Lindy’s laugh was awkward and rough, as if it hadn’t been used in a long while, and a ghost of a real smile appeared for only a fraction of a second before it was gone again. “I appreciate the offer, but I don’t know if it will work. If we’re going to get you your goose back as soon as possible, I think this is something I have to do myself.”
His heart sank a little at the rejection, but he let none of it seep into his voice. “You’re the expert.”
“Hardly.” She chuckled darkly, and Atlas found himself wishing he could hear the other laugh instead. “I’m just the villain.”
The sun was far tooenthusiastic forso early in the morning.
Atlas reached for his blanket to pull over his eyes, but instead his hand found nothing but pebbled sand and a few pieces of rotted driftwood. He sat up, blinking groggily, as the events of the night before came rushing back.
He had gone searching for a goose and instead found a queen.
Not that Lindy was anything like he would have expected a queen to be. She was beautiful, yes, but also as prickly and guarded as the nettles she had been peeling. And young. He could vaguely recall now something about the former queen dying a year or two before, but he had never given much thought to just how old the king was.
“I didn’t have much say in the matter.”
He frowned as a sour taste filled his mouth.
What kind of father marries off their daughter to a man old enough to be her grandfather? And why didn’t she refuse? Surely a princess would have some support from her people to back her up. Even with as disengaged as I am from recent events, I know that our people would riot if someone tried to pull the same kind of stunt with one of the princes.
The sourness in his mouth turned to thirst, and he stood, stretching out his aching back. Lindy’s spot on the other side of the fire was vacant, and he turned in a slow circle until he found her sitting on a large rock, with a pile of stripped nettles beside her. He watched as she used a rock to bruise the square stems, then pulled them apart and peeled away the pithy inside. The swans floated lazily on the surface of the lake.
She looked up and caught him staring, and he triedto cover his blunder with a greeting. “Good morning.” His throat felt dry and gravelly, and he cleared it as he approached her. “I didn’t realize people actually chose to interact with this hour of the day.”
Lindy rolled her eyes before returning to her task. Red welts covered her hands and the lower part of her arms, and he knew from experience that her skin must be burning and itching enough to drive a man mad.
“You know, if you soak them in the water for a few hours, it gets rid of the sting.”
She glanced at him from the corner of her eye as she bruised another long stem, but said nothing.
“Right.” He scrubbed a hand down the side of his tired face. “I forgot there’s no speaking between sunrise and sunset. But I’m serious—soaking the nettles makes them safe to handle.”
She shook her head stubbornly.
“Though I suppose if the point is to willingly allow yourself to suffer, that rather defeats the purpose.”
Lindy nodded.
His stomach growled loudly, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten a proper meal since early the day before and that he had originally risen in search of water. Lindy looked up at him, one brow raised and amusement dancing in her eyes. He grinned. “I guess that’s my cue to get started on my job of keeping you alive. Are you hungry?”
She lifted a shoulder in a noncommittal shrug. The swans had slowly crowded her rock as he stood there, and one of the birds closest to them hissed, as if annoyed by her response. She leaned over andflicked water at it.
Atlas tilted his head as he watched the interaction.Last night they seemed completely uninterested in anything that was happening. I wonder what the difference is this morning?
“Well, I’m starving, and it’s just as easy to cook for two as it is one.” He gave the water a dubious glance. “And as beautiful as the lake is, I’m going to look for some cleaner water.”
Lindy pointed over his shoulder to the trees, then mimed drinking from her hands.
“You already found some?”
She drew her chin down in a short, sharp nod, causing some of her hair to fall over her eyes. Hands sticky with nettle juice, she blew out a puff of air in an attempt to move it away. Atlas reached his hand toward her face, intending to brush it back for her. She flinched.
He froze, and in his moment of hesitation, she used her arm to push the hair from her face. He swallowed, letting his arm fall back to his side, and spoke gruffly, “I’ll go see what I can do for breakfast.”
Dark thoughts followed him as he found the fresh, clear stream and drank his fill, then stained his hands purple as he filled a large piece of peeled bark with blackberries. He kept replaying Lindy’s reaction in his mind, the way she had instinctively drawn away from him and into herself when his hand invaded her space. It reminded him of the farm dog his father had come home with after a rare trip into the city. The canine was sweet with the animals and adored his mother, but he shied away any time Atlas or his father tried to approach.
It turned out its previous owner had a habit of beating the poor thing, and he had learned to fear men.
“What happened to you?” Atlas muttered, looking through the trees to where Lindy was still hard at work, splitting and peeling the nettles. Every once in a while, she would pause and shake out her hands, or else curl them into tight fists and release them several times. Her discomfort was obvious, and the fact that she was willingly putting herself through that kind of torture when she had so clearly been abused herself made him angry.
