“Horsey there has enough hay for a family of five,” I say.
Will leans on the pitchfork and raises an eyebrow at me, a gleamof sweat on his brow. There’s a piece of straw in his hair that makes me smile.
“What did you call it? Stress-haying? What the heck is that?” he asks, with that delightful cynicism.
“It’s what you’re doing,” I say, then hold my hand out to the gray horse. “May I pet you?”
The horse nickers in approval and I pat his neck.
“I’m not stress-haying,” Will says, stretching his shoulders. “Jeremy only deserves the best.”
“Jeremy?”
“Yes.”
“I only know old men called Jeremy. How about Jemmy? Jezza? Jembino?”
When I glance over at Will, he’s staring at me strangely.
“What? You don’t like those nicknames?” I ask. Jeremy snorts happily. “See, he likes them.”
Will walks away without a word and leans the pitchfork against the stable wall. He turns around and opens his mouth, closes it. Takes a step forward. Stops. Flexes his fists. Runs his hand through his hair. I wait for him to go through whatever he’s going through.
“Jemmy, do you want some flowers in your mane?” I ask. “You’d look so pretty.”
“Fliss, stop it,” Will says sharply. He stands there with those wide hazel eyes and ruffled clothes.
“Stop what? Jemmy and I are bonding.”
He starts to speak again but clenches his teeth and looks aside.
“How can you—?” Will starts to ask, then breaks off. There’s a flush of shame on his cheeks, and it occurs to me that he hasn’t been avoiding me because he doesn’t want to see me. Maybe he hasn’t been able to shake the guilt.
I take slow steps to stand right in front of him.
“Will, it’s okay. I’m okay,” I say.
“How can you act like everything is fine?” he growls. “I almost killed you.”
His hands jerk like he was going to reach out for me but thought better of it. Like he doesn’t trust those hands to not hurt me.
“Will, look at me. I’m fine,” I say, and brush sawdust from his shoulders. The movement finally forces him to bring his eyes to mine, and they sweep me away like the wind that brought us here. If only I could rid them of that remorse.
“Fliss, you crawled down three flights of stairs, leaving a river of blood behind you,” Will says. “You almost died trying to break me out of the dungeons.”
“I would have died if I hadn’t.”
“Only because I put you in danger in the first place!”
“I would do it again. If I got you out alive. If it meant you were safe.”
“You shouldn’t have to!”
I almost stamp my foot in frustration. I can’t tell if the buzzing in my veins is from anger or from how close he is. I tilt my head up farther to glare at him.
“You spent five nights in an iron cell and almost killed yourself helping me release the gemstone’s magic,” I remind him.
That pinch between his eyebrows doesn’t ease. “Oh yeah, that’sreallycomparable to almost bleeding to death.”
