The Scourge (A.G. Henley) - By A.G. Henley Page 0,65
the time. I’m used to it.”
He slides his fingers between mine, braiding them together. “Will you stick with me a little longer, bad temper and all?”
In answer, I brush my lips over his bandaged knuckles. I want to say we’ll be like the fish people in his story, and stay together no matter what. But then I think of Aloe’s warning before I left home, and I remain silent. If I’ve learned anything since I became the Water Bearer, it’s that what I want and what I have to do rarely coincide.
We spend the afternoon in Peree’s shelter, avoiding mothers, healers, and nosy dolls. Hungry and thirsty, we venture out as evening falls, but discover someone left food and water for us outside the door. I wonder if it was Kadee.
While we eat, I think about where I should sleep. I don’t feel right going back to Kadee’s, considering how Peree feels about her. But picturing spending the night with him makes my stomach clench. Things have evolved between us since that first night in the trees, and the freezing nights in the caves. The swim today only confirmed it.
His thoughts aren’t far away. “If you want to stay here tonight, I’ll sleep on the floor and you can have the bed.”
“Not with your leg,” I say. “I’ll take the floor.”
“I won’t be able to sleep, knowing you’re uncomfortable.”
“I won’t stay at all if you don’t take the bed.”
He chuckles. “Hmm, what to do? I suppose we could share the bed . . .”
I hesitate. I don’t know if there are rules about unpartnered boys and girls spending the night together in Koolkuna, but there sure are at home. I cringe at Thistle’s shrill accusations of impropriety, then I push her out of my head and slam the door shut. “We could.”
Peree takes his time cleaning our dishes, while I wash my face and hands with the last of the clean water. I try to detangle my hair with my fingers, but I give up halfway through when I realize he’s waiting by the bed, probably watching me.
“After you,” he says.
Thanking the stars that I’m relatively clean from the swim this morning, I climb in. He joins me, holding his breath as he eases his leg up, and pulls his bedroll over us. We lie on our backs, no part of our bodies touching. Not easy to accomplish in a narrow bed. I don’t move a muscle, ultra-aware of the length of his limbs beside me and the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes. Locks of his wavy hair mingle with locks of mine. A hot, prickly feeling slides over my skin.
He snickers. “I don’t think I’m going to be able to sleep like this, either.”
I laugh too, fighting the urge to giggle like the girls in the garden this morning. Peree turns on his side and gathers me into his body, sending jolts of energy through me again. Surprisingly it feels more natural this way, though—like I belong here. We lie quietly for a few minutes, getting used to the feeling of being together. When he finally speaks, his breath tickles my ear.
“You know the story of the cassowary woman?" I nod. “I think my mother was trying to tell me she was leaving, with that story, without really telling me. And to tell me how she felt.” His voice is tight. “I want to hate her for going away. But I can’t, not completely. I’m not the little boy anymore; I’m the hunter. And a part of me understands and forgives her, even if the boy doesn’t want to.”
I hug his arms with my own. He draws me in even closer.
“Sleep well,” he murmurs, as if reassuring me he is planning to go to sleep. It takes me a long time, but I finally do.
I wake to the sound of scraping. It’s early, still dark, and I’m alone in the bed.
“Peree? What are you doing?” I whisper.
“Making a bow. If the flesh-eaters might be at the water hole, then I’m going armed.”
I tuck the bedroll around me against the chill, and listen to him work. “Need help?”
“Untie a few feathers from my hair?”
I slide my fingers through his tousled hair and find the sleek feathers. He tells me how to attach them to the sticks he’s gathered, while he strings the bow. I do the best I can, but I have him check my work, afraid the arrows won’t fly straight if I make an