Chapter 13
Eventually, they sacrifice the boat to the riverbank—which makes Torver feel a little sad.
He feels guilty enough for having stolen the thing, but the thought that it could have belonged to an Enforcer soothes him slightly. That’ll teach them.
They walk north, finding slim trails in the grass worn there by animals, and Torver turns every now and then so that he’s walking backwards.
Just for a few steps. Just to quash the feeling that they’re being followed.
The sun moves lazily across the sky, the breeze from the distant ocean cleansing the fells.
“How will we know when we’re there?” Lavellin asks, turning from where it walks ahead of them.
Torver watches its lips move and it’s impossible for him not to compare the fae to Bassen, who trudges at his side.
Lavellin walks with a long, graceful stride, practically bouncing with energy. Meanwhile, Bassen has a few drops of ruddy brown on her shoulder where her ear’s been bleeding. Her legs drag underneath her with each step as she doggedly examines the map in her hands.
“Just a few more hours,” she announces. Then, quieter, to the ground, “I wish I could walk faster. My whole body just hurts at the slightest thing. Sometimes, I wish…”
Bassen trails off, but from the way she avoids Torver’s gaze, he knows what she’d been about to say. They’ve had this fight before. She was going to say she wishes she had no magic at all.
“I understand,” he says, smooths the scowl from his face. “It can’t be nice having your body working against you all the time.”
Bassen gives him a small smile. “It isn’t.”
They step, one after the other, over a fallen log that sharpens the air with the smell of its decay.
“I have an idea,” Lavellin says, gently taking the map from Bassen as she stumbles over the wood. It folds the map, presses it into Torver’s hands. “May I?”
Torver doesn’t have time to react before Lavellin has swept Bassen up into its arms. It lifts her as if she weighs nothing at all and she lets out a sound of shock and delight.
“Lavellin!” she exclaims.
“Yes,” Torver scowls, stirring with something. “Lavellin. What are you doing?”
He blinks and her arms are around its neck, hands linked at its nape. She looks small and dainty against the wash of it. He feels mortified at the sight, suddenly assaulted by the unwanted memory of it scenting his bed. How it had made him feel alive with misplaced want.
He grits his teeth.
“It’s okay, Torv,” Bassen says, wafting a hand in the air. “This feels…good. Why does this feel good?”
Lavellin restarts their trek, striding confidently ahead and leaving a flustered Torver to trot after them.
“One of my many magics,” the fae replies slyly. “Torver’s already gotten a taste. I can dull your pain if I feel a little of it myself.”
Bassen nestles happily into its arms. “This feels amazing,” she moans, her head tilting back. “Oh, thank you, Lavellin.”
“My pleasure,” it smiles. She grins back moonily.
Torver’s mouth falls open. He forgets his shock at the sight of his Bassen being manhandled.
“Wait, in the wagon, after the rats—that’s what was happening?” Torver’s voice comes out more high-pitched than intended. “I thought you just dulled my pain, I didn’t know you were taking it!”
“What can I say?” Lavellin drawls, quirking the scars that bracket its mouth. “I’m a very selfless being.”
Bassen croons dreamily in its lean arms.
“Every magic has a consequence, Torv,” she says. “I think that’s the difference between fae magic and human magic, wouldn’t you say, Lavellin? Fae magic has a price to pay if you use it, human magic has a price to pay if you don’t.”
“So excellently put, Bass, my dear,” Lavellin smiles, readjusting her as it manoeuvres over a rocky outcropping.
Torver chews his lip, feels lied to. He’d have bloody well told it to take its hands off him if he’d known it was feeling some of his pain for him.
He huffs and tramps through the grass after them, grumbling and unsure why he feels so gross about this.
They hike through the wilds like that for several hours, and when Bassen feels suitably replenished, Lavellin returns her feet to the ground. She stretches her arms dramatically, declaring that the respite has given her the will to sate her consequence.
To cement the point, she kills a starling flying overhead. The glitter-coated bird arcs gracefully to the ground, landing in a nearby bush where it hangs like a crushed plum.
He should be pleased that she feels better, but instead, Torver is irritated.
They follow the routes of the map, but the rolling hills and the verdant swell of the land don’t soften his frown.
Eventually, growing sick of his rolling eyes and having heard one snide comment too many, Bassen pulls him back, allowing Lavellin to walk far ahead.
“You going to tell me?” She raises her brow.
“I don’t know what you’re on about.”
She taps his arm firmly with her knuckles. “You’re moody. What’s the matter with you?”
Torver huffs.
“Torver.”
