Page 44 of Bound By Blood
She bit the inside of her lip. It was hard to believe he hadn't turned on her. All this time she had held this in, and she had never considered that someone would accept her once they knew it.
Fear tightened throughout her body. What if he changed his mind? But what if he didn't? And then what would there be?
"I suppose this means we should refrain from kissing until all this gets settled," he said reluctantly.
"If we want to be wise about this, yes." It hurt to say those words. "Not that I don't want to—"
He shook his head, whistling low. "I know. Probably shouldn't talk about it, though, because it's taking all my strength to not just swoop you up and—" He released another breath, a low near-growl following. "I am not actually sure what to do with myself now."
"I know." She wiped her hands under her eyes again. Her chest remained tight, but it was easier to breathe. "What about helping me make the rest of the soup for tonight?"
"That works," he said with that soft smile. He removed one of the knives from the wooden block and cut off the ends of two parsnips. "I'll do whatever it takes to make you happy, Erryn."
TIME AND FAMILY
It was a strange thing to have suddenly told the truth of what had happened to her family and yet not face the condemnation she had expected. Erryn wasn't sure how she felt about it entirely, and the shock combined with her desire to be with him pushed down some of the grief.
They passed the rest of the night talking, though. This time about her life. What she had done. How she had traveled. How she wound up here at the edge of the Barrens Wild. Not a particularly interesting story from her perspective. No battles or quests or wondrous deeds like his family had.
But he listened as if it was the most fascinating thing he had ever heard. Whenever she reached a topic she didn't want to talk about and voiced that, he apologized and redirected. The way that he listened and responded warmed her even more now.
Despite the teasing tone of his dare, it was true. She was going to lose because she already felt that way. The fact that he let her have her space and didn't insist on kissing her or touching her or trying to coax her into giving in early only heightened her desire for him.
He arrived each night. What he thought about when they were apart, he did not say. But he took Buttons out to train him and helped her with whatever she needed. He spoke easily about all manner of things when the conversations grew heavy, and he didn't disturb the silence when she needed to remain still.
Perhaps he was right. Each day that she contemplated the matter, the more she had to recognize that her mother and sister had both only wanted what was best for her. Giving up her dream enough to survive was necessary in this world. They had seen her limitations, loved her, and wanted her to be able to find her own way. Even her sister had not said that she would never take up poetry or drawing again. Only that for a time, she was too weary.
That was life.
There had been many days when Erryn herself had felt so tired from her work and travels that she had not been able to think. Her work here in the soup cottage wasn't so difficult or challenging in the summer and early autumn. But winter through early spring, it became far more intense and required almost all of her energy and strength because the travelers who did come through were often needier, the regular customers almost always far hungrier than usual, and sometimes more dangerous individuals walked these paths. Winter's chill brought many hungry mouths.
Seasons came and went with different demands. Their change brought about distinct expectations and experiences. You couldn't hold on to the heat and slowness of summer when winter howled outside. And if you tried to maintain the rapid pace of the winter soup cottage during summer, you'd run yourself ragged and for no reason.
Did that mean that there was a season in which to say goodbye to old wounds and errors?
But even if there was, could she step headlong into another open-ended bargain with a fae who couldn't even guarantee his control of the wish to be asked?
There was no way to make what had happened to her mother and sister right, and she couldn't think about them without her heart sinking and her stomach clenching. If she dwelled on them too long, she started hearing those booming voices jeering and condemning her, mocking her for the stupidity of her choice and blaming her for all that had happened.
But somehow—in the quiet moments of chopping vegetables or the louder ones of running with Buttons or the peaceful ones just being with Ryul in the darkest hours of the night—somehow, a little space formed in her heart. Space to recognize her own future and to ask herself what she wanted her life to become rather than insisting she drift along.
There would be other ways for her to honor her mother's and sister's memories. Perhaps something more productive. It grew easier to contemplate.
What remained, though, was the disturbing reality that if she chose to be with Ryul, there would come a time when she would say that she loved him. Traelan was right. Already, the words burned inside her, especially as clarity refined the feelings.
The thought of making such an open bargain—especially when he might not be able to fully control his response—sickened her. Not because she did not have feelings for him. Creator help her, her heart thudded faster every time his image reached her mind or his name rose in her thoughts. No, if anything, her feelings strengthened by the minute.
Taking this lesson from her mama and sister and then turning around and granting an open wish in bargain to a blood fae felt—wrong. Somehow. Questions rose within her, each one demanding attention and trying to shake the foundation of who he was and the wisdom of their being together. No matter how she tried to move it around or reframe their situation, their being together romantically was not wise.
But her heart didn't care.
The sincerity in his eyes, the tenderness in his voice, the calmness in his manner, all of it made her heart flutter. And no matter what soup she made, even an ill-advised honeysuckle black bean and a poorly constructed green soup, he ate it happily.
There had to be a way to make all this come together.
On the seventh day, a wagon pulled up outside the soup cottage late in the afternoon. The familiar jangle and rattle of the harnesses and shuffling footsteps sounded like Nan.
That was odd. Both late in the day and early in the month for her to be visiting.
