“It’s not good for you either.”
He ignores my comment and ties the end of the shawl behind my head.
I try to think of a way to ask my question and bind him with our magical agreement, but this isn’t that type of question. There is no reciprocal answer I can give, so I can’t compel him to answer. Maddening.
“Gareth—”
“Changeling,” Parnon calls and waves me over to him.
Gareth keeps his back to me as Iridiel fusses about being covered in death.
“If I can’t get it out of you, then I’ll get it out of Parnon.” I stomp over to the wagon. “What?”
“I’m too big to reach.” He points to a cleaning brush tucked high up in the far corner.
“Fine, but you’re going to tell me what you and Gareth are cooking up.” I climb up and make my way over the sleeping tents and food until I can jump to snag the brush. When I turn to hand it to Parnon, a flap of fabric falls over the back opening, and another over the front.
“Hey!” I jump over a stack of pots and stumble to where I’d just climbed in. The fabric barely gives when I press my hands against it. “Parnon?”
“Safe in there, changeling.”
Let me out! Gareth!” The fabric tightens even more, as if someone is cinching it around the bottom, encasing me in a soft prison.
“My beloved.” Gareth is standing right outside. Maybe he’s the one who did the cinching.
“Don’t ‘my beloved’ me. Let me out!” I bang on the canvas, but my fists bounce off ineffectually.
“Parnon will take you to the tree line and wait there while we secure the mines.”
“No, let me out.” I bang on the canvas again.
“I can’t risk you.” He pushes his palm against the stiff fabric, the imprint of his fingers asking me to press my palm against his.
“I can fight.”
“Can’t fight her way out of a wet paper sack.” Iridiel’s voice carries to me.
“Shut up, Unicorn!”
He neighs.
Gareth’s hand is still there, waiting for mine. My stomach drops, the too-oniony soup sloshing inside me. This isn’t fair.
He’s leaving me behind. We’re bound, but he’s walking away from me.
“This is going to be violent and bloody. I have to focus on the fight. Knowing you’re safe is the only way I can go into this with a clear head.”
“You need me. I saved us in the mines.” I won’t cry.I will not cry. I tilt my head back to keep the tears at bay. “Please.”
“I’m sorry.” His hand lingers.
I don’t lift mine.
After a moment, the imprint fades, and I can hear the others mounting their unicorns and readying themselves for battle.
I sink onto a bag of grain. My resolve to not cry didn’t work, because tears streak down my cheeks. How could he do this? I’m not helpless. I can fight.
“This whole journey was my idea!” I yell at the canvas walls.
