Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
ATLAS
Atlas cast his line over the water one last time for the afternoon, nodding a greeting to the swan as it glided by over the water.
He wasn’t sure which of the princes it was—somehow Lindy was able to tell them apart—but the clear, uncannily intelligent eyes gave away the human soul that was trapped inside.
He almost felt sorry for them, being stuck in the body of a bird and forced to eat weeds and insects and the green algae that floated on the surface of the lake.
But only almost.
They had seemed to take his lecture to heart, and over the week since, they had begun to be more attentive to Lindy, keeping close to her as she knitted.
A few of them had attempted to assist her in harvesting the nettles, but their beaks had done more damage than help to the stalks, and she had shooed them wordlessly away.
His line jerked as he got a bite, and he carefully drew it in.
A short while later, with six fish cleaned and ready to cook, he returned to the campsite.
Their days had quickly fallen into a comfortable routine.
Lindy rose with the sun every morning to continue with her curse-breaking endeavors, and he did his best to join her.
Mornings had never been his friend, and especially after sleeping on the ground every night, his body protested the early rising almost as much as his mind protested the idea of sleeping in while Lindy was already hard at work.
He foraged and fished, making good on his promise of keeping her alive, and spent whatever free hours he had left before sunset searching for Phoebe.
His attempts at asking Jacques for information were fruitless, as all the swan could do was snap his beak and flap his wings in frustration.
In the evenings, Lindy joined him by the fire, and he would tell her stories about his life growing up, or about Ms. Fumley and her insistence on feeding the boys who climbed the beanstalk, or anecdotes involving Phoebe and her delightful gosling shenanigans.
She listened and asked questions and even managed half a smile now and then, but he had yet to get past the wall she had thrown between them of thorny sarcasm and fear disguised as stubborn independence.
Atlas started the fire and set the fish to roasting before joining Lindy on the shore.
The sun was nearly set, the sky painted in brilliant shades of orange and pink, and the soft light played about her delicate features while the breeze from over the lake danced through the edges of her silky hair.
If it hadn’t been for the dogged determination on Lindy’s face as she forced her red and blistered fingers to continue, it would have been a beautiful picture.
His heart rebelled at the sight of her pain, and Atlas was up again in an instant, marching to the closest tree and breaking off two of the straightest sticks he could find.
He returned, dropping wordlessly to the ground beside her, and grabbing a handful of the green nettle fibers and casting a row of stitches onto one of the sticks.
The nettle was still rather damp and waxy, and it felt clumsy under his big fingers, but he pressed on, determined to make it work.
He could feel Lindy’s questioning glare on him, but he studiously ignored it.
As soon as the sun dipped below the horizon, Lindy tossed her knitting to the side and grabbed for his. “What are you doing?”
He used his long arms to his advantage, holding the needles high out of her reach. “Ms. Fumley told me a saying she learned as a child, ‘Misery loves company, and a bitter drink goes down easier with friends.’”
She grabbed for the needles again, then sat back down with a huff and crossed her arms when it became apparent she would have to practically climb on him to reach them. “I’m not miserable.”
He snorted, not believing her one bit, but going along with it anyway. “Maybe I am. I’ve spent every day for just over a week alone.”
“Please.” She rolled her eyes. “You love being alone. You live at the top of a mountain with no one but a goose and your housekeeper. But if you are miserable, maybe you should go home.”
He gave her a mock glare as he set his needles down far away from her and knelt beside the water to rinse his hands. “Maybe you should save those ideas for when the sun is up and you can’t say them.”
Lindy’s jaw fell open, and he turned back to the water. A moment later, he felt her hands shoving against his back, attempting to push him in. He threw his weight forward, holding his breath as he rolled headfirst into the lake. He waited, counting slowly to twenty.
“Atlas?” Lindy’s voice sounded murky and far away to his submerged ears, but the sound of his name from her lips still caused him to suck in a surprised breath.
Which was a foolish thing to do when under the water, and he sat up, coughing and sputtering as he cleared the water from his lungs. He shook wet hair from his forehead.
