Is she truly comparing risen flour to my prized possessions? “Those salves were my mother’s,” I retort. “I would never give them up.”
“And yet she didn’t extend the same courtesy to you.”
I can feel the shape of my face as it collapses, dropping into my stomach, then lower, splattering at my feet. My deepest wound, torn open afresh.
Tears slip down my cheeks, hot against my cool skin. Harper turns away, oddly quiet.
I’ve wondered whether my peers knew of the circumstances surrounding my arrival at the abbey. Mother Mabel would never betray my privacy. Harper must have heard it from someone who spotted me on that storm-drenched night.
“We should get moving,” I mumble. Somehow, we will have to find another way in to Under.
Many hours later, we stop to make camp. Harper drops her rucksack and sinks onto a stump, drenched in sweat. Two strips of dampened fabric mark where the straps have cut into her shoulders. What is she carrying in there? The pack is nearly twice her size.
Tucking my supplies between the tree roots, I pull my canteen free and take a deep swallow. Harper drained hers hours ago, and we haven’t passed a stream since. The ruby sheen of her skin snags my eye. Her lips, too, are heavily cracked.
Biting the inside of my cheek, I glance upward, seeking the spread of violet overhead, a band of cooling calm. This same sky reaches down to Thornbrook’s fertile earth. Why, then, does it appear so different?
“Here.” Crouching down so I’m eye level with Harper, I hold out my canteen.
She is watchful as her attention lands on the container, a bur unwittingly hooked in a stocking. “I’m fine.”
“You’re near collapse. Take the water.” The last thing I need is an unconscious traveling companion.
“I told you I don’t need it.”
“You do,” I reply with forced calm.
She peels away the hair plastered to her neck. It is a subtle thing, that quavering hand. “Why are you being kind to me?” A low, waspish tone whetted by fatigue. It takes everything in my power not to chuck the canteen at her head. It would certainly make a satisfying thump.
“You ask a question I do not have an answer to,” I respond, equally prickly. I’m reminded of every vile word, every scornful laugh, every hurled insult I’ve ever endured. Ten years’ worth of malice. “Is it my assistance you snub, or help in general?” Our gazes clash and hold. “Do you want the water or not?”
Harper recoils as though I have demanded she amputate a limb, so alive is her fury. But she accepts, downing every drop until it’s gone.
“I’m going to search for water,” I say, taking the canteen when Harper hands it back to me. “We should build a shelter once I return.” Night will fall in less than an hour, and the cold will sweep in, harsh from the mountain peak. Unfortunately, fire is out of the question. It attracts the fair folk.
Newly revived by the water, Harper straightens on her perch. “I do not believe I agreed to building a shelter. Or have I suffered loss of memory in the last hour?”
Patience, Brielle. But oh, this woman surely tests it. “Unless you want to spend the night shivering, we need to build a shelter. A lean-to is simple enough to construct.” If we work together, it shouldn’t take longer than a few hours.
“If you want to build a lean-to,” she responds, “I won’t stop you. But do not think traveling together means working together. You focus on your needs, and I’ll focus on mine. Deal?”
There is so much I might say were I not so cowardly.
We need to take protective measures, I might state. Or perhaps,I will not carry you through this journey. Or even,You need to pull your own weight. Yet I say nothing.
I stride off, denying Harper the pleasure of witnessing my flaming face. A scream hammers blows upon my ribs, but I refuse to let it escape. Harper’s presence won’t stop me from acquiring Meirlach. This I must remember.
After blessing a nearby stream, I refill my canteen and begin gathering larger branches for the roof and walls of the shelter. Dark descends with startling speed. At one point, I’m certain I spot something moving in the brush, but when I peer closer, I find the area empty, nothing to disturb the undergrowth. The buzzing beneath my skin intensifies. I regret leaving my lamp back at Thornbrook, having wanted to avoid carrying its extra weight. A light would be a blessing. They are unfamiliar, these trees. They do not reach. They loom.
It’s likely nothing. Fear of the unknown etches shadows where they do not exist, yet the wind carries a scent, and I know in my bones I am not imagining it.
“Will you continue to lurk out of sight like a coward,” I call, “or will you step into the light, stranger?”
An errant gust lifts the hem of my skirt. I slap it into place, surveying the darkened area with straining ears, heightened senses. The sky, too, is masked.
I drop the branches and draw my dagger. A twig snaps, sharp like a fracturing bone.
“A woman wandering alone after dark? Foolish of you.”
