“Oh, I don’t have to tell them,” Finn says with a wink. “My reputation precedes me.”
I roll my eyes again. “Does the arrogant, smirking thing work on them, too?”
“Depends on the girl.” His eyes suddenly flash. “What about you? You’ve gottroublewritten all over you. What sort of mischief do you get up to in the Ironwoods?”
I sigh. Little does he know, carrying on this exact conversation is probably the most rebellious thing I’ve ever done. “Let’s just say nobody would call me the fun one. It’s only ever really been my mother and me.”
“Really?” asks Finn. At my nod, he continues. “How would she describe you?”
“She’d say…” I take a deep breath. “I think she’d say I have a lot to learn.” I draw my knees toward my chest, resting my chin on them.
“That’s all? Give me something else.”
What else?A thousand little criticisms flash through my mind. “She’d say that we’re opposites. According to her, I’m too focused on the big picture. She’s all about the details. She’d say I need to think before I act. Andslow down.” I swallow.
“Well, if we’re focusing on critiques,mymother would say that I’m foolhardy,” Finn counters. “My father would say I’ve got dog shit for brains, but he’s said a lot of worse things about better people, so…” He shrugs. “That’s taken with a grain of salt.”
“Your father sounds lovely.”
“He’s difficult.”
We finish our food, and I clean up. It’s quiet while I get ready for bed, latching both locks on the doors and braiding my hair. When I climb into my bed, I still clearly hear his breathing. Every inhale, every exhale. I’m oddly attuned to the sound.
I speak to the darkness, loud enough so I know he’ll hear me. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think you have dog shit for brains.”
After a long moment, Finn answers, “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you act fast.”
It is a long time before either of us sleeps.
I try and maintain stoicism—I really do. But as the days go by, resistance to his charm begins to feel futile. I still escort him to the privy, but with my crossbow slung casually across my arms. When he’s tied down, the restraints are loose. And when Finn starts to open up about his universe, I can’t contain my curiosity. Questions tumble out in a landslide.Have you ever been outside of Verdinae? Is it true they have indoor plumbing in Crown City? Do you fight with your brothers? Did you go to school with other children?
I learn that he’s traveled everywhere: the Ashlands in Sulnik, the vast deserts of Dasken, the free port cities of Sontaag, even the great painted palaces of Ursandor. He describes modern wonders that defy my imagination: hot-air balloons and mechanical toys and aqueducts that span hundreds of miles. He speaks three languages and had tutors in music, dance, mathematics, history, and literature. The more I learn, the harder it is not to feel inadequate in comparison. The adventures he’s lived are the same fantasies I’ve escaped to. While Finn forged friendships across the Midlands, probably basking in the privilege of that exquisite upbringing, I was here. Alone. I envy the complexity of his lived experience. I envy his siblings. A chasm opens in my chest when he talks about his brothers and the mischief they got up to together. I wonder what it would have been like to grow up with siblings—to share in the capers I’ve read about in books.
“Have you ever been to a party?” I ask, on the heels of one such anecdote about him and his brothers, while sitting at the kitchen table.
Finn bursts out laughing, then stops abruptly. “Oh. You’re serious. Uh, yes. I’ve been to a party. Many, actually.”
By this point, I’ve given up the attempt to conceal my curiosity. “Where?”
“Uh…” He rumples his hair. “I’d say everywhere, but that makes me sound like a heathen, doesn’t it?”
“What do you mean, everywhere?”
“Ballrooms, taverns, rich people’s houses, poor people’s houses…I don’t discriminate when it comes to having a good time.” He grins. “Why, are you jealous?”
“Very jealous,” I admit.
“Let me guess—your mother’s too protective to let you go to something like that.”
“To say the least.” I turn to go stoke the fire so that he doesn’t see my tightening mouth.
“It’s nice to know she cares, at least,” he offers.
“That’s a given, isn’t it? All mothers love their children.”
“Sure.”
His tone makes me pause, and I look back at him over my shoulder. “You think yours doesn’t?”