“Are you alright?” Lindy was ankle-deep in the water, her brows drawn low in concern. She held out a hand to help him, and he clasped her slender fingers in his own.
And pulled.
Lindy shrieked as she fell forward with a splash, and he immediately lost sight of her as more than a dozen feathery wings converged upon him in a storm of swan aggression. He batted away the nipping beaks. “Lindy, call your birds off.”
“I don’t think I will,” she answered coolly. “You pulled me into the lake.”
“You pushed me in first,” he pointed out. The princes, apparently satisfied that he meant no further harm, slowly backed off.
“You were rude.” She crossed her arms, standing in water just deep enough to lap against her elbows.
“You told me to go home.”
“You said you were miserable.”
“Miserable being alone.”
She rolled her eyes. “I still don’t buy it. You live like a hermit.”
“Hermits can still be lonely.” The words left his mouth almost without thinking, and he realized as he said them how true they were.
Ms. Fumley had been right. He was lonely.
It had just taken a thieving prince, an outcast queen, and a ridiculous counter-curse to show him exactly what he was missing.
Lindy.
Lindy and her sharp, sarcastic wit.
Lindy and her damaged heart that still offered kindness and compassion even while it bled.
Lindy and her stubborn, unrelenting insistence on standing on her own, because she had never been shown that she was safe being held.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
He blinked, shoving the sudden revelations aside for consideration at a later time. “Like what?”
“Like there’s something wrong with my face.”
“There’s absolutely nothing wrong with your face,” he answered honestly. “Though it is looking a little dry.”
He swept his hand through the water, sending a wave her way.
She sputtered as the water hit her, then laughed.
The sound was even more beautiful than Atlas had imagined, and he was so distracted by the sparkling sound and the wide, beaming smile on her face that he missed the moment when she launched a counter attack of her own.
He splashed back, then pushed off from the bottom of the lake, retreating into deeper waters.
She squealed and jumped after him, but her laughter quickly turned into panic as she floundered in the water and gasped, “I can’t swim. ”
He was by her side in an instant, gripping her about the waist and treading water as she clung to his shoulders with shaking arms. “Why didn’t you say so?” He pulled through the water with one arm until his feet could reach the bottom again.
“I didn’t think it was that deep. And…I was having fun.”
His heart cracked at the timid, whispered words, as if she felt she should be punished for experiencing a moment of joy. He moved his arm from her waist, intending to let her exit on the water on her own, but she tightened her arms around his neck. “Don’t. Please.”
Atlas resumed his hold and looped his other arm under her legs, hitching her higher. She melted into him, and he closed his eyes, taking a moment to breathe. “I’ve got you, Lindy. You’re safe.”
“I have to admit, I questioned the practicality of carrying around a hooded cloak in the summertime, but I get it now. You were prepared for unexpected dips in the lake.”
Lindy lifted her brows, the action almost imperceptible in the dark shadows of her hood. Now that she was no longer shivering and had a warm meal in her belly, some of her sass seemed to have returned. “Or perhaps I didn’t want anyone to know who I was when I left.”
He tilted his head. “But wouldn’t wearing a cloak in the summertime be more conspicuous than just putting on a hat?”
She pursed her lips in an angry pout, and the effect was so adorable that he laughed. “Perhaps, but it’s much more effective at keeping me warm when disagreeable giants pull me into a lake.”
“Do you often plan for that contingency?”
“I will now.”
Sometime over the course of the week as they had grown more comfortable together, they had slowly shifted from opposite sides of the fire to sitting side by side. He leaned over and flicked the end of her hood.
Lindy swatted his hand away, and the movement caused her hood to fall back.
Her hair, still damp and stringy, had molded to her head under the weight of the fabric, and there was a smudge of dirt on her chin, but she looked so open and at ease as she teased him, her eyes dancing with the laughter that he now knew sounded like music and her cheeks flushed from sitting close to the flame, that his breath caught.
How had he never noticed just how beautiful she was?
Misreading his expression, her hands flew to her hair, and she started shoving her fingers through the ends, lifting it away from her scalp. She grimaced. “I’m sorry. I must look like a mess.”
He shook his head, murmuring, “You don’t. You’re beautiful.”