Page 101 of Freeing Hook

He’s looking at me.

Our gazes meet. Spar. What must be a thousand accusations in my eyes collide with his ivy irises, betraying nothing except a challenge.

Ask me, he commands with his silence.

“So she didn’t know,” says the Nomad, folding his hands in front of him as he props his elbows on his desk. “Well, isn’t that intriguing?”

“What’s goingon in that head of yours?” asks Astor.

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know? You know the truth now. You must have thoughts.”

“Yes, and I might consider allowing you to be privy to themafteryou explain what is going on,” I say, voice trembling.

Astor stares at me from across the tiny cabin the Nomad had one of his servants show us to while we await his answer. I suppose he thought it amusing to place us in such an intimate space, unable to escape one another after my recent revelation.

I wouldn’t be shocked to find out the Nomad possesses some way of listening in on this conversation. But I’m beyond caring about such things.

I am numb. Mind whirling. Never landing.

The world spins around me, but I am unmoving, unsure of which direction to tread. Where I might land if I take a step.

So I wait. “Explain,” I say, unblinking.

Astor remains at the other side of the room, leaning against a dresser. Like he can’t get far enough away from me. “You’re eerily calm,” he says.

I stare at him, waiting.

The captain doesn’t shy from my gaze, but he releases a measured exhale, his shoulders sagging. “Are you sure? This isn’t the sort of story one can unknow.”

“I think we’re beyond that,” I whisper.

He nods, one hand on the dresser as he rubs his forehead with the other. “Very well.” He says it like it’s the first time he’s ever uttered a concession.

“Peter and I met after he was brought to the orphanage that was situated in the town I’d grown up in. It was a sort of sanctuary town for the fae. A remote fishing village away from human settlements. We used to climb trees together in the orchard behind the orphanage property. Play pirates, of all things,” he says, his chuckle more like a rocky whisper. “Peter and I became fast friends. Peter had watched his mother die of the plague. They found him wrapped up in her arms days later. Had to pry him from her corpse.”

I blanch, and the captain does too. “I had…other things I was working through at the time. My father had died recently, and I didn’t know how to operate in a world without him. For a while, we got each other through the misery of our lives. Made plans for what we’d do when we came of age.” My mind hitches on that detail. “At least, for a while,” he says. “But then something changed between me and Iaso. I remember she was picking dandelions in the field outside of the orphanage one day. We’d grown up in the village together. Knowing her, she was probably avoiding her mother’s chores. We were ten, but I remember seeing her picking flowers and being stunned. Even as a boy, I knew I’d marry her one day. Never considered the future could turn out any other way. But that was the moment I decided I had to do something about it.”

“What did you do?” I say.

He chuckles, using his fist to cover his smile. “I yanked the dandelions from her hand and made her chase me for them.”

I picture a young Astor, hiding a bouquet of stolen dandelions behind his back. “Sounds like you,” I say, throat dry, to which he scratches his jaw almost shyly. “Did she catch you?”

“Oh yes. So naturally, I cast the dandelions to the ground and stomped on them with my bare feet.”

“Charming.”

“Yes, I always have possessed that quality.”

“And how did she respond to that?”

Astor pauses, a pained smile staining his lips. “She stomped on my toes with her boots. We’d been friends before, but from that moment, we were inseparable.”

I can’t help but grin, though something about the gumption of this girl makes me feel inadequate.

“From then on, my dreams bent themselves around Iaso.”

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