“Did you, or did you not, ask for the kiss?”
The West Wind’s eyes rest on my face. My heart quakes in light of this truth. “I did,” I whisper hoarsely.
Spinning on her heel, she plunges through the ferns, and I do not have the voice in me to call her back.
17
THE FOLLOWING MORNING, I’M SURPRISEDby the lack of insults from Harper.
She will not look at me. Neither will she speak to me. But her eyes, those lake water pools—I cannot shake them free. She knows. And I know. The kiss was a mistake.
But that is not the truth, is it? The truth is this: I wanted it. Deep down, in an old, abandoned corner of my heart, I wanted to know what it felt like, just once, to be desired.
Midway through the afternoon, we stop for a break. It could not have come at a better time. Carterhaugh is particularly dense, holding close to the warm, stagnant air, its walls of greenery shuttering any distant sound. Zephyrus strides off to relieve himself, leaving Harper and I alone.
She sags against a fallen tree, clothing bagging around her slim frame. Once again, Harper has run out of water. Since we cannot afford the delay of a potential collapse, I set aside my irritation and approach her, canteen in hand. “Here.”
To my surprise, she accepts it without argument, draining half the container in one swallow.
“Slowly,” I snap.
A gasp rings out as she rips her mouth free. “Don’t think this will stop me from informing Mother Mabel about that kiss when we return to Thornbrook.” She takes another greedy pull.
For a heartbeat, I’m caught in a free fall. There is the excuse, there is the lie, and there is the truth. “I can explain.”
A hair-raising cackle scatters the birds roosting in the trees. They soar off with raucous caws of distress. “By all means, go ahead. Explain how you were lured into a sexual act with a man. I’m sure the abbess will understand.”
I have always found Harper disagreeable, but here, now, I realize how horrible she truly is. She is bitter enough to drag me down into the blackest waters and let me drown. And I will, if I do not start fighting for myself.
“I thought I was going to die,” I say lowly. “It was harmless.”
“You think Mother Mabel cares about that?” Her mouth pinches. “You are sullied, and I will ensure she knows of it.”
Helplessly, my eyes begin to sting. What is worse, the venom she spews, or my belief in it?
Do I regret kissing Zephyrus? That, I cannot answer. For from his mouth, I received life.
“Go ahead and tell Mother Mabel,” I choke. “The only reason you’re doing this is because you can’t stand the idea that Zephyrus might find me desirable.” My fury crystallizes, a sharp, burning core alive inside me.
“He does not desire you,” she hisses. “Is that what you think? You are so simple, Brielle. I feel sorry for you. Honestly, I do. Zephyrus is playing you, don’t you see?”
Tossing the canteen at my feet, she hauls her rucksack across her back and dives into the brush.
My hands shake as I gather my belongings. To choose desire is to choose oneself, and to choose oneself is to walk a path separate from the Father. Zephyrus did not put his hands on me, but why should that matter? He kissed me. I wanted it. That is something I am unable to reverse.
By midafternoon, the sun screams with heat, and not even the shade can curb its oppressive weight. The canopy reveals pockets of white and blue. A rush of cooling air sweeps in, relief against my red, patchy skin, and I glance up in time to see Zephyrus drop his hand, fingers colored silver from the breeze he has conjured.
I offer him a grateful smile. “How much longer?”
Something softens his expression, if I’m not mistaken. “See for yourself.”
As we push through a break in the trees, my footsteps falter. A squall hits us from the east, and I gasp. Blue sky above, and beneath, rock of deepest red.
It is an ocean of emptiness. A gulf that continuously unfolds so its vastness seems to expand in countless directions. Sunlight hammers the striated rock, squeezing out veins of quartz and gold, stone splitting beneath the pressure of a thousand years. A layer of sizzling air skates over the landscape.
I have heard of the world’s endless stretch, but I never imaginedthis: the widest, deepest canyon, with plunging valleys and curved, mammoth walls. Look at how it bursts its seams.
Harper tromps up to my side, surveying the vista. Then she turns away, utterly unimpressed. Kneeling on the ground, she removes the map from her rucksack and opens the oiled parchment. “I don’t see a way to cross.”
