I shiver, trying to forget the way I tried to save him, only to watch him lie still. “You stopped breathing.”
“Just like you stopped breathing at the burn site on our first day,” he says, his gaze piercing mine. “And again when you were tied up this morning.” He takes a step toward me, the stone still gripped in his fist. “We’ve both stopped breathing, just like we both suffer the same wounds, but neither of us has died.”
He wants to know how. I can see it in his eyes. Among all of the questions we already have, this might be the most confronting.
“How can any living creature stop breathing and remain alive?” he asks.
I take a step back. “I don’t know how it’s possible or why it happens.”
“Maybe we’ll never know.” Nathaniel sidesteps to the table and places the box on it. “But I’m not afraid of this stone, and I don’t think you should be, either. I’ll show you why.”
One by one, he removes his weapons from the harness resting around his torso and then the harness itself before he takes off his shirt, laying it neatly on the table beside his weapons.
“I told you yesterday that I’ve carried this stone with me every day since my father died,” he says. “But I didn’t tell you that I carried it next to my heart. It gave me strength when I didn’t have any.”
He opens the box.
The glittering, crescent-shaped fragment of stone glints at us. It’s the same shape as both of our scars. The same shape as the jewel that Imatra dropped in my dream.
The moment I see it, an abyss opens up in front of me, as if the box is the gateway to a deep, frozen void, but Nathaniel picks up the stone without any hesitation.
He fits it to his thumb, showing me before he presses it across the location of his heart right below his new scar.
I gasp when the stone fits to his skin, molding itself to the curve of his chest as if it’s part of his body. The rock conforms so completely that I can’t even see its edges.
Light glows softly through his skin, a single ripple from the stone, the same golden light I saw shining from his chest when he defended me against the hunters yesterday. Then it vanishes and I can’t see where the stone rests anymore. It’s as if the rock has disappeared into his skin.
I cast glances from side to side, peering at the location of his scar. “It’s stone. How does it do that?”
“It changes consistency when I touch it,” he says, watching me carefully. “It turns from hard stone into soft material. It stuck to my hand the first time I held it. After that, I didn’t want to lose it. It was the last piece of my father, so I kept it close. A memory. My promise to honor his final words.”
He peels the stone from his chest, leaning forward, meeting my eyes, his own so dark that it scares me. “I promised him I would give it back to you. I think this stone is a piece of your life. Will you take it?”
My ears hum as he holds the rock out to me. The chasm inside me widens. The cold dark threatens to swallow me. It’s an irrational fear. Nathaniel kept this tiny piece of rock safe all these years by carrying it next to his heart. It’s the last connection with his father, but he’s willing to give it to me—to complete his promise.
“Don’t be afraid of your past,” he murmurs, searching my eyes.
I step away from him. “I want you to keep it.”
“Aura—”
“Just a bit longer. Please?”
A crease appears in his forehead. He looks perplexed by my request, but he nods before he positions the rock back on his chest. He pulls his shirt and weapons back on.
He holds out his hand to me with a smile that eases the tension between us. “Ready to hold my hand while I herd bubbles?”
I return his smile, taking his hand as we head to the door. Outside, the path around Nathaniel’s hut is quiet and empty. The village itself is also calm and still. In the distance, I make out the humans gathered in the courtyard, practicing their drills.
Directly in front of us on the porch, the glitter bulbs continue to spin gently and harmlessly in the air. They float toward us, bumping softly against Nathaniel’s bare arms, the weapons on his chest, and even his face. Each one contains light and dark, shapes that form and vanish, flashes of power and moments of emptiness.
He closes his eyes for a moment. If each bulb contains a painful memory for him, then his humor about herding them is forced. A bravery I wish he didn’t feel he had to maintain in front of me.
He’s careful at first, then impatient, as he pushes the bulbs inside his hut.
I bite my lip and hide my smile as he starts batting them inside, the tension in his shoulders easing and his smile becoming real, as if punching his painful memories is somehow cathartic.
He gives me a wonky laugh when he steps on one and nearly loses his balance. All the time, he continues to hold my left hand with his left hand, which means I’m facing the empty path while he attempts to pivot on the spot so he doesn’t wrench me around.
One of the bulbs floats past my right hand where my fingers peek out of the sling. I poke my forefinger at it to push it along, surprised when colors flash across its surface.
For a second, a soft light dances through the bulb. A playful form, not quite humanoid or fae, skips across the surface, whispering softly. Darkness sprinkled with tiny lights surrounds the moving glow.
I stare at it in surprise, but the image quickly fades as Nathaniel plucks the bulb from the air in front of me.
Pushing it inside the hut, he gives me a victorious grin before he pulls the door closed.
“Food,” he says. “I’m starving.”
Just as we reach the bottom step, Mathilda appears on the path ahead of us, her violet dress swishing around her legs, her pelt flying as she races toward us.
“Nathaniel!”
He grips my hand tightly, a warning to stay where I am, as he positions himself slightly in front of me, his expression anything but welcoming. “What is it?”
Mathilda draws to a stop several paces away, smart enough not to invade Nathaniel’s space. Her quick gaze passes across my sling, my clothing, and my loose hair before lingering on the still-healing cuts on my face—all of the bruises that must be visible now that the dirt and blood have washed off.
Then her focus flickers across the empty porch behind us.
She swallows visibly, as if she’s trying to overcome her pride. “I need your help.”
Chapter 9
Nathaniel gives Mathilda a dark look. “Helping you can wait. We need to eat.”
He strides in the direction of the far path, aiming to steer a track around the witch while I follow closely. I’m comfortable letting him decide our actions right now.
Mathilda steps up to him. “Please. I’ll have food brought to Christiana’s hut. This can’t wait.”
Nathaniel is a wall of tension, the unforgiving line of his lips hardening so quickly that Mathilda steps away from him again. When I first encountered her yesterday, she was angry and full of vengeance, calling me a fae weapon, insisting that I should be killed. When Nathaniel defended me with full force, she appeared shocked, as if he rarely went against her wishes. Now she looks uncertain, as if she’s not sure where she stands.
“Christiana’s hut?” His next questions are short and sharp. “Who needs help? You or her?”