Page 75 of Feathers and Thorns

Rook nodded to confirm her suspicions. He was not yet ready to admit he had grown fond of them.

“Anyway,” Evelyn continued, “thank you.”

“Yes, thank you!” Meena chimed in a bit too excitedly. The color had returned to her cheeks, and she beamed a grateful smile in his direction.

“Don’t let it go to your heads,” Rook said but couldn’t help the smile itching to pull up the corners of his lip. “So,” he went on, “have you decided where you will go?”

“Well,” Evelyn started, “we talked about it last night, and we have decided to stay here … with you.” Then she added, “If you will have us.”

Rook did not outwardly show an emotional response, but if he was being honest with himself, he had wanted them to stay. Telling them that would have been preposterous, of course, so instead, he supplemented with, “As you were, then. Breakfast won’t cook itself.”

“Yay!” Meena cheered, breaking the awkward silence that followed Rook’s less-than-sensitive statement. She then jumped from her seat and ran over to his side of the table, kissing his cheek before skipping back toward the kitchen.

Rook’s face was an immovable mask.

“Sorry,” Evelyn apologized on her sister’s behalf. “I’ll have a talk with her about personal boundaries.”

“You do that,” he responded as she slipped through the door after her sister.

He looked to the girls now, three years later, and couldn’t help but be proud of how far they had all come.

Noticing a break in Everett’s story, Rook took the opportunity to stand. “I am going to head out for the evening.”

“Oh, okay!” Meena said at his abruptness. She started to stand, too. “Did you need me to?—”

“No,” he cut her off. She looked lost at his sharp response, so he continued in a softer tone, “You don’t work for me anymore, Meena. Do not leave on my account.”

“Are you sure?”

“I can walk you back to your tent,” Everett offered, holding out his arm to her.

She looked at him, then to Rook, almost as if asking permission.

Rook gave her the most imperceptible nod, an unspoken confirmation that he approved of Everett’s intentions.

“Sure,” she replied happily and let Everett lead the way.

Rook shadowed them and watched as they approached Evelyn and Meena’s designated tent. The stable boy bent low to kiss Meena’s hand before wishing her goodnight then sauntered between the tents until he was out of Rook’s line of sight.

He bent his head from side to side to loosen the knots of stress that had settled there before making his way to his assigned stretch of canvas.

He entered the tent and fumbled around, reaching for the oil lamp he had seen earlier, cursing as his knee collided with the cot. He sat on the edge of the thin bedroll and peeled off his tunic, giving his shoulders a stretch. He debated removing his trousers but decided against it just in case Adriel had any surprises for them

He inched his body down on the uncomfortable bedding, missing his lush mattress from the manor, and fell into a fitful sleep.

Soren walked through the rows of tents that lined the blackened fields and tried to remember which one was hers. It was nearing midnight, yet she still wasn’t tired. It had been a big day, and her anxiety was clawing at her like a creature in the dark, waiting until her weakest moment to strike.

She retraced her steps from earlier in the day and finally found the tent she was looking for. She swore she had left the flaps open, but she was too tired to ask questions. So, she undid the wooden hook and loop clasps and stepped inside, taking care to seal it behind her. She did not want any more of the dead crop air to fill her nostrils.

She reached around, looking for her pack; the lamp would be no use if she couldn’t find the matches to light it. She silently cursed herself for not setting them out sooner.

Her fingers sifted through the contents of her pack and landed on a small metal tin. She could hear the matches tinkling around inside and smiled in the dark. She stood to find the lamp, and her breath caught as she found her back pressed against someone else’s body.

Before she could react, a blade was pressed to her throat.

She dropped the matches, her hands shaking. Unable to move her head for fear of helping the blade’s journey, she swung her elbow back, hearing a low grunt. The reaction loosened her assailant’s grip long enough for her to push his wrist away and put some distance between them.

She wanted to run, but the man’s shadow towered before her, seemingly unfazed by her assault. She opened her mouth to call for help, but she was cut off by the stranger’s threat.

---