He carefully watched her lips as she spoke, furrowing his brows in concentration. He looked down where their fingers were still intertwined, then back up at her face before turning to look away, down to the water again, as if he was ashamed.
Perhaps he thought she was saying that she did not like this form–that she saw it as weakness. Or maybe he thought she did not see the beauty in it as he saw in her. Ache twisted in her heart at the thought that he truly cared about these things.
She gently turned his head the same way she did before, to meet his golden eyes again. She tried again, to communicatewith him in a way he would understand. She pressed her palm into his hot chest, never moving her gaze from his, and quietly said: “Home.”
She knew he understood by the way his back straightened with confidence. His tail wrapped around her, and his wing shielded her from a sudden gust of wind. He lifted his free hand to hers, lacing his fingers with hers as he did with the other.
And so there they stayed, a fierce creature of fire and gentle lady of the forest, until the sunset separated them once more.
Sixteen
The mortar slippedin Elowen’s hand, the pestle clattering noisily against the stone bowl. Her father turned sharply at the sound, his lined face narrowing with quiet suspicion.
He had been watching her more closely these past few days, eyes catching details she had hoped would go unnoticed. She kept her head down, focusing on the withering leaves in her grasp. They crumbled too easily—brittle and useless like many of the things she had gathered recently.
“Elowen.”
“Yes, father?” she asked, trying to sound unaffected.
“I took inventory of our stores.”
Her stomach tightened. “Oh?”
“You’ve been returning with less. And yet…” His voice trailed off, eyes scanning her face, her arms, the slight curve returning to her hips, no longer sunken and sharp with hunger. “You look well-fed.” Her fingers stilled. He stepped closer. “Have you been hiding ingredients?” he asked, voice quiet from wandering ears, but lacking in gentleness. “Keeping food for yourself?”
“No.” The lie left her mouth too fast. He said nothing. Elowen took a breath, reaching for a safer half-truth. “It’s the forest, father. The change in season. It’s harder now to find what we need. I’ve tried, but?—”
“You’re lying.” His voice hardened. “You walk into those woods every day and come back with barely enough to treat a cough, and yet you stand here, plumper than all the women in the town.”
She looked down at her hands. “I’ll do better.”
His gaze turned sharper, the way it always did when he was about to say something that would leave a mark. “See that you do,” he said. “Or I’ll be forced to report it to the Council.”
Her breath caught in her throat. “You would turn me in?”
He stepped away, the firelight dancing cruelly across the edges of his face. “I will not protect a traitor. And I will not be punished for your failings.”
The words sliced. She stood frozen as he turned back to his workbench, the clink of glass vials and dried stems resuming with mechanical precision. Elowen’s fingers dug into her skirts to keep them from trembling.
“I’ll return tomorrow,” she whispered, “with enough.I promise.”
Elowen arrivedat the lake once more, breathless and fast, her eyes not searching for Midas, but scanning the underbrush with the sharpest eyes she’d had in weeks.
Midas rose slowly from his resting place behind the thick trees, careful not to startle her. The scent of her fear met him, sharp and bitter.
Something had frightened her. Something had hurt her.
She didn’t look at him. Didn’t speak. Didn’t even acknowledge he was there. She dropped to her knees in the mossy soil, her fingers diving into the earth. She tugged at roots. She ripped herbs from their beds. She moved without grace now, only a strange urgency.
His chest rumbled, stepping closer and making a quiet rumbling sound. Still, she didn’t turn to him.
Her satchel was open, half-filled with leaves and stems. She muttered under her breath words he didn’t understand. Words he tried to hear, but they passed too fast, too soft.
His tail curled low behind him, uneasy, wondering if he had done something to upset her, for why else would she not look at him?
But he continued to listen to her. Her heartbeat was no longer slow and calm like before. It was frantic. Choked. She trembled when she leaned too far forward, catching herself on her hands. Her fingernails were dirt-caked and shaking. She looked pale with fright.
Midas looked toward the trees. The direction of her village. He growled, deep and resonant, and the forest shivered with it.
