He draws back his arm and, with a roar of effort, he pitches the table leg through the open doorway and across the air.
It shoots like a spear all the way across the garden and impales the nearest apple tree with athud.
His chest heaves, but then, unnervingly, he gives me that same heated smile that he gave me through the window.
I blink at him.
And then, slowly, I half-turn to consider the orchard and the apple tree he impaled.
Suddenly, a new impulse fills me and now…
I’m pretty sure I’ve finally lost it.
“Riot,” I say quietly to the dark elf, who has remained protectively at my side. “Can you go back to the campfire and make sure nobody comes over here?” I glance at my pack. “Especially Jonah.”
The fire jotunn has reappeared at the edge of the forest and looks as if he’s two seconds away from rushing over to me.
I guess meditation time is over.
“Are you sure?” Riot asks me, his arms rising as if he’ll whisk me away from the cottage.
“No, actually.” I can’t help the ridiculous laugh that bubbles up into my throat. “I’m not certain of anything. But I want you to stay away from this cottage. No matter how noisy it gets.”
Riot arches an eyebrow at me before he throws a glance at the keeper. “Noisy in a good way or a bad way?”
Again with that crazy laugh. “I have no fucking idea.”
A little of the tension in Riot’s expression eases. “Maybe we’ll disappear for a bit. But we’re only a shout away, okay?”
I nod. “Thank you.”
Riot waits another moment before he hurries back to the pack.
True to his word, he gathers them up and ushers all of them, including Jonah, into the forest.
Anarchy argues with him the whole way, taking a final glance at me. Her soft voice reaches my sensitive ears. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Darkness.”
“So do I,” I whisper.
Then they disappear into the forest.
I take careful steps toward the keeper, stopping only a short distance away from him.
“You hate that orchard,” I say, taking guesses from his actions. “You want to smash it apart.”
“Yes,” he says.
I wait a moment in case he wants to say more, but it seems that’s all. But, hell, that’s more honesty than I’ve had from him for hours. So, I persist.
“I’ll destroy it for you,” I say. “Ifyou tell me why you hate it so much.”
Instead of responding to my offer, he asks, eyes narrowed, “Why did you throw the apple away?”
“Because it was disappointingly sour.”
He arches his eyebrows at me, repeating what I said, as if he doesn’t believe me. “It was sour.”
“Disappointingly.”
