The nymph rises to stand on its hind legs, back bent. I believe the creature is male, for he appears akin to a little old man. His bald, rounded skull possesses three measly hairs, which sprout from furrowed gray skin. A white shift falls to his knees.
The nymph’s bulging eyes thin. “You do not have an appointment.”
“No,” I admit, “but we were informed you would accept an offering to enter Under?” I present him my most sincere smile.
He blinks slowly. Sleepy, or suspicious? “We?”
Scanning the forest at my back, I spot Harper peeking out from behind a tree. I wave her closer. She hesitates, but soon picks her way over to the ring of mushrooms, upper lip twitching at the nymph’s shriveled appearance, the shift’s gossamer fabric shivering in strips around his bowed legs.
“We are novitiates from Thornbrook,” I explain to the creature, trying my best to articulate confidently. “We seek entrance into Under, if you please.”
“You and everyone else,” he mutters. “So what’ll it be? What is your offering?” He looks to Harper, coarse brows low, mouth mulish.
“Bread,” I say.
“What flavor?”
“Rye.”
He huffs and crosses his arms. “Very well.”
Harper slips her hand into her pack, where the bread awaits. “But we only have one extra loaf.”
“We still have fruit and cheese,” I point out.
“And how long will that last us?”
We’ve a week’s worth of food. Though we must conserve it, eventually we’ll need to forage for more. Once we reach Under, we cannot consume any food or drink but our own.
“It’s the only way,” I whisper.
She bares her teeth. “Spoken like Mother Mabel’s blind follower.” Turning sharply on her heel, she regards the gnarled creature. “Will you take another offering instead?”
That stony gaze rakes Harper, then me, before settling on the dagger hanging at my waist. “What about the blade?”
“Done,” announces Harper.
“Not done!” I snap.
She scoffs. “I’m to give up my meal just so you can keep your stupid knife? I don’t think so. Why can’t you give something up?”
The nymph glances between us. I bite the inside of my cheek until it bleeds.
“Because—” I suck in a shaky breath, praying for patience. “We need weapons. We need protection.”
“Then what about those special salves you’re hoarding? Don’t deny it. I’ve seen them.”
As if I would give up my mother’s poultices. She never taught me how to make them, despite touting the honor of Veraness’ head apothecary. By the time I was old enough to work in the shop, her days were often marked by apathy or impetuosity or both, her emotions too volatile, the clarity necessitated to run a business far beyond her grasp. Once these poultices are gone, they cannot be replenished. “You agreed to this,” I say. “Give him the bread.”
“Why does it need a loaf of bread? The thing looks seconds away from keeling over.” She flips her long hair over her shoulder, daring the nymph to argue. He stares at her with distaste.
“Angry mortal woman,” he croons, “I do not appreciate your insults. Whatever it is you seek, you will not find it here.” The small round door slams shut, dust and pebbles rattling loose in the aftershock.
Harper’s gaze swings to mine, dark with reproach. “Well that was a waste of time.” She pats her hair into place.
The smallest, hardest lump of coal sears my chest where my heart should be. This mission is impossible enough without another obstacle tossed into our path. “If you had offered your bread to the nymph, we would have passed through. Now we’ll have to find another way in.”
“Why amIto blame? You had the opportunity to give up your salves.” Hands planted on her hips, she lashes back, “You are equally at fault.”
