The darkness would swallow us here if it wasn’t for the flickering flames on the tip of the torch. It leads the way for me, and only for me, because he can see in the blackout. It’s because of the torchlight that I see what’s coming ahead.
Rows of little stone buildings.
Mausoleums.
If he knows what they are, he doesn’t care that he drags me through the wedge of space between two stone walls, he just takes me around to the back of them.
Here, we are out of sight of the camp.
The blackness is thick, save for the wedges of crimson light that seep through the gaps between the small buildings, and the flaming torch that, dropping to a knee, he slams into the earth.
There are no graves over here, no headstones or anything beyond broken iron fences and a woodchipper that’s left to rust in the dark.
Planted on one knee, the warrior jerks his chin, his face dancing with shadows stretching up him like inky fingers.
“Go.”
A command I’m used to in this pattern.
Time to pee.
I tug the rope, and it slips free from his grip.
Since I tripped over it once, I loop it around my wrist to my elbow, around and around, until it’s secure.
Before I go anywhere, I lure off the straps of my bag from my shoulders and let the backpack thud to the ground. I follow it down, fast to rummage for the wet wipes stored in there.
The packet is flimsy in my grip.
“I need more,” I tell him, because I guess there’s only two or three wipes left in the pack. “And an inhaler,” I remind him.
The greenish hue of his stare burns through the dusty light at me.
Both on our knees, we should be eye-level with the bags between us, but the fae are massive, and this one is no exception. Even kneeling, I have to lift my chin to meet his cold, silent gaze.
The wintergreen of his eyes fades into frost as he considers me.
The frosty look is never a good thing.
I’ve learned a lot, and one of those things is that the paler his eyes, the quicker I better get a move on.
So I do.
The fresh limp slows me down, but I walk the extra distance to the woodchipper.
Might be pushing my luck with this one, since it’s further away than any time I’ve gone before.
But also, privacy, you know?
The warrior watches me go until I’m behind the big wheel of the tractor that’s hooked up to the woodchipper, then—
“Stop.”
That halts me.
The wheel is tall enough to reach my chest, but he stops me from going any further out of sight.
A huff grates me before I fumble with the drawstring of my sweatpants. The knots are triple tied. All that walking, I need them as secure as I can get them.
