Page 23 of The Last One
Jadon smirks. “I don’t know where you’re from—”
“She doesn’t, either,” Olivia adds.
“But it takes geld to pick up and relocate.” He dips his spoon into his soup and takes a bite.
All of this may be true, but none of these factors are their current concern.
“We can’t let her in the house.”That’s what they’re thinking. I don’t want to be in their dirty little house anyway. My stomach twists. I’m not sure that Ihaven’tcaught the disease. Since washing up and pulling on Jadon’s shirt, I feel slower, constricted, and there’s this weird pressure against my chest. A feeling beyond the cold emptiness that I’ve experienced since waking up in the forest. This newest sensation, I thought, was exhaustion. Chasing Olivia through the woods. Strangling Olivia in the square. Being shoved, pushed, kicked, cursed, and spat upon by some of Maford’s finest people. Maybe it’s more than that? Maybe it’s Miasma?
I focus on my bowl of soup, lifting the spoon to my mouth, and… My skin prickles with a memory. Sitting at a dinner table, a blue-and-white tureen of steaming potato-leek soup before me. Singing? I’m smiling as a hand dips a large spoon into the tureen and ladles more soup into my almost-empty bowl. The hand, brown and slender, a woman’s hand, squeezes my shoulder. My mother’s hand?
Leeks are supposed to be delicious green vegetables—my memory of smiling as I consumed another helping of that soup tells me so. But in this soup, they’re far from delicious and have the consistency of slime falling from a cow’s mouth. Olivia doesn’t seem to care. The sound of her soup-slurping is worse than the barn’s creaking or Gery and his wife’s hacking.
“I don’t think I’ve ever had leeks that tasted likethisbefore,” I say, attempting small talk. I poke my spoon at a brownish-gray lump also in my bowl. “And what isthis?”
Olivia bites into her own chunk ofthis. “Lamb.”
“Oh!” I pry a piece away with my spoon and pop it in my mouth. Almost immediately, my mouth rebukes this funky, fatty piece of meat. I gag and spit out the meat, which tumbles to the dirt. My cheeks burn with embarrassment, and I choke out, “I apologize. That was rude.”
Jadon grimaces as he chews a bite. “Not a lot of grass for the sheep to eat, so it’s a little gamey.”
Alittlegamey? And I’m a little tall and a little brown.
“I’m not a good cook,” Olivia says, her eyes sad, her cheeks pink, “but I do try to make the best of what we have. Which isn’t a lot.”
“It’s very generous of you to feed me,” I say, my tongue slick. “This soup is certainly…” I clear my throat to keep from gagging. “Unforgettable.”
Jadon snickers as he pushes his spoon around his bowl.
I won’t insult my host further by mentioning what I’m now remembering, what my palate is demanding: texture and seasoning. Salt and pepper, carrots, rosemary. Something, anything that crunches. Be gracious. There’s always something to compliment.I remember hearing those instructions. I remember someone tugging my braid. The owner of that slender brown hand?
I’m trying hard to be gracious and complimentary—this soup is unforgettable. And that’s the truth. I’m a guest here. No, I’m aprisonerhere. Trapped in this village, my clothes and amulet held hostage. The sooner I get them, the sooner I can leave Maford and its Miasma and find someone who knows more about Chesterby’s past.
“So.” I set the bowl of soup aside. “How do I earn twelve geld?”
“First thing in the morning,” Jadon says, “we’ll put you to work.”
6
The nightstar hangs low in the sky, casting her light across the tall grass that hides us. The blades bend with a breeze now sweeping over us.
Jadon’s fingers graze my cheek, brush away strands of my long, curly hair that have fallen across my face. His touch is fire. I can barely move even with just his fingers on my skin.
“Come with me,” I whisper. “We’re made for each other.”
Will he leave everything behind for me?
Jadon’s brow furrows. “Idowant to come with you.”
“But?”
“But…” He lies on his back, his eyes to the stars. “I can’t. No matter how much I want to. Unless…”
I don’t speak and hold my breath, listening to the distant rustle of leaves, the soft murmurs of night creatures, his heartbeat, mine. The entire realm holds its breath with me, waiting for his answer.
Unless…?
Jadon turns back to me. “I can’t,” he whispers. “No matter how much I want to, how much I want you.”
