Chapter 1 #3
‘I know who I’ve run out of credit with, thanks,’ I snap.
Actually, I don’t. I’m avoiding the letters that arrive with the word overdue stamped on the envelope.
Out here, our mail is delivered sporadically by anyone who happens to be passing through, which means it’s conceivable the letters might never have reached me.
‘Now, if you don’t mind, I need to put out the fire.
If it’s cold in here, they’ll have to snuggle. ’
‘I wasn’t aware hypothermia was one of the extra services we offered.’
‘I’m sure it would be, if you found a way to charge for it.’ I fold my arms. ‘Why are you even here? Don’t you have a tree to go prune?’
Another flash of lightning floods the room, and he gives me a withering look I’m sure I don’t deserve. ‘It’s raining.’
‘Then take the rest of the day off. Go and do . . . whatever it is you do in your free time.’
After nearly two years, you’d think I’d know the answer to this, but I can count on one hand the things I know about Astin.
After inheriting the inn from my grandmother and deciding to make a go of running it – much to the rest of my family’s dismay – he appeared at my door after I opened.
It was only a couple of weeks after the attack, and all I knew of him was that he’d gained a hexmark and lost a sister that night.
I’d taken one look at his face and said he could stay as long as he needed.
Of course I didn’t realise sympathising with him would mean living with an insomniac who creeps around at night while spending his days offering me lectures on Things Daisy Is Doing Wrong. If I ask him about his life, I’m lucky to get anything more than a grunt in response.
We might share some mutual trauma, but it doesn’t make him any less of an ass.
Instead of going away to prepare for his strange nocturnal activities, he settles for squeezing past me and saying, ‘I’ll sort out your fire, shall I?’
I pout while he pours a bucket of water over the flames, sending a gush of smoke into the empty sitting area. It’d be a lot easier to stay annoyed with him if he didn’t end most of his lectures by finding a new way to make himself useful.
When he’s finished, he drops into one of the armchairs – covered in a floral fabric he once described as the most hideous pattern he’d ever seen – and glances over at me. ‘Happy?’
I’d be happier if our guests were in one room and I didn’t have to resort to making myself freeze in the name of love. ‘Delirious,’ I tell him.
‘Excellent. So maybe now’s a good time to discuss this?’ He slides his hand down the side of the seat, and my stomach drops as he pulls out a red envelope.
I squirm. ‘I didn’t think you’d look there.’
‘I know. That’s why I looked. How many more have you hidden?’
‘Not many! I swear.’
‘Daisy.’
‘Really, it’s not that bad.’ Another deluge of hailstones against the window reminds me I should mention the hole in the barn roof, but something tells me revealing that particular problem, while he’s holding a debt letter so garishly crimson that I’m afraid to open it, may not be the best idea.
‘I’m going into Shiverholde tomorrow to visit my parents –’
‘And how many more times are you going to ask them to bail you out before you admit you have a problem? You cannot keep bundling the few guests you have into one room and expect to keep this place afloat.’
‘I can and I will.’ I grab a cloth and scrub the bar.
It doesn’t need cleaning – a slow day like this, there’s no liquid rings to wipe off or crumbs to brush away – but it’s a nice distraction from his words.
We have some version of this argument every time a potential match arrives.
‘Making people happy might be a novel concept to you, but it’s important to me. I won’t stop.’
Sometimes, seeing them fall in love is the only thing that chases the nightmares away.
He regards me for a moment, and I studiously avoid making eye contact, hoping I can ignore him into silence.
It doesn’t work.
‘Then answer me this.’ He rises from the chair and snatches the cloth from my hands, holding it behind his head while I make a half-hearted attempt to jump after it.
‘If you believe there’s someone out there for everyone, why are you hiding out here in the middle of nowhere?
Don’t you want to find your own perfect match? Is that not . . . important to you?’
I freeze. Of all the questions I expected, it wasn’t that. ‘I don’t see how that’s relevant.’
By some mutual, silent agreement, we’ve never told each other what awful malady our hexmarks have inflicted upon us, but his question is far too close to the truth of mine.
‘Just curious, that’s all.’ He shrugs, like his words mean nothing, like he hasn’t opened a can of worms inside my chest to watch them wriggle. ‘You love the idea of romance, but you don’t seem to want it for yourself.’
Tears prick the corners of my eyes. He has no idea what I want. How sometimes I lie awake at night and it’s hard to breathe because the yearning hurts so much; how there’s an ache in my chest I will never ease because there’s no way the void can be filled.
I can’t have the things I want, but I can help others avoid the same fate. If I can spread enough happiness, maybe it’ll make up for everything that I am.
Astin wants to know why I’m not searching for my perfect match?
I already found him.
And then I killed him.