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He tore off a strip and wrapped it round her arm, binding it as tightly as he dared. “Decent?”
“It’ll do.” She waited for a moment. “Thank you.”
“You’re hardly indebted to me. Reckon you’ve saved my life at least once today.”
“Right.”
She started clearing up, inspecting the entrances and exits, the condition of the beds. In the months the hut had lain dormant, a thick sheet of dust had settled over every surface, and something had made a nest in the corner, destroying her father’s bed. The mattress upstairs apparently remained ‘serviceable.’
The sun set. Hawthorn stared at the dusty hearth, wondering when Juliana would be starting a fire or be barking at him to do so instead. She seemed busy enough checking everything was safe. She probablyexpectedhim to start the fire. It was getting cold and dark, after all.
He pulled out a few logs and shoved them into the space, clicking his fingers for flames.
The moment the flames hit the cold hearth, Juliana bolted from her spot, knocking him to the ground as she stamped out the embers. She whipped out her dagger, as if expecting the sluaghs to materialise in the room. “Are you trying to kill us?”
“Um… no? You’re the one with a knife out. Are you trying to kill me?”
Juliana’s eyes narrowed. “It’s tempting, sometimes, Prince Prickle. It really is.”
“So… why can’t we have fire?”
“It brings attention to us. We don’t know how many of those things are still out there. It’s best to be safe.”
“How will we cook dinner?”
“We aren’t having dinner.”
“Nodinner?”
“There isn’t anything to eat and we can’t risk hunting right now. It’s not ideal, but we’ll live. It’s just a couple of meals.”
Hawthorn was aghast. “I’ve never not had dinner before.”
“Clearly.”
“Have you?”
“Yes,” she said through gritted teeth. “It’s not pleasant, but survivable.”
“But I’mhungry.”
“It’s survivable as long as you don’t complain to the girl with the dagger that you’re hungry.”
He sighed, shoving her off him, and went to inspect the few things she’d dragged from the cupboards. The only consumable was a pot of ancient tea.
There was water, at least. She’d drawn some up from the stream. It was easy enough for him to heat that with magic, and mix it with the leaves. It helped a little with the hunger.
“We’ll need to share a bed,” said Juliana, finishing her cup. “Not much space. Slightly safer up there. We can always escape using the window.”
“Great,” he said, surprised he could say that truthfully.
There was nothing else to do with the evening, and the cold soon started to stiffen around them. They made their way upstairs, removing what little of their clothes they dared and bits of jewellery certain to cause discomfort. Hawthorn’s blackthorn ring rolled against Juliana’s necklace of berries.
He doubted she was removing it because she trusted him not to glamour her—she definitely had another piece on her somewhere. When they were children, Hawthorn and his friends had devised a bet over who could glamour the most of their mortal classmates. Several of the children were not easily tricked, but after a while, pretty words or cunning traps had all of them falling victim to a glamour sooner or later.
All except Juliana.
Everyone had tried—flattery, bribery, trickery… cutting off her necklace in class, trying to break into her room while she slept—all manner of behaviour that went from amusing to cruel painfully fast. It did not seem to matter. Juliana clearly wore more than one ward, and she was not giving up the location of the second.
