“Quitting already?”
The voice jolts through me. My heart pounds as I tip my head back. Through the well’s mouth, haloed in moonlight, a boy with wheat blond hair peers down.
“My name’s Drayven,” he says, like trading names down wells is perfectly normal. “Heard you hollering clear across the village.”
Heat floods my cheeks. “I wasn’t?—”
“Nothing wrong with yelling.” He cocks his head, studying me. “Want me to fetch help?”
“No!” The thought of Ma’s switch makes my stomach clench. A potential bride shouldn’t be getting into adventurous scrapes. “Help is for victims. I can do it myself.”
His grin flashes white in the twilight. “Stubborn, aren’t you?” Something red gleams in his palm. “Tell you what. You climb out before sunup, and this apple’s yours. If not, I’m getting help.”
My mouth waters at the sight. “You’d really give it to me?”
“Every bite. If you earn it.”
I thrust out my chin. “Deal.”
So I try. And try. My arms scream, knees bruise, but the walls stay slick. Every inch gained becomes two lost.
Still, Drayven watches. Waits. Cheers me on until the moon slips away, stealing the last light. I slump against the stone, defeated. Dawn won’t be long. Until then, it’s so dark. Scary.
An owl’s cry pierces the silence. I hate how my eyes sting.
“Look, you gave it a good try,” Drayven says, voice soft. “Let me get help?—”
“No!” I snap. “Just stay?” I finally whisper. “Talk to me? I don’t like the dark.”
“Don’t worry,” he replies. “I’ll watch over you.”
He settles at the well’s edge. We trade stories until dawn—silly tales of giants and witches. Of pirates and mermaids. His voice keeps the shadows at bay. But when dawn creeps in, he goes silent, and I panic.
“Drayven?”
No answer. Has he gone to get help? Or just gone?
With renewed determination, I manage to climb out of the well, desperate to find him. I don’t have to look far. He’s sprawled on his side, snoring.
I study him—those long lashes, freckled nose, determined jaw. He looks like a fun friend. A loyal friend. The apple dangles from his slack fingers. Three little freckles near his thumb form a triangle. They’re like a constellation. Without thinking, I tentatively trace them. He stirs, and I snatch my hand back.
The apple is mine. I earned it fair and square.
I snag the fruit and take a defiant bite. The sweetness explodes on my tongue as blue eyes snap open inches from my face. They crinkle at the corners. I ease back onto my haunches as he props up on an elbow, hair all mussed.
“Morning, Stubborn Girl,” he drawls, rubbing his eyes.
“Florienne,” I mumble through my mouthful. “That’s my name.”
“Florienne.” He rolls my name around his mouth, tasting it. “May I call you Flori?”
“S’pose,” I say, then grin. “I told you I’d get out.”
“But not before sunup.” He holds out his hand to me, palm up, eyes crinkling.
For some reason, I think he wants to hold my hand and we can play games, so I slide my free hand into his. Warm affection blooms in my chest as we lock eyes. He seems startled,unsure, but he doesn’t let go. Neither do I. We share a moment of awareness, of new a friendship forged.
My only friendship.