“Fine,” he exhales. “It’s just—you got over it quickly, didn’t you?
Bassen frowns. “What are you on about?”
“Lavellin! Since when do you trust it? You were ready to leave it to die in the Dodwood and then suddenly, you two are the best of chums! Not to mention that—display, earlier!”
Bassen chuckles. “Jealous, are we?”
“Throwing words around, are we?” he pouts, watching her eyes roll. “I’m not jealous of it—I could pick you up any time I like. I’m strong enough! But I couldn’t magically make you feel better if I did, so now it’s bye-bye Torver, is it?”
She rubs his shoulder with the palm of her hand reassuringly. “Of course not, Torv. I’ve put far too much work into you to replace you now.”
He shoots her a look.
“I can’t believe that’s what’s stressing you,” she laments. “Not the fact we’re having to walk the length of the Kingdom on foot to go and kill a dragon to stop ourselves getting invaded.”
He shoots her another look.
“Of course that’s stressful!” he grumbles. “I just…don’t like how it swept you off your feet without asking. Well, it did ask—but it barely waited for you to reply!”
Bassen’s face gains a knowing look, and he puzzles at her as they ascend a hill whose grasses brush their knees.
“What?” he asks.
“Do you think you might not be jealous of it—because you were jealous of me?”
Torver’s face screws up in disgust.
“Jealous of you?” he repines loudly. “So you’re saying I wanted Lavellin to pick me up instead? Oh yeah, sure. Fucking listen to yourself, Bass. You sound insane.”
The ferocity of Bassen’s laughter drowns him out and, at the crest of the hill, Lavellin pauses to look back at them. It waves.
“You could do worse than Lavellin,” Bassen shrugs, waving back.
“I took a chance on it because of you. Because I trust you. And it's proven itself, hasn’t it? It’s risking its life for this.
I’ll admit I was a bit cold at first, but it’s clearly on our side.
Don’t tell me you’ve changed your mind about that? ”
Torver touches his string, considering. Bassen’s brow softens.
“Did something happen?”
Torver shifts his weight uncomfortably.
He doesn’t want to admit it, but he’s already kept Wast from her. The longer he goes without telling her about that, the angrier he’s sure she’ll be if she finds out. Who knows how hard she’ll hit his arm then?
“There was this thing…before we left. Lavellin had some dream…”
When he trails off, Bassen looks at him expectantly. But Torver’s attention has been drawn ahead. To a distant bush from which a child has just emerged.
The young girl’s face is bright red, and when she spots the three of them, she sprints toward them, crying loudly.
“Help! Please!” Her voice is high and panicked, underscored by the rustling of her sackcloth dress. “You’ve got to help me! My mum had an accident!”
Torver’s heart lurches in his chest and he crouches down to be eye level with the girl. She’s young, a handful of years younger than he was when he was alone in the wilderness.
“Hey, hey,” he says as the girl launches herself into his arms. “It’ll be okay, what happened?”
Bassen stiffens behind him. “Lavellin!” She calls to the fae ahead of them, further down the path than the child. “We’ve got company!” she warns.
The girl doesn’t seem to notice, just presses her snotty face into Torver’s shirt.
“You’ve got to help!” Tears run down her red face as she leans back to wipe it with her sleeve. “Come with me—this way!”
The girl leaps from his arms and takes him by the hand, pulling him off the path they had been walking.
Lavellin, a headcloth procured from its pocket and tied quickly over its ears, jogs to catch up.
Bassen’s features are lined with concern, she touches Torver’s arm while the frantic girl tugs on him.
“It could be a trap—Torver, we shouldn’t just run off, what if—”
“She’s just a kid!” Torver snaps. “She’s alone in the fells and she needs our help.”
Bassen seems to swallow what she was about to say.
“Torver got kicked out when he was a kid,” she explains to Lavellin, a small distance away. Her voice is hushed. “His mother left him to wander the wilderness so now he’s an easy mark.”
“It wasn’t like that,” Torver grits out. “She had to do it. She was protecting me. Just leave us alone if you’re not going to help, alright?”
He turns his back on them and crouches down in front of the girl, who has resumed blubbering. “It’s okay, sweetheart. We’re going to help your mum, yeah? Just take us to her.”
The girl nods, sniffing loudly. She takes Torver by the hand and pulls him into the brush, down a steep incline and towards a small wood. Bassen and Lavellin trot behind and Torver clenches his jaw. How can they just assume this is a trap? This girl is a child, and she is alone and he—
“Where were you going?” the girl asks, squeezing Torver’s hand with her tiny one, wet with snot and tears.