Chapter 23
Maddox
“Always hold her hand.”
— Nia Quill’s List
My rib is definitely broken, and my head throbs from the gouge at the back. Then there is my twisted leg. Other than that, I am well, all things considered. Turns out, there is a bottom to the great canyon. Who knew?
Firelight plays on the canopy of gnarled branches and leaves above us, a gaping hole cut out where we fell through. My shoulder complains as I reach for more wood to add to the fire, careful not to disturb the female curled like my Biscuits in my lap.
It could be dislocated. Not ideal considering we do not know what sort of monsters lie in wait down here.
Nia whimpers in her sleep, a sound that makes my body ache worse than all the other pains combined.
I was afraid to invite her closer, but her face was so distraught when she tried to find comfort on the uneven ground.
The moment she sat down, she melted into me, her bones becoming my bones. Her heartbeat in harmony with mine.
Such foolish thoughts.
Nia is not a wayward goat to adopt and keep for myself.
I must not let myself grow more attached.
When the new day arrives, we will need to cleanse our wounds. Then we must find shelter and assess where to go from here. Thanks to my visit to our camp, I have some food, but there will not be enough to keep Nia satiated for long. She will need more, and I must find a way to provide it for her.
Perhaps there will be fish in the river. Water means plenty of prey. But also many predators.
Water means wolves.
I trace the scars on my ribs, their phantom sting a sobering reminder of how differently my last encounter could have turned out. Now there is even more at stake.
The wolves. That is the answer.
A few months back, they climbed a trail from the depths of the canyon. If we can find it, perhaps we will be saved as well.
This would mean going toward the danger and not away from it. What other choice do we have? We do not know what lies south of the bridge. North is our best option.
If only I had thought to grab my rucksack before leaping into the canyon. We could have used the supplies within.
Not that I expected to survive.
But we did survive, and now we must make do with only the single dagger on my belt. I will give the blade to Nia to protect herself while I forage for sustenance.
She sleeps soundly, with her hands tucked beneath her cheek. It is strange to see such a vibrant female looking so peaceful. A welcome change from our last interaction before she came to the bridge.
Why did she come? This is a mystery I cannot seem to solve.
Not that the answer matters in the end.
I will keep her safe.
I will take her home.
To her family and friends. To her Nolan.
Using my dagger, I stab the glowing coals, picturing the male’s terrible face.
My own happiness is nothing compared to Nia’s.
My shoulder begins to throb, but my ribs are the real problem. Then there is the cut on the back of my skull.
This night promises to be a long one, especially with this beautiful female using me as her mattress.
Many times, I have sat by a fire and listened for wild animals, but never alongside one whose face is so pleasing.
If only she felt the same way about my grotesque face.
I am well versed in unrequited affection. First, there was Leah. We were younglings when we were introduced, and she only befriended me to get to Ever. Then, there was Wren. She did not want more than friendship.
I am only a stone to step on. Never the destination.
It is no different with this Seelie.
The last handful of days, I have lived in self-imposed exile, needing time and space to assess my life.
After the wolf, I left Gryffin’s wagon in search of more prey, but each time I met a new animal, I did not have the heart to take its life.
Realizing I was no good to anyone on the Unseelie side of the canyon either, I decided to return to the castle, to my Biscuits, but could not manage to make myself cross the bridge.
Instead, I collected stones and sat on the edge, tossing them into the void and trying to listen for any indication that there was a bottom.
I no longer need stones to tell me there is. I am here with a beautiful Seelie fae who says she is sorry for the words she spoke.
But it is I who am sorry for my words.
Not wanting to move Nia, I feed the fire as best I can with the brush and debris that are close by. The fire is small, but it should keep the beasts at bay this night. Wolves do not like fire—one of the many lessons we are taught when young.
In my search for fuel, I discover a decent young branch that feels malleable enough.
If Nia is willing to lend me some of the ribbons from her hair, I will be able to make a crude bow.
The straighter sticks can be carved into arrows, and the longer one, a spear.
They will not be useful against larger prey but may pierce a fish’s flesh.
