From astride the mule, Griff watched him with a little line of worry between his brows, toying with the ends of Mal’s black scarf around his neck as if he meant to take it off and return it to its owner.
“You should keep it,” Mal suggested, coughing lightly one more time to clear whatever it was from his lungs. “Looks better on you anyway.”
Griff’s smile was better than another trophy on his shelves.
“You two give me some kind of hope,” Alys said, hanging back with them a moment to grab another silver from Prancer’s saddlebag. She wedged the two coins into Leo’s eyes to cover up his deadened stare, forever frozen in the state of half decay he’d been raised from the grave in, then surveyed her handiwork with a satisfied grin.
Even Mal could admit it was an improvement.
As the day wore on, the map led them to a place where the shadows grew longer and colder and the plants more colorful—and more likely to make them sick, if Alys got any notions about picking berries—as a greater quiet settled over the Mire. The chill made Mal shiver again. He even missed the birdsong and hearing Griff whistle back, though he really could have done without the rustling of wings as ravens flitted from branch to branch.
As he reached into his cloak for a drink, his eyes met Griff’s, and he noted a wince in the other man’s gaze. But Griff’s brows swiftly rose in surprise as Mal pulled out a regular canteen instead of his usual flask.
“Leftovers of that tea you made yesterday,” Mal told him with a little smile, the most he could muster when he still couldn’t shake off this chill. “Guess I’m in the mood for something different.”
Griff reached out with his working arm and took Mal’s hand. “Proud of you,” he said softly, pulling Mal right back to page ten.
Mal held on to that, just like he held Griff’s hand until they broke for a bite of their remaining rations and to water the thirsty mule at a trickle that was too pitiful to be called a stream, but far more appealing and trustworthy than any of the stagnant green puddles they had passed so far today.
“Alys, I’ve got something for you,” Mal called, holding out the canteen to her and accepting Prancer’s lead for a while instead. He folded up the map, certain of their course until they reached the lake. “This tea might help your headache—better than anything the elves could have brewed, I bet.”
The elven salve had to be the reason his side was so achy and hot, the reason the rest of him was cold by comparison. He never should have let Alys put that stuff on him or Griff. It likely wasn’t going to kill them, but it didn’t feel great either.
“What have you got against elves, anyway?” Alys asked curiously, still sounding a little hoarse from last night.
Griff grinned around a mouthful of jerky but quickly glanced at Prancer, like he didn’t want Mal to notice how interested he was in the answer.
“They destroy lives and ruin friendships. They weren’t letting Griff send letters to me,” Mal said bluntly. “And if they were okay leaving me to die without my best friend, I don’t really care what happens to them either. I’d say that’s plenty fair.”
Alys considered this as she took a sip of tea, then nodded. It relieved his shivers—at least for a moment—to know he had someone who was, rightly or wrongly, always on his side.
“I’d like you to consider meeting Rosemaris sometime, though, now that we’re together,” Griff told him, not quitemeeting his eyes. “Maybe, if I write to her—and apologize profusely to her father for being the reason she snuck out of Stormveil in the first place—they might allow us to pay her a visit up there someday.”
“She’s their special princess, right?” Mal asked flatly, making his disinterest clearer.
But Griff smiled gently all the same, like the mere thought of her made him happy. “That’s right. She saved me from drowning once,” he explained. “Back when I didn’t have very much hope for my future anymore, or any love to spare for myself.”
Mal glanced pointedly at Griff’s bloody, bandaged ankle, then up to his wounded shoulder. “Seems like that’s still in short supply,” he pointed out. But as they started walking again, Prancer trudging along with Griff on his back, Mal relented—because he wanted to make Griff happy, to be better than any locksmith named Liam, to make up for the stabbing he still couldn’t bring himself to talk about. “I guess we could try it, though. Visiting the princess, if they’ll even let the likes of me come there with you.”
Griff nodded, seeming to consider the matter settled.
But Mal wasn’t quite as ready to let go of the subject. A few minutes later, he added with a sideways glance, “What makes you so sure she’s going to like me?”
At that, Griff flashed a smile that made Mal warm all over—at least for a moment, before the next shiver. “She loves what makes me happy.”
Mal’s answering look was far less carefree as he considered what this mysterious princess had done for Griff. How she had been around to save him when Mal hadn’t, because it seemed Griff needed a lot of saving. “How many times did you do it?” he asked softly. “Try to drown when you were in Stormveil?”
The shadows were growing deeper still, like night at midday, and Alys fell into step with Mal, sticking closer to both hercompanions. She might have been ready to fight the shadow while bolstered by whiskey, but today she seemed chastened, just as haunted as any of them and less sure she had Wynnie’s luck at surviving every battle.
“Just the once,” Griff told him plainly, the passing of time seeming to have softened the difficult memories. “She jumped in with me. She helped me realize I wouldn’t be showing you, or anyone else, the depth of my love and regret by leaving that way. After that, I wanted better for myself—and I suppose I became a bit of a project for Rosemaris. She got me involved in everything—sword practice, cooking, playing music, dancing; I think she was trying to show me there was so much I hadn’t tried or learned yet.”
“So what did she say to you?” Mal asked, his fingers tightening around Griff’s. “That day. What was it that changed your mind?”
He hoped it was knowledge he would never need, but much like the broken blade they carried, he’d rather have it and not need it than try to go without.
Griff halted the mule’s steps for a moment, his eyes on Mal’s. “She told me I was going to miss the best parts of the story if I let it end there. She knew how much I love a good book.” Nudging Prancer to resume the walk, he added lightly, “She said I shouldn’t decide all was lost before I’d even found myself. And she was right, of course.”
“I never needed help with not drowning, myself,” Mal declared. “I’ve always known how to swim. Enough to help others stay afloat too.” He took Griff’s hand, drawing him closer and determined to keep him there.
