For a moment a warmth moved through me and the mark on my head tingled.
It seemed the barrier had shifted, though I had no idea how far. I felt a change within myself and in my surroundings, drastically so. Ironically, instead of feeling compelled to run, I simply stood there, admiring the view for a few moments.
Maybe the curse was changing me. Maybe the visions were. Perhaps I was changing myself. I no longer knew and that uncertainty terrified me more than the barrier ever had.
Then my gaze settled on a scenic, tree-shaded overlook that offered a panoramic view of the water. I continued down the slope, savouring the aroma of grass and wildflowers, until I found the perfect spot a short distance from the narrow lake. The pristine azure water sparkled in the sun, tempting birds to dive into its depths in search of fish.
I spread out the blanket I had brought with me on the soft grass, made myself comfortable, and prepared to sketch. My fingers moved across the pad with bold, assured strokes, turning the blank paper into a living canvas within moments.
Focused on my work, I didn’t initially notice the sound of splashing nearby, thinking it was just the birds diving for fish. But when I glanced up from my sketchbook, I froze at the sight of Fionn emerging from the clear waters like a mythical water sprite, only a few meters away.
I froze, staring at his tautly muscled body. Bronzed by the sun, his dark hair was slicked back toward his broad shoulders. He wore only black breeches rolled high above his knees, revealing his sculpted thighs, and I tried not to let my gaze wander upward. The last time I’d heard his voice, he had been discussing my death with Serephina. As he turned slightly, the sunlight caught a series of pale scars slashed across his back, thin, deep lines that didn’t belong on someone like him.
Celestials could heal, I’d already seen him do it when they fought the gatemen. Yet those scars remained on his back, as if he had been marked in a way even his kind couldn’t undo. A thought crossed my mind, they looked almost like lashings, though I couldn’t imagine who or what he would have allowed to do that to him.
He reached for a dark tunic on the grass and pulled it on.
It was then I realised he was staring back at me intensely. That told me he knew exactly what I seen. I forced the pity down. He wanted me dead because he thought I was weak. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing any from me.
I quickly returned my attention to my drawing, but I couldn’t escape the heat of his gaze.
Despite myself, I felt a peculiar churn in my stomach. Heat rose to my face, and my heartbeat quickened. Though I sensedhim moving nearby, he was still close enough for me to hear him getting dressed.
Disgusted by the reaction his presence evoked in me, I tried to focus on the scenery, the sky, anything but Fionn.
“What brings you down here so early?” he asked abruptly.
Instantly, I felt my guard rise, was this a test to see if I would try to run away? Did he simply desire a swim, or was he sent to keep an eye on me? Maybe he wanted to see if I was already breaking, if the curse was already within me, if I was becoming what he feared.
I busied myself with gathering my supplies. Whatever his motive, I couldn’t continue to work with Fionn nearby. I still remember the way he had spoken about me with Seraphina, coldly like I was a burden that was should be disposed of. Feeling his scrutiny, I felt as uneasy as a rabbit in a field being stalked by a hawk.
“I wanted to do some drawing,” I said, rising to my feet and bundling up the blanket. “It’s been a while, and it helps me clear my mind.”
Irritated that my peace had been disturbed, I glanced around to see if there was another place to draw.
“If clearing your mind will hasten your decision, then that’s a blessing,” Fionn said, “but don't let me disturb you. I merely came to enjoy an early swim.”
I glanced over briefly, doing my best to look unimpressed by his scrutiny. His hair was damp, water dripping from the ends. He crossed his arms over his chest, waiting for a response like it was owed to him.
Without saying anything, I headed toward another vantage point a modest distance away. To my dismay, I heard footsteps keeping asteady pace behind me.
Was I about to meet my death. I gripped my supplies, suppressing a desire to hurl them at him and run from the discomfort of Fionn’s presence.
Maintaining a calm pace, I was determined not to be chased away, but I was disappointed that my quiet interlude had been disturbed.
My disappointment quickly turned to irritation as Fionn continued to follow in silence. I finally stopped and turned to face him. The air between us felt heavy, charged with unspoken tension. Every instinct in me screamed to leave, but I would not give him the satisfaction of seeing me run again. I gripped my pencils like daggers. If he pounced, I was ready to stab him in the eye. If I was to die at least, I would leave my mark on him.
“Fionn, if you don’t mind, I wanted to spend some time on my own.”
He stopped just a few steps away. He watched me with a pensive expression, and then his ice-blue gaze fell to my sketchbook, now tucked beneath my arm. But something about his behaviour was odd, as though he were distracted or preoccupied.
Focus. He wants you dead. He said so. Don’t forget it.
“You’ve been busy,” he said, nodding toward the sketchbook.
I instinctively held my book tight. “It’s nothing important.”
His lips curved faintly as though he found my deflection amusing. “That depends on the eyes looking at it, doesn’t it?”
