There’s a brief pause, then she says, “Is—are we going to be okay?”
I can hear the uncertainty in her tone and imagine the tension in her twisting hands even without seeing them.
I glance over my shoulder and meet her eyes.
“Yes. We’re together, Arlet. That’s what matters."
A smile tugs at her lips. I turn fully toward her now, taking her hand. I pull her closer, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. Her head rests against my chest, and I feel her breath steady.
“Vann, I need to tell you something.”
I still. “All right.”
“I’ve never had something like this before, you know,” she says. “And I just want to say that maybe I had been too focused on the wrong things. Matehood?—”
She stops, and my nostrils flare.
“I just want you to know I am happy to have this. With you. Here.” Her hand trails over my chest. “I wouldn’t have been able to do any of this without you. Please tell me if I touch you too often, I know I can be greedy.”
I sigh.
“Asking for what you need is not greedy. And I am happy to be here with you too.”
As I hold her, guilt hits me again—buried, but still there.
“She was your mate?”
“Yes, she was.”
After what we’d done the other night, I owed Arlet the truth about Adra. But maybe… not right now.
So I bury my feelings, just for a little while longer, because she needs me.
We are so close to finding the witches, to curing her, and going home.
“Want to help me set up?” I say softly, my voice a low murmur in the still air.
She smiles up at me and nods.
I squeeze her hand and guide her over to where I’ve cleared a space for our tent.
One of the poles has broken on our long journey and she sets off to find a replacement while I finish reinforcing the leather. Later, after she’s returned and everything is arranged as well as it can be in the muggy weather, she starts cooking, and I turn to my pack.
I pull out the map from Selric, spreading it on my bedroll to prevent it from getting too wet. The ink is faded, but the markings are still clear. I trace the lines with my finger, calculate distances, and mentally map the terrain.
I mark the island I think we’ve landed on, just off the coast of the Witch’s Isle.
“Good news. We’re not far,” I say.
Her face lights up. “Really?”
I nod, showing her where I think we’ve landed, and then I trace the distance to the next island.
“Seraph should be fine to fly tomorrow,” she says. “I think she’s mostly weary from how hard we pushed ourselves yesterday.”
I agree quietly as Arlet hands me a plate of preserved mushrooms and meat from Dragon’s Reach. We eat in relative silence, and then we head into the tent I’ve prepared.
We lie down together, and, despite the heat, I pull Arlet close. She doesn’t protest
