own.”
I levitate my bedroll toward his, but far enough away to be respectable for friends. Then I plant my hands on my hips. “I’m staying.” I hate the idea of him sequestering himself like a pariah.
Desmond’s hazel eyes narrow, and I can tell he’s preparing an argument.
“You are not sleeping outside alone,” I reiterate. “You’d have to tie me to a bed in the inn to stop me.”
His lips part, color flushing his cheeks. “Maybe that could be arranged,” he says, low and with a hint of mischief. Then his eyes widen, as if he can’t believe what he just said.
Neither can I.
I fight to find my voice as I stare at him, feeling too flustered already. The thought of him tying me down to a bed excites me in a way that has my toes curling, my heart stuttering traitorously. “Well, if you aren’t going to stop me, then you might as well lie down.”
I could cut the tension between us with my knives.
The campfire’s amber light flickers over the worried lines of his face.
He looks away, his jaw tightening as he stares into the flames.
A quiet longing pulses from him, a wish that he could let himself be closer to me.
Heat crawls up my neck, and I’m glad the red glow of the campfire will hide it.
I’m surprised by how badly I wish for that, too.
“Fine,” he says. Then he sits on his roll. He braces his elbows against his knees, his shoulders taut beneath his black tunic. “You should sleep first,” he says quietly, his voice hoarse.
“And give you a chance to stay awake all night? Not a chance.”
“I’m not sleeping.” He frowns at me. “Not with you here.”
My first instinct is to roll my eyes, but I pause instead. He’s not trying to be dramatic. He’s really worried about me.
I sit down on my roll, watching him from across the dancing fire. “Would you feel better if I tied you down?” It’s an honest question, lacking the heat of our banter only a moment ago.
He considers it. “Bind my wrists.”
My pulse flutters as I crawl to his side. If only we were doing this under different circumstances, a night where we share a bed instead of having six feet between our rolls. That distance might as well be a chasm.
Desmond lowers his head as he holds his wrists together, supplicating to me.
We’re silent as I grab a thick leather cord from his pack and wrap it around his wrists.
My fingers brush against the crescent moon inked on his skin, and he inhales like the touch has shocked him.
Then he stills, as if ashamed that his body betrayed him.
“Tighter,” he quietly says.
I hesitate. “Tighter might hurt.”
“Please, Cynthia.” His voice roughens. He meets my gaze, his expression tired and mournful, as if he’s already committed an unforgivable sin.
My throat feels too thick to speak. I nod, pulling the cord so tight that it strains against him. Then I knot it.
I expect him to protest as I sit beside him, but he doesn’t move. He just stares through the logs shifting and crackling as the flames devour them, as though his mind is on another fire—one that painted the sky red and gray with smoke.
“Gashil showed me something. From the past, I think,” I tell him.
“Your past?”
“No. Yours.”
He stiffens. As if he fears the answer, he slowly asks, “And what did you see?”
“You were with Auri on a battlefield, overlooking a human fort around a faery door. There were two moons, and fire raged. There was so much death.” I wince, remembering the screams. The acrid scent of burning flesh as the humans tossed body after body of their own into the flames.
“Why did they burn their dead?” I ask myself aloud, puzzled by it.
Desmond is so still that I’m not sure if he’s breathing. “They feared what lay beyond death,” he whispers.
I crawl toward him, then rest my hand on his shoulder to comfort him. He flinches.
“I shouldn’t have brought it up,” I murmur. If he’s reacting this strongly, that vision must’ve been a real memory, plucked by Gashil out of his head. He doesn’t want to relive it, and I was a careless fool for mentioning it. “Are you thirsty?”
Nodding, he reaches for his flask, then opens it with his teeth. He drinks for so long that there can’t possibly be a drop left, but he hands it to me. Steam curls from the opening.
I blink. “Tea?”
“It can fill itself with anything that was poured into it once.”
“Hag magic?” I ask, impressed.
“Something like that.” Finally, a smile curves his full lips. “It was a rare Gift from an unseelie court.”
Taking it from him, I sip the tea. It’s a perfect blend of honey and an earthy, bitter herb I’ve never tasted before.
This would be a dangerous present for someone who often imbibes, but also extremely useful.
Then I remember what Auri said about Desmond being lost in the bottom of a bottle. Sadness pulls at me.
Desmond’s gaze lingers on my mouth, then my throat as I swallow.
I pretend I don’t notice. “What’s your favorite tea?” I ask him.
“Peppermint.” The answer comes too quickly, like it’s been a long time since someone asked him a question about himself. For the briefest moment, warmth flickers in his eyes. Then it vanishes. “Cynthia.” His voice lowers. “I need you to listen carefully.”
The shift sends unease coiling through me. I straighten.
“If I fall asleep and have a nightmare, do not touch me.”
I frown. “Desmond—”
“At any cost.” His jaw tightens hard enough to ache. “I mean it.” The warning sounds less like a threat and more like a plea.
The fire crackles louder in the silence that follows.
“You think you’ll hurt me?” My voice cracks involuntarily.
“I know I could.” His gaze remains fixed on the flames, but every muscle in his body looks carved from stone. “I’ll stay awake,” he mutters. “That’s safer.”
“No. Absolutely not.” I can’t lie to myself that I’m not afraid when he’s so adamant that he should be restrained. But my conviction to keep him company is even stronger than the fear. I’ve survived tombs overrun with traps. I’ve persevered through famine. Fear won’t stop me now.
His brows furrow.
“You’re exhausted already,” I continue. “You’ve been pushing yourself for days, and if you stay awake all night watching for danger, you’ll be useless tomorrow.”
“I’d rather be useless than risk—”
“You’re sleeping.” The command leaves my mouth sharper than intended.
He looks startled by it. Honestly, so am I.
I lower my voice. “You can’t keep punishing yourself every time something scares you.”
A muscle feathers in his jaw. For a long moment, neither of us speaks.
Then, with obvious reluctance, he lies down and closes his eyes. “Go back to your roll. Please.”
I almost argue that I’ll stay by his side. Yet I don’t want to push him any farther than I have already, so I retreat to my bedroll. Crickets chirp in the field around us, and the howling call of a wild animal has the hairs on my neck rising. It’s not a call that I recognize.
Still, I feel safe. I know that even with his hands bound, Desmond wouldn’t let harm come to me.
Maybe that’s how I manage to lie down, letting my eyes flutter closed with a sigh.
I wake to the sound of Desmond choking on a scream.