Page 38 of Losing Wendy

“Are sunrise privileges a perk to eternal captivity, then?” I ask dryly.

“Oh, don’t look at it like that,” says Simon, though he’s clearly wincing underneath that bright smile of his.

“How should I look at it, then?”

He gestures toward the sun. “Well, I look at it as an opportunity to sleep in late for the rest of my existence.”

A soft smile frames my lips. “I suppose there’s that. But then you miss the sunrise.”

“Trust me. Get used to the feeling of sleeping in as long as your heart desires, and you won’t be worried about missing anything.”

I nod, standing in the bright sun for a moment and letting myself soak it in. I always imagined that being captured by the Shadow Keeper would mean never feeling the gentle caress of sunlight on my skin, but it’s here. Granted, it’s cold on this island, and Simon has to give me his overcoat to supplement the little my ball gown does to protect me from the elements.

“We’ve got to get you some furs or something,” he says. “Though that would be unfortunate, considering how pretty you look in that dress.” I scrunch my nose at his shameless flirting, causing Simon to shrug. “Worth a shot. You probably are the only female I’ll ever get a chance with.”

“Simon, I—”

“Just teasing,” he says, nodding for me to follow him down the shore. I do, reveling in the way my feet feel pressing into the dark sand. I was right last night; it’s the color of charcoal. Between it, the steady spray of the frigid ocean water, and the dark cliffs in the distance, there’s a sort of gloominess here that feels comfortable. Like it’s the same color and scent and texture as my soul, and I could melt right into it and finally be one with something, even if it’s not a sentient being that would know me back.

I follow behind Simon for a while, allowing the crash of the waves to drown out his vibrant chatter. After a while, we veer off the beach and into the forest, where Simon shows me how to set a trap aiming to capture a wild hare. When I make one on my ownand it snaps shut at the gentlest touch, the slightest thrill ripples through me.

I’m not fond of the idea of coming back here and finding an animal dead in my trap, but just the feel of my hands doing something other than embroidering, or playing the pianoforte, or any number of things my fingers only learned to do so that someone might place a ring upon one of them—it sets something aflame within me. It’s barely a flicker, but it’s pleasant against my listless heart all the same.

“Are you going to cry when we come back and there’s a cute little bunny wrapped up in this?” Simon asks.

“Why? Did you the first time?”

Simon laughs. “Most definitely.”

We set a few more traps as Simon shows me how to spot where the underbrush is matted, marking paths where animals frequently travel. Once we’re finished, we trace our own footsteps back to a nearby clearing and meet up with Victor and Smalls, who’ve come back empty-handed from their traps.

“No luck?” asks Simon.

“Not for us, at least,” says Victor. “Though the rabbits might beg to differ.”

I let out a nervous chuckle, but Simon must not appreciate Victor’s joke, because he ignores him and instead shows me how the boar trap works.

There’s a hole in the ground covered by a lattice of sticks, upon which is perched the bait. Above the hole is a trapping system that keeps a considerable log suspended by rope—until the boar steps on the sticks, that is. We spend at least an hour with Simon and Victor showing me how to assemble and disassemble the trap.

“Who knows,” says Victor when I finally get the trap assembled correctly. “Wendy here might just kill something yet.”

I offer him a noncommittal noise that falls short of my intended laugh, and Simon looks up apologetically through his long, dark eyelashes as he pushes himself from the ground.

“If we’re not careful,someone is going to come along and track us,” I say, pointing at the footprints as we make our way across the beach.

“Nah,” says Simon, “but even if something did, Peter would protect us.”

“Is that what he’s doing?” I ask. “Protecting you?”

“Of course,” says Simon. “What else would he be doing?”

He says it with such nonchalance, he must be genuine. I want his confidence in Peter to be comforting, to put me at ease and convince me my brothers are safe here, but it’s a monumental task to believe something so counter to everything I’ve been raised to think.

“It doesn’t bother you that you’re not allowed to leave?” I ask.

“Where you came from, were you allowed to leave?”

I stop, my mouth going dry. “I’m not sure that I ever asked to.”

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