Zephyrus’ initial warning resurfaces: trust no one. The fair folk, however, cannot tell a lie. Thus, Lissi speaks the truth.
“I understand,” I say, and push to my feet. Someplace quiet, I think, will do. “Best to you, Lissi.”
Her stony eyes take me in. “And to you, my sweet.”
Skirting the edge of the village, I retreat deeper into the cavern, relieved when the rock softens to grass, which eventually empties into a glen sheltered by towering oaks, brightened by the yellowing enchantment of the moon. With a sigh, I unlace my boots and tug them free. The cool air feels wonderful against my sweating feet.
“I see you and your prickly companion came to a head earlier. A bit harsh to speak to a friend that way, wouldn’t you agree?”
Zephyrus slides into my line of vision, clothes rumpled, hair unkempt. Moonlight paints his skin a lovely, sun-kissed gold, cheeks infused by a rosy flush. Angling toward him, I notice that the irregularity of his skin has smoothed, as though it has healed itself. My eyes dip lower: the trailing laces of his tunic, its collar open at the throat. Chest hair, slightly darker than the curls on his head, sprinkles the toned pectorals.
“Harper and I are many things,” I snap, hating the burn beneath my fire-hot skin, “but we are not friends.” With stiff movements, I sit, adjusting the skirt around my legs.
“Careful,” he murmurs.
My stomach twists. Right. In my frustration, I’d forgotten to keep Harper’s name to myself. “Maybe she deserves to have her name stolen,” I mutter.
“She is your only ally belowground. I would not be so quick to toss her aside.” Drink in hand, he saunters closer, the hem of his emerald green cloak swaying around his legs. “Might I suggest attempting to bridge that gap?”
“Why? So she can craft more insults?” He does not understand. If I were to write out every horrible offense Harper has hurled my way, there would not be enough time in the day to list them all.
The West Wind considers me before settling at my side. “Why do you think she has targeted you?”
“I don’t know!” A low hiss of frustration flames across my tongue. “If I knew, do you think I would be in this predicament?”
“You have never asked?”
As if I would bare my neck to Harper’s blade.
“You know nothing about me or my situation. You know only the surface and haven’t bothered to look any deeper than that.” My eyes narrow, daring him to argue. “I don’t have to explain myself to you.”
Placing the glass near his feet, Zephyrus draws his knees to his chest, slings an arm around the front of his shins. “She continues to beat you down, yet until today, you’ve refused to do the same to her. Why?”
I shrug. It is true what they say. Misery loves company. “It’s not in my nature to be cruel.” My mother taught me to place loyalty and kindness before anything else, but what did she know? Her last words to me:Be good, Brielle.
“Maybe I’m just weak,” I mutter.
“Soft does not mean weak,” he responds, with a sadness that does not suit his smiling mouth, “but does your faith teach you to be kind, even at the detriment of your own self-worth?”
“We are Daughters of Thornbrook,” I explain. “Our mission is not to build ourselves up. Our mission is to serve the Father, no matter the cost.”
“The cost being your own individuality.”
He has no idea what he’s talking about. “No one is more accepting of individuality than the Father. There is nothing I want for myself that He can’t provide.” In my darkest years, He stood by me. He did not abandon me when the world grew dim, the ground unstable, my childhood turned to dust.
Zephyrus studies me beneath lowered lashes, that penetrative gaze roaming over my legs, mapping out each curve, before coming to rest on my pinkened face. “Not even that kiss we shared?” His voice deepens, running hot fingers across my skin.
I swallow, glance around. We alone occupy the glen. “The kiss was a mistake.”
“Because you enjoyed it so thoroughly?”
“You misunderstand,” I stammer.
The brightness of his teeth provides temporary relief from the darkness, and a breeze teases the curls of my hair. “Do I?”
“I thought I was going to die. I would not have agreed to it otherwise.”
“If only I believed you.”
