Page 175 of Flirting with Darkness

The loops of rope, I ran through, only allowed to put my foot in each once. I had to uncoil the thickest rope with its middle fixed to the ground and flick it up and down, so ripples ran along its length. Finally, he had me lifting logs of various sizes and squatting as I held them.

My arms burned. Sweat bathed me head to toe. My legs ached.

And I fucking loved it.

Yes, I was exhausted, but it was glorious. The kind of exhaustion that seared my veins and sparked in my brain. Even in movement, it let my mind be still.

There was nothing else. No friend stolen by the fae who may or may not be safe and well. No family who was missing my help. No nightmares waiting for me in bed.

Just movement and muscle and trust in my grip.

The next morning, when I rose for my run, Faolán joined me. He looked tired but he was fast and fleet, his steps silent, and at some point it became a chase. I had no hope of evading him, even with the head start he gave me, but that didn’t matter. It was training; it was practice. It was a test of my skill.

My heart was already pounding when he slipped out from the shade of an oak tree, but when he bowled me over, turning so he hit the ground first, it leapt in a loud and frantic beat. Of surprise or excitement, I couldn’t be sure.

I laughed as we rolled across the grass, somehow free even though his arms held me trapped.

We came to a stop side-by-side and paused there on our backs, catching our breath. Above, the sky was clear and bright, the dawn’s pink just fading, promising a warm spring day. Nearby, he had set up equipment for another morning of exercises.

“This is a strange kind of new normal we’ve settled into.” I panted, pushing hair from my face.

His head tilted a fraction towards me as he gave me a sidelong look. “What’s your…normalnormal?”

I huffed. “Boring. Up in the dark to help Ma in the kitchen shaping loaves and making pastry while Pa gets the ovens to temperature. I slip out at dawn for a run while the dough has its second proof.” The island of silence in my day. “By the time I get back, my brothers and sisters are waking up, so I help with nappies, breakfast, and getting everything in the ovens.” I stretched, imagining the morning sun that peeked through the trees and kissed my skin was the warmth from the ovens I’d grown up with.

“Baking, baking, baking, feeding kids”—I waved a hand, feeling his eyes upon me and the weight of how dull my life was—“I told you it was boring. I mean, the older ones are big enough to help with the littles now. And thank the gods, most are out of nappies now.”

I’d been an only child for almost five years before my first sibling came. Had to admit, I’d got used to it—having Ma and Pa to myself was a luxury I hadn’t appreciated until their attention grew more and more divided.

“The rest of the day I help in the shop and teach my brothers and sisters to read.” My face heated and I angled away from him. “Ma and Pa can’t, you see. Ari’s father taught me and some of the others, but…” I shook my head. “He isn’t around anymore to teach the smallest.”

“And after all that?”

“Well, dinner is chaos. Not even organised chaos, just pure, unadulterated chaos.” I snorted. “Food everywhere. ‘She’s taken my sausage!’ ‘He stole my roll!’ ‘Rose, tell him, he flicked gravy at me!’” Exhaling, I closed my eyes as my ears rang at the memory of all those arguments. “Between the three of us—Ma, Pa, and me—and with help from the older ones, we generally manage to get them under control, but sometimes the bigger ones are just as bad. Teenagers—soemotional.”

He made a low sound that I’d worked out was his version of a chuckle. “And after dinner?”

“Honestly? I’m knackered. But there’s cleaning to help with and dough to be prepped for the next day. One or two nights a week, I do get away though.” The ringing and the chaos faded and my body eased into the ground and the soft grass. “I go to the tavern with Ari.”

I had to close my eyes because they suddenly stung.

Yes, I had rescued Ari from the bullies and dozens of fights, but truthfully, she saved me every day.

No wonder I couldn’t let her be taken. If she disappeared from my life, what would become of me?

I swallowed, throat thick and salty, unable to go on. She needed me to survive Briarbridge, but I needed her just as much. She was mine. Our evenings out together or when I went to her place for a little quiet—they and my morning runs were the only things I had, the bright stars in the night that allowed me to draw constellations and impose some sense of order in what would otherwise be chaos.

Without her, there would only be the dark.

“Hmm.” Faolán’s rumble hummed through the silence at last. “I hear a lot of ‘help’ in your normal. I don’t hear muchyou.”

I flinched.

Once, before I had quite so many siblings to take care of, I’d found a wasps’ nest. In my attempt to point it out to Ari, I’d knocked into the great, papery mass, and they’d come for me. We ran, of course, Ari leading us to a pond, but before we leapt into the cool water, half a dozen of the little bastards had stung me. When we got home, Ma patched me up with vinegar, which stung almost as much.

Each of Faolán’s words was a barb that hurt as much as the sting and the vinegar put together. Not least of all because they were true.

Wincing, I pulled my arms around myself as if they might shield me from him seeing that truth so easily. It couldn’t be helped, though—what else was I meant to do? “They need me.”

---