The Scourge (A.G. Henley) - By A.G. Henley Page 0,62

him, my dress clinging to my legs like a bashful child.

“Ready for your lesson?” I ask.

“Ready.”

“Let’s start with floating on your back—that’s what all our toddlers learn first thing,” I tease.

“Watch it, Groundling, or I’ll drag you up into the trees and make you stay there.”

I laugh, holding up my hands. “Anything but that! Okay, lie back in the water with your arms and legs out, like this.” I demonstrate. “Don’t worry, I’ll hold you. You won’t sink.”

I stand to his side and slide my hands under him as he tries it. The lean muscles of his back tense at my touch. “Try to relax.”

“Easier said than done,” he mutters.

I know what he means. As my fingers slip across his bare skin, heat spreads from the soles of my feet to the roots of my hair like I’m in a pot of boiling water instead of a sun-warmed water hole. By the time Peree stands again, my heart is pumping unevenly, and my legs feel strangely disconnected from the rest of my body.

I struggle to keep my voice normal. “Good job. Now try again, and this time I’ll only help if you need me.” My hands itch to touch him again as he tries to float on his own, but I rest them on my hips instead. When he stands, water cascades down from his hair and torso. I don’t let myself imagine for too long what it might feel like if my arms were around him.

“I can float,” he says proudly.

I smile at him. “And now if you get in over your head, you know what to do.”

He steps closer. “What if I am already?”

“If you’re already what?” I ask.

“In over my head.”

My heart thumps again. “Then you, um, float, and kick your legs and move your arms, until you reach a safe place.”

Another step closer. “But what if I don’t want to be safe? What if I want to be reckless?”

“Then you . . . drown?”

“Exactly,” he murmurs.

We’re almost touching, the water trickling down our bodies. My skin explodes in goose bumps, and not from the cold. He slides his hands down my arms from my shoulders to my fingers, smoothing my skin. I can’t breathe, fearing what I might do if I gave my hands free reign—and fearing not having the chance again if I don’t.

A bird swoops across the water beside us, breaking the spell. I step back. A few moments pass. When Peree speaks again, he sounds almost normal. Almost.

“Let’s check out that waterfall. I like to get a good look at the things that almost kill me.”

After several deep breaths to compose myself, I follow him. We skirt along the outside of the water hole. It isn’t that deep—at least at the edge—or very far to the waterfall. Peree finds a narrow pocket in the wall of rock behind the falls, big enough for two. He climbs in, and helps me up beside him.

The water careens down in front of us, battering the surface of the pool. It’s magnetic, exhilarating, undeniably powerful. I lean toward the spray and thrust my hand into the freezing column of water, but it’s slapped away. So I reach for Peree’s hand instead. He wraps his cold fingers around mine.

I consider all that’s happened since we came to Koolkuna. When we survived the waterfall, it was like we emerged into some other world. Somewhere not quite the same as the one we knew before. A magical place, out of one of Peree’s mother’s tales. The valley of death? I live there. I know all about it. But here I’m a stranger. A lorinya. As I hold Peree’s hand, I wonder if there’s a possibility we could find our own space. Somewhere we both belong. Somewhere between the ground and the trees.

Peree and I make our way back to shore, and lie down in the sun to dry out. Something’s changed between us. The air around our bodies feels charged, like the forest before a storm. I’m excruciatingly aware of him: his slow, even breath, his face turning an inch toward the sun, his hand twitching at his side. And I can tell he’s equally aware of me. It’s stirring . . . and scary, like the dangerous pull of the waterfall.

I unpack the lunch Kadee made. Peree digs in. I pick at a thick slice of bread.

“Nerang wasn’t kidding about your appetite,” I say, trying to lighten the mood.

“The food is good. Different, but good. I could get used