“You were sleepwalking. I think.”
Rowan looked past him at the forest. Briar felt it like a cold breath on the back of his neck.
Ours.
“Every time, I wake up closer,” Rowan said.
There was such a vulnerability in his voice, the likes of which Briar hadn’t heard before. Rowan still wore the knitted scarf. To give his hands something to do, Briar tied it tighter to ward away the chill.
“Have you ever woken up in there?”
“Only the once. When I found you.”
Briar swallowed. He didn’t like this. Some of the trees looked… wrong.
Wavering. Throbbing like they had sickened lungs.
He linked his arm through Rowan’s. “I’ll walk you home?”
It sounded ridiculous. He wasn’t near as big or intimidating. Rowan accepted gracefully, though, walking alongside him through the grassy knoll, away from the glowing scar and the hungry wood.
“Have you ever tried to stop them?” Briar asked. “Your blackouts, I mean.”
Rowan looked sheepish. “I, ehm, tied my ankles to the bedposts once. Woke up in the fields and got home to the ropes in pieces. Think the forest did it to prove a point.”
“And Niamh didn’t know of anything? A spell?”
He shook his head.
“Well, I’ve got an idea. We’ll put a bell on you.”
He snorted. “Like a cow bell?”
“No, a cute one. Like on cat collars, or those gold Christmas ones, you know? Then anyone will hear when you’re off wandering at night.”
They breathed easier the farther they got from the forest. Dew clung to their legs instead of vines. Moonlight filtered through the overcast sky, enough to illuminate the foggy patchwork of farmer’s fields and paddocks. Rowan’s scar stopped crackling, replaced by the mellowing effect his aura always had.
Briar said, “What were you doing out here anyway?”
“I wasn’therehere. I was checking on the chickens.”
“In the dark?”
“Some foxes were unsettling them.”
Briar smiled, heart lighter already. The image of Rowan bent over a hen house, cooing to Maude and her brethren, tickled him.
“You been getting on all right at the shop?”
“Yeah, good! And you? Tourists still eating up your time?”
“Less since the weather’s been pure shite.”
Briar started to laugh, but as if the weather had heard and taken offense, a drop of rain hit his nose. Another on the back of his neck. An ominous pitter-patter followed. They looked to one another for a bewildered moment before they started to run.
Rowan’s cottage was only a couple fields away, but they didn’t make it. The heavens opened. Rain lashed down in a frigid deluge, soaking them through in minutes. Laughing helplessly, they ran for the closest shelter available: a crooked lean-to for horses, currently unoccupied. Rowan reached it first, turning to pull Briar in with him. Boots slipping on the grass, Briar couldn’t slow. They collided, spinning with the momentum. Rowan’s arms wound snugly around Briar, pressing them chest to chest. Briar could feel Rowan’s racing heart through their soaked clothes, and as he came awake to the sensation, the quality of his own racing heart changed. Their laughter trailed off.
Words and warnings echoed in the recesses of Briar’s mind. Vatii telling him,Maybe you should keep your distance from Rowan.Maebh saying,I’m glad he has a friend in you.Even his own words,We shouldn’t.His prophetic future—cast in shadow by his curse—was a dreaded, distant mirage, while Rowan was firm and real and close andholding him up.
