“And if I did?”
Zephyrus examines Harper as I have done many times before, with the understanding that the one you address hides many untruths, and you must search in every crack and crevice, down to what lies beneath.
“Let me speak plainly,” Harper says. “We need Brielle for this mission. If she dies, so does the opportunity to acquire Meirlach. She will ensure our time is not wasted.”
I stare at my surly traveling companion in astonishment. Never has a word of praise flowed so naturally from her mouth, and certainly not about me. As always, she speaks with conviction. Even I believe her.
She tosses the dagger toward her pack, as if having decided it’s not worth the trouble. I wince as it hits the dirt. The blade will need to be cleaned. “Our only option is to save her life.”
The West Wind’s attention shifts to where I lie prone. Another shiver rattles my insides, and he frowns at the sight. “As it turns out, I agree.”
“Oh.” Harper blinks, then straightens. “Very well.”
“Someone owed me a debt,” he says, “and that debt has been repaid. This”—he lifts a vial of pale liquid—“is the answer to your prayers. I know a hedge witch in Carterhaugh. A master healer. This is one of her more potent remedies. Although, it required a trade: a few drops of your blood.” He lifts my hand, and I notice a small bandage wrapped around my thumb. “Hopefully you don’t mind.”
“That will cure me?” I croak.
“It will.”
Harper speaks from behind. “If you knew this was an option, why didn’t you visit the hedge witch sooner?”
She has a point.
“I wasn’t certain that I could obtain the remedy,” Zephyrus says. “The hedge witch travels great distances to procure ingredients and cannot easily be reached.”
I want to believe him. Harper, too, appears suspicious as she shifts into my line of vision. Then again, she believes nothing. “How convenient that you managed to acquire it at the eleventh hour.”
“Yes,” he replies with a bite. “It is.”
Every feature of my tentative ally pinches in wariness. “Very well.” She waves a hand. “Heal Brielle and be done with it.”
Zephyrus approaches my side, the vial squeezed in his fist. He kneels. Sunlight halos his springing curls. A warm breeze stirs the branched canopy overhead.
“Open your mouth,” he says.
With his attention focused wholly on me, I struggle to form words. It is his voice, his scent, the heat of his leg through his trousers. Too easily, he overwhelms, even more so in my weakened state. “I can dispense the cure myself,” I say, holding out a hand for the vial.
A pout softens his lips. “You would deny me the honor of healing you? Or is it my touch you shy away from?” He traces the line of my sleeve, drags his finger upward toward my collarbone. “But why? After all, we have already shared a kiss.”
The air falls like a dead weight against my skin. I can neither move nor think. I do not want to look at Harper. I must look at Harper.
She stands stiffly, with a stillness that reminds me of a large predator. The gleam of her eyes twists my gut into knots. She is ravenous, too eager.
Oddly calm, Harper says, “A kiss?”
“I can explain.”
She offers me a sugary smile. “I’m sure you can.”
Plucking the vial from Zephyrus’ grip, I uncork it and dump the contents into my mouth.
The result is instantaneous—relief in the purest form. The weight on my chest lifts. My lungs open, my breath flows free.
“I thought I was going to die,” I tell her. “He didn’t touch me but for the kiss.”
“Did you ask him for the kiss?” Arms folded across her chest, she regards me unblinkingly.
“Harper—”