I do not mind killing fish as much as the other animals.
I think it might be because they are not fluffy.
What is it about fluff that makes something so much cuter?
I do hope Biscuits is all right. Kerris Dawn is probably spoiling him so much that he does not miss me at all.
It is a wonder anyone noticed I was gone in the first place.
Nia wakes with the dawn. A smile breaks across her face, followed by a scowl that is nearly as endearing.
She sits up suddenly, her hands flying to her wild mane of snowy hair as she scans our surroundings.
“It’s real,” she breathes. “We’re really stuck in The Divide?
I thought for certain it was a nightmare. ”
Would she think this was such a nightmare if she were stuck with the Nolan?
I straighten my shoulders, determined to be the best guide possible. “Fear not, Nia Quill. I will take you home.”
This makes her lips purse. There is dirt smudged at the corner of her mouth, but I do not point this out. She is still the most beautiful creature, even when she is covered in muck.
“I wish you would just call me Nia. We are friends, after all.”
“We are not friends.”
I have heard this sentiment too many times before. Being called a friend this way has always meant that we will never be anything more.
She climbs off my lap, her brow furrowed beneath her mane of wild curls and colorful ribbons as she glowers at me. “Yes, we are.”
“No, thank you.” Rolling to my feet, I collect the stick and three arrows I made during the night, along with some moss that will help start our next fire once it dries. Dampness hangs in the air; I would not be surprised if it rained this day.
“What does that mean?” Nia brushes her skirts like it is possible to clear the dirt clinging to the ochre fabric.
I kick some dirt over what remains of the coals, wishing there were a safe way to carry a few with us for when we stop. “It means I reject your friendship.”
“You . . . You can’t reject me.”
“I already have.” If Nia Quill wants something from me, it will not be friendship.
Ignoring the gnaw of hunger in my own stomach, I withdraw my pouch and hand her a stick of jerky.
“You are infuriating,” she clips before taking a bite.
She does not cough or make a face like she did yesterday. I am not the best jerky maker, but I like to think I am better than Gryff. If this was his jerky, she would have tears running down her cheeks.
Although, if he were here instead of me, he would likely have his pack filled with many items to make the journey more comfortable.
He is always prepared for everything. Rain?
Gryff has thought to wrap his tinder box in leather so that it does not get wet.
Lose your knife? Fear not. Gryff has at least four extra blades on his person at all times.
It is a wonder he does not poke something vital when he walks.
Hungry? He might not know how to season meat, but he always carries extra, like he might one day need to feed an entire village on a whim.
I wish I could be more like him, especially with Nia’s life in my clumsy hands.
I must do my best to be steady. To think ahead and anticipate her needs. To not let her beauty or the sweet smell of her skin and hair distract me from my mission to get her home.
When I go to return the jerky to my pocket, my fingers brush the folded piece of parchment Nia gave me.
The one with a list of ways to show another fae you wish to make them your mate.
2. Always hold her hand.
Nia’s hands are stuffed deep into the pockets of her skirts.
Fear is a funny thing.
Nia looks as if she is about to leap out of her skin at every noise. Me? I am afraid of reaching for her hand and having her reject my touch.
If she can be brave, then so can I.
I hold out my hand.
Her eyes glisten as she pulls her hand from her pocket and places it in mine.
My mind does not know what to do with this new development, and I want to say something to reassure her, but all I can think about is how soft and small her hand feels and how wonderful it is to have someone willing to lace her fingers with mine.
To not feel so alone in what is surely the loneliest place in the fae lands.
Together, we step from beneath the low-hanging branches into the unknown.
Many rocks and boulders litter this landscape. Some might have been thrown by my arm. Not the boulders. I am not strong enough to lift those. But the small ones sprinkled across the dirt. They may have fallen just like we did.
The mammoth tree stands alone among the boulders. If we had landed anywhere else, we surely would not have woken again.
The idea of not living is a terrifying one. Mostly because we cannot be sure what waits on the other side of the veil. Although, knowing I would have passed through with Nia Quill does make the thought less distressing.