“When I was older,” she went on, lowering her hand, “Johanna explained it to me. The berries and the blossoms are said to bring good luck, but it isn’t luck, she said, or magic, but something simpler. Cats avoid water; snakes avoid people. Dark spirits avoid rowan.”
“Our magic is simpler than people think, too,” he said. “It seems quite mysterious until you realize it’s just shapes and fine handwriting.”
Anya felt her face crease into a fond smile.
Her smile seemed to catch him off guard, prompting a crooked one of his own. “What?”
“She would have liked you,” she said, stunning herself. At his own stunned expression, she scurried back to familiar ground. “I buried her beneath one of the rowans by our gate. It kept her safe her whole life. It seemed right it should shelter her in death.”
“You buried her yourself?”
She nodded. “Her heart gave out. I’d been out on a job. She’d gotten too tired to go out except in the mildest weather. Found her in her bed.” Anya’s tongue stuck. “She’d been there for days. Had to burn it for the mess.”
“Anya,” he breathed. He reached out as if to touch her knee, and the leaves of the rowan branch rustled softly. He was only adjusting his grip. After a sharp intake of breath, he added, “It won’t comfort you, and I feel a fool for saying it, but…there wasn’t anything you could have done.”
“Bad luck,” she agreed, wiping the corners of her eyes. “All my life, she taught me that there are rules for a reason – follow the rules, and they’ll see you through. Bad luck strikes and you ward against it when you can – then stick to the rules and hope your luck changes. And it worked. She lived right on the Lichtenwald’s very edge longer than anyone could boast. And then her heart just…stopped.” She found a thread coming loose on a finger of her borrowed glove. “It’s funny, really.”
When she went quiet, he leaned toward her, trying to catch her eye. “You’ll have to enlighten me to the humor, I’m afraid.”
Absently, she picked at the thread. “You can spend everything you have guarding against what’s outside and all the while, what’s inside you can betray you without you even noticing.”
As the words left her, her head spun as if she’d been hit. For what was inside of her, betraying her as she spoke – keeping her sitting there, stupid, stuck like a stone? Thorns and silk stuffing. Sorrow. Sap.
Soft fingers lingering on the skin of her cheek. A shiver up her spine. The sweet smell of hyacinth.
Blood, still red as a looming storm’s sunrise. Wasn’t it? Heart pounding, she pulled back her sleeve, examined the cut on her wrist again, rubbing her gloved thumb lightly over it. When her thumb came away, something coated the leather. Not blood, or silk. A fine, iridescent dust. As if she’d pinched a butterfly by its wing, disturbing its scales.
Suddenly, she felt intolerably aware of Sy’s body beside hers. Of her own quickening pulse.
She looked up. He was not looking at her hands, or her glittering thumb, but at her face. Her mouth. His own mouthwas close, close to hers. Her heartbeat had never been so loud, never pounded so furiously, like something with wings in her chest was thrashing to escape. She feared another attack of pain, but then his eyes found hers. Lingered, as if absorbing them. His were hopelessly sad. All at once, everything else seemed to fade away, including her breath.
“Bad luck,” he echoed, almost a whisper.
Oh. There was her breath. It stuck in her throat.
If he started to lean closer, she didn’t see. She stood abruptly, hoping the air would be easier to breathe a few feet away. Her back to him, she crouched beside her gear, smearing the glittering scales on her bedroll. Her heart was still pounding. She thought – sheknew. He was– but that wasn’t possible. It was impossible.
“Funny,” he said after a moment. His voice was sleek and wooden, as it had been when they met.
See?Familiar scorn dislodged her caught breath.Impossible.
“Never trust anything beautiful, you said.Yet you trust this tree, these flowers, with your life.”
“And that trust was hard earned. Under these leaves, you want to keep your head, you give nothing freely, trust least of all.” High time she started taking her own advice. “We need to get back on the trail.”
But Sy didn’t move. “You hold your trust dear but dispense advice like birdseed.” A pause. Pointed. Sharp. “I’m struck again by the inequity of our agreement since the events of early this morning. Even splitting the prize, I’ll be forever in your debt.”
She kept her eyes from drifting to his scarred hand, which was curled shut, clawlike. “I’m sure you can find some way of making it up to me,” she said warily. He’d seen the scales. Did they coat her face, her throat? She resisted the urge to touch her exposed skin in case doing so stirred them up.
No – he hadn’t seen anything. There was no outward sign of her curse, save the gloves, or her random bouts of pain. Clearly, that was suspicious enough. She’d said too much, prattling on. Made herself suspect, susceptible, at the first sign of encouragement.
Or was he finally giving up? Though the prospect should reassure her, it left her strangely disappointed. More kitten than lynx, after all.
“We best get moving,” she prompted, slinging her shotgun strap over her shoulder.
He still hadn’t moved. Irritated, she turned to go, knowing he would have to follow.
“Perhaps in return, I could attempt healing your mysterious ailment.”
