“If we’d gone straight south following the river, we’d have run into more of the rot,” she told him. “We’re not moving straight toward the witch anymore, so we’re avoiding the worst of it. I’m trying to find your men. I’m not leading you in circles.”
“How are you doing it?”
“I haven’t cast any spells if that’s what you’re asking. We’ve been together all day, and you’ve been watching me like a hawk.”
“I’m just trying to understand.” His brows drew together. “There are still some things I don’t understand, you know. I’m not such a pompous ass as to believe otherwise.” She snorted, and the corner of his mouth tugged up in a smile. “I know there’s more to the world than what they teach at the Academy.”
He let that hang there like an invitation. It was a trap big enough for a bear. She could practically see the glint of metal. There was no way she was stepping into it.
“I’ve always been good at finding my way through the woods,” she said, willing him to believe her. “Some people just have a good natural sense of direction.”
“Like your mother has a gift for herbs and healing.”
“Yes. Like that.”
Her mother didn’t talk to cucumbers the way she talked to trees, but she did have a knack for growing things.
Lifting a lock of her hair, he coiled it around his finger. He frowned as he released the curl and it slid free.
“It’s said that all fae had an affinity for an element of nature. Some could control the weather, some command animals to attack. Some were good at reading patterns or binding spells into glyphs and charms. Some of them had an affinity for growing things.”
She focused on keeping her muscles relaxed. Pressed as she was against him, he would feel it if she so much as twitched.
“My mother isn’t fae.”
“She is though,” he said. “You both are, even if the blood is thin.”
She tucked her hair behind her ear. “My ears are round, not pointed. My eyes aren’t slit. Besides, the fae are all gone. No one’s seen any of them for years, not even out here on the border.”
He hummed and traced the tip of his calloused finger over the curve of her ear. Like he was testing the truth of her words.
“My mother’s worked hard to learn everything she could about her craft. She shouldn’t be punished for the things she’s good at. How would you like it if I said your skill with a sword was evil?”
He smiled faintly. “Some people think it. I’ve killed a lot of things with that sword.”
“Evil things.”
“Witches have affinities too,” he murmured. “At the Academy, they teach that a witch’s affinity is awakened by the demon who possesses her, but I’m beginning to think that may not be correct. Maybe the affinity is there all along—in the fae blood—and the demon corrupts it as it corrupts everything it touches. What do you think?”
She didn’t answer right away.
“I think I’d rather not talk about demons right now,” she said. “Let’s skip the bedtime story for tonight.”
He stared down at her, not wanting to let it go. He was smart and curious, had probably been thinking about this all day. Part of her wished she could talk to him about it. He clearly knew things about magic she’d never learned.
The other part remembered him branding her mother.
After a moment, he sighed and said, “Fair enough.”
She let out her breath and turned to look at the fire.
“Just be careful, Rowan.” His arms tightened around her briefly and then relaxed. “Please.”
She must have fallenasleep because the next thing she knew, she was stretched out on the hard ground. The fire had died to embers, and Casrian was crouched at her side. She startled awake, and his hand squeezed her shoulder in silent warning.
“I heard something,” he said in a bare whisper. “I’m going to check it out. Do you have your knife?”
She nodded, following his gaze to the dark woods. The night was very still, but she heard something moving out there beyond the small circle of light cast by their fire. A soft rustle of leaves broke the heavy silence, followed by the snap of a small branch.
