My head jerks awkwardly, not quite a nod. It is both relief and sustained agony. Under offers no guarantees. We might never reach the end of the wetland.
“I want to thank you, Brielle.” Zephyrus draws his knees to his chest as a child in need of comfort might. “If not for you, I would have had to face yet another tithe alone.”
I’ve never heard words so bitter. “After what happened with Hyacinth, you never loved another?”
He turns his head. In this position, our noses align, mouths separated by a small span of dusk-colored air. “I have been alone for a long time. It is safer for me, for everyone.”
“You don’t desire companionship?”
“The problem with living forever,” he responds quietly, “is that the people you grow to care for will eventually leave you. A mortal body ages. Bones fall brittle and organs fail. Do I desire companionship?” A forced smile takes shape upon his mouth. “Yes. But I am well aware of its costs.”
I had not considered companionship from the perspective of one who lives forever. What a sad thing to experience. “I’m sorry.”
“Do not pity me. I accepted my fate long ago.” His attention returns to mine. “Is that what you want? To walk through life with another?”
It’s silly to even consider the possibility. I am a Daughter of Thornbrook. Once I take my final vows, there can be no man in my life save the Father.
But I have thought of it, briefly. A passing notion that will never come true.
“I do wish that,” I admit, “sometimes.”
His chest deflates with a slow expulsion of air, which smells of the earth. His eyes are very dark. They remind me that these woods are not safe.
“Have you thought of the qualities this companion would possess?” he asks, a shadow of his old playful self.
I’m ashamed to imagine the possibility at all, but cowering in this burrow, far from civilization… no one from Thornbrook ever has to know.
“This man would be kind,” I murmur, because what is love without kindness? “He would act selflessly. He would treat those around him with compassion and respect. He would always seek to better himself and would give his life to the Father. He would face conflict readily and speak honestly. His intentions would be nothing less than pure.”
This man is ideal. Unfortunately, he does not exist. When I think of the person whose presence makes my heart skip, I see only a pair of vivid green eyes.
Zephyrus appears saddened by what I have said. “And you would deserve nothing less.”
I bite my lip shyly. It means more than I can say, his words. “What about you?”
“I’m a simple man, Brielle. All I want is for someone to know my heart is theirs. That is all.”
I’m still considering this when he draws away. “It’s time,” he says.
I force myself to nod. Ready or not, we must act.
“We’ll split up, and I’ll draw them off. The hounds never miss a scent twice.” He slides out into the open, then sticks his arm back into the burrow. A wave of nausea rolls through me, but I grasp his hand, allowing him to pull me from our shelter. I’m remembering what it feels like to become prey.
“I’ll draw them north,” Zephyrus says. “Go south. Once the bog ends, find whatever shelter you can. I’ll return for you.”
The moment he pulls away, the air sweeps in with a disconcerting chill. His gaze catches mine, and holds.
“Stay safe,” I whisper.
His attention drops to my mouth, where it lingers. “And you, Brielle of Thornbrook.” Then the West Wind vanishes through the low-hanging fog.
It feels as though the wind nudges me onward with increasing urgency as I splash through the marsh, clouds of insects descending, then scattering at my arrival. The baying of the hounds snaps at my heels, yet my legs leap forward with seamless togetherness. I move like the Bringer of Spring, a god whose motions aid the wind.
A break in the trees ahead reveals a well-trodden forest path. I follow its trampled curve as the terrain ascends, until I realize how close the yelps truly are, growing louder by the minute.
It is not Zephyrus’ scent the hounds have caught.
It is mine.
