Page 108 of The War and Deceit Series omnibus

I clear my throat, knowing I need to keep his mind off what I’m doing. “Are you telling me the tree can hear us?”

“It’s more complicated than that,” he responds, and I nod. All of this seems complicated to me—trees that can hear us, and magical creatures that leave us gifts. How my life has changed in such a short span of time.

“I’ll take you to meet some of the wood elves when we get to Galandell,” he continues, as I take the leaves from the angel’s breath and try to pack them into his wound. I make another makeshift dressing and fix it in place with more strips of the dress from the pack. It will be unwearable when we finally get to our destination. I still don’t know how he even managed to get a dress when he was locked up with male guards.

“I’d like that,” I reply, and to my surprise, I mean it. Shouldn’t I be repulsed at the thought of meeting more elves, the race that’s killing my people in the war? Guilt rises in me again, but I try to push it away, focusing on the here and now. Sitting back, I admire my handiwork. “There, all done.”

Nodding, Vaeril sits forward and pulls his shirt down. Placing everything into the pack, I shift and go to stand up, but his hand on my arm stops me. When I turn to look at him, his expression is soft, not something I see often from him.

“Why do you look so sad?”

Stunned, I simply sit and stare at him as I try to think of how to answer. I hadn’t expected him to ask something like that, Vaeril isn’t the type to talk about feelings. That’s not to say he isn’t kind, but he’s much more closed off than my other friends. Friend, is that what he is? The pull in my chest whispers that he’s something different, something more.

How do I explain what I’m feeling to him? That I feel like I’ve betrayed my race, and I’m confused about how I feel towardshim? I forget he’s an elf, someone I’m supposed to hate, who I’ve been taught is evil. I’ve left my friends behind, and I don’t know where Grayson and Tor are, or if they are safe. Not to mention, Wilson and Jayne are still in the castle with the sadistic king.

“I miss my friends,” I tell him softly, settling for the simplest answer, still hyperaware of his hand on my arm.

“The mountain man?” His voice is tight, and I remember my kiss with Tor the previous night. My cheeks flush and I open my mouth to reply but he beats me to it. “Or the magician?” For once he doesn’t sneer as he speaks about Grayson, and I’m glad. I don’t have the energy to defend my friendships.

“Amongst others,” I reply with a shrug, before gently pulling away from him. His eyes shutter as I do so, and I instantly regret the action. “We should get going.”

He nods and starts to stand, wincing at the pain in his side. Jumping to my feet, I offer him my hand to help him up. He stares at it for a moment like it’s a snake that might bite him, then he just shakes his head and uses the tree to help him get to his feet. Frowning, I slowly pull my hand back, confused and hurt at his rejection. I don’t really understand what’s happened, but I think I’ve done something to upset him. Picking up the pack, I take a deep breath and paste on a fake smile.

“Which way?”

He glances at me, frowning at my smile before turning to look around us and closing his eyes for a second. When they open again, he points and starts to walk in that direction. His mobility seems much better today, but he’s walking at a human pace, which is either because of the wound or because he’s being kind so I can keep up with him.

“Are you coming?” he growls, not stopping as he starts heading through the trees.

Guess it’s not because he’s being kind then, I think with a shake of my head as I hurry to catch up.

We walk for hours. Time passes slowly in here, but I think it’s early afternoon. Vaeril’s struggling, but he won’t stop or ask for help. When I’ve offered to aid him, he refuses, practically snapping at me, so I’ve taken to walking just behind him where I can keep an eye on him without him having a go at me for hovering.

“Stop,” he snarls, glaring at me over his shoulder.

“I’m not doing anything.” I’m trying to stay calm and not snap back at him, but he’s making it difficult.

“I can feel you watching me like I’m about to drop,” he retorts.

Guess he’s figured that one out then, I muse with a sigh. Truthfully, Iamworried about him and I want to check his wound again.

“We should stop for the night soon,” I suggest, but he merely grunts in reply.

I’ve been carrying the water flask while we’ve been walking, offering it to him regularly, but as I lift it to my mouth now, I know we’re nearly out again. There have been little offerings left along our route and I’ve been collecting them, sharing the nuts and berries with my companion. Every time I’ve found one, I make sure to say, “Thank you,” hoping that whoever gifted it to us is still around to hear my gratitude.

We fall into a pattern over the next couple of days. I dress Vaeril’s wound, we camp in a tree, and when we wake, our water flask is full and we have a leaf filled with food and a small pile of angel’s breath. I dress Vaeril’s wound again and we continue our journey.

The injury is getting worse, despite the angel’s breath which initially seemed to be helping. We’re back to walking together, his arm slung over my shoulders as I half drag him along.

“How far are we now?” I ask, praying to the Great Mother that it’s not much farther.

“Not far,” he replies, which is the same answer he’s been giving me for days, except this time I can barely hear the words. I worry that, in his fever fogged brain, he’s lost his way and we’re actually travelling in circles.

I know he doesn’t have long now, and if he was a human he would already be dead. This fear is the only thing that keeps me going. I’m starving, dehydrated, exhausted, and in pain.None of that matters, my inner voice keeps chanting.

He can’t die, you have to keep going. He can’t die.

Vaeril suddenly becomes heavy and drops to the ground, dragging me down with him.

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