Why did I have to spoil it so close to the end?Fern thought, increasingly morose as she watched a haycart trundle past on their left.
I ruined everything in Thune when it was all going perfectly fine, and here I am, doing the same again, but in a whole new way. Viv and Astryx should get together and compare notes. “That Fern! Such a genius for fucking up a perfectly good thing at the last minute!”She rolled her eyes and stared grimly ahead.If I’d kept my stupid mouth shut, then we’d be having a nice conversation right now. Gods, a legendary adventurer wantedmeto stick around and keep her company. I’ve spent my whole life dreaming of being inside the stories I read, and now Iactuallyhave the opportunity, and I can’t even be bothered to answer the question.
Although Fern had to admit to herself that even if she hadn’t run them off the road into the ditch of another argument, she still wasn’t positive what her answer might have been, and now it was difficult to untangle from the brambles of everything else around it.
“Crap.”
Astryx turned to look at her with a question on her face.
Fern realized she hadn’t kept that to herself. “Oh. Nothing. Sorry. Just . . . thinking out loud, I guess.”
She considered a real apology but couldn’t seem to put her paws on the right words. She experienced a sudden, vivid recollection of standing drunk in the street, staring at the candlelit windows of Legends & Lattes, trying to muster up the courage to make good on her promise to Cal by confronting Viv . . . and then failing utterly.
Potential conversations played out in her mind, halting, awkward, and with Astryx falling back to an unassailable position of literal centuries of experience.
So, it was surprising when the elf was the one to speak.
“This isn’t how I imagined the end of the journey,” she said in a thin voice, gazing toward Amberlin and rocking gently from side to side with Bucket’s endless rolling motion. She cleared her throat. “I’m sorry for the words I said last night. And . . . earlier. They were unkind.”
Fern sighed. “Truthfully, you were pretty restrained. Mine’s the tongue that got away.”
“No. I’d like to finish, please. I . . . Ishamedyou. A thimbleful of disdain poisons the entire well. It must never find its way into a friendship. It’s been a long time since I’ve had one, but I remember that much.” She drew both horses to a halt and turned in her saddle to find Fern’s eyes. “And I would like to keep this one, even if we go our separate ways.”
The sincerity in her voice and the intensity of her gaze hooked something in Fern’s chest and unexpected tears threatened.
They became all but inevitable when Astryx dismounted and approached Persimmon to extend both hands palm up in a distressingly formal way.
“Stop that,” whispered Fern.
Astryx ignored her, ghostlight eyes arresting. “I beg your forgiveness for the words I said. I beg your patience for the ways I fail. I do not expect it, but crave and strive for your regard.”
“Gods-dammit,” replied Fern, her voice gummy with tears. “I don’t know how this works. Do I put my paws in yours?” She didn’t wait for an answer and did it anyway.
Astryx’s fingers were dry and warm beneath her own.
“Okay,” said Fern, sniffing.
“I have not forgotten anything you said,” murmured the Oathmaiden. “I will give your words the consideration they are due.”
Fern didn’t know which words she meant, because she’d said a lot of them, but she didn’t trust her voice enough to ask the elf to clarify.
Instead, she nodded, intensely aware that this was the part where she should apologize in return.
But Astryx dropped her hands away. “Nothing else need be said for now.” Which was both awful and a relief at the same time.
The elf remounted, and they continued down the hill.
Uncomfortably aware that Zyll had been observing all this from behind her, Fern twisted to look back as they got under way. She caught the gleam of the goblin’s eyes in the shadows of the red hood.
Zyll offered no comment.
Dear Viv,
This journey is almost at an end. It feels like I’m approaching a test that I’ve already failed several times, and have probably already failed again without knowing it yet. I feel a dreadful anticipation, like unbelievable possibilities lie ahead, if only I say the precise magic word required—but I don’t trust myself to recognize it.
On the brighter side, I got into the first brawl of my life. Hells, I even swung a blade, although it was a little one. I also might have actually won, sort of. Maybe technically? I survived, anyway. Ha! You took up reading, and I took up armed combat. How about that?
This is going to take some explaining, though, and also some awkward admissions and the recounting of some conversations that I’m not sure paint me in a very good light.
