some of the greens, and then the whole goat family surrounded me with hungry interest, and so I shared my store. Then I scrubbed my teeth and hands in the stream, spread my turquoise cloak on the grass, and lay down for sleep.
Laurent.
“Stop!” I hissed loudly to the night sky. But the name only whispered again, so I shut my ears and closed my eyes to will the name away. Still it stayed.
“What is this?” I muttered, sitting up. It made no sense. I should not have survived the spell only to have this name take all the space in my head. There was a shell behind a waterfall, there was Lark in her castle, there were rumblings of something monstrous, and Lark’s terrible fear….
And I was thinking on a name.
I’d shared a single glance with that Rider—even if I now recognized how powerful that glance, ’twas still only the briefest of moments. He’d caught the Troth with his sword, caught my eye as he flung it away, then galloped on while I sat with Raif until Quin and Kerrick Swan came to carry him from the square.
Eleven of the twelve Riders came that day to Merith,
eleven,
not one. They all did their part in saving our village. None stood out more heroic than the next. Food was prepared when the dead beasts were carted away, when the smoke cleared and the stone was swept. The Riders stayed for that, grateful for a hot meal as we were grateful for our rescue, but I was not there. I stayed with Raif—washed his body, sewed the gaping wound shut, and dressed him while they supped in grim celebration. The eleven were gone soon after, their hoofprints soon erased. Later I asked Quin the name of the Rider with the dark curls and bluest eyes. I asked, because it seemed polite to do so, to put a name to the one who’d erroneously spared my life.
A name—it meant nothing. So why should a Rider be the answer to Harker’s challenge to open my eyes?
I got up from my makeshift bed and paced the perimeter of the little island under the starlight. I trailed my fingertips along the rushes so that their rustlings drowned the whisper of his name. Still, I tasted the word on my tongue, whispered it myself once, then twice. Laurent.
Laurent
—
I stopped my mouth with my hands. I loved Raif! I would have been
glad
to wed him—his warm smile, his calm strength, bountiful harvests from the orchards and market days, the cottage at the west edge of the village, and pudgy, red-cheeked babies and an herb garden—to fill our world with laughter and sweet fragrance. I yearned for those lost plans; it was ridiculous to focus on a name, as if it took precedence.
“There, and be done with it!” I clapped my hands three times and threw them wide to dispel the thoughts. But there was still a whisper in the air. So I chafed my bare arms and legs with my palms to still the trembling and erase the Rider’s name forever. But when I stood up, the whisper lingered.
“A fool’s suffering,” I bit out, walking away from the reeds. But the whisper suddenly wafted from the far edge of the marsh, and I could not help but turn to look. Nothing was there. But then another whisper hinted from the near border, and then again behind me. I turned, turned again—
Whispers were floating from all around the marsh. I almost laughed at my obsession, except the sound was curdling, resolving into something else entirely—
She…
Whispers doubling, then growing tenfold.
She…She…
I stopped and stared into the wall of reeds. Darkness, all of it; there was nothing to see. The whispers rebounded now, bouncing from one end of the little island to the next. And there was too the faintest rattle of stems—a rattle when there was no wind.
And then, not just a rattle, but a cracking, a breaking of stems. The night lost its hushed privacy. Three days I’d spent in silence, but now things were in the marsh. Things that sensed.
Things that searched.
She…She…She…
I backed away from the boundary, stunned by the suddenness of company, the
Laurent.
“Stop!” I hissed loudly to the night sky. But the name only whispered again, so I shut my ears and closed my eyes to will the name away. Still it stayed.
“What is this?” I muttered, sitting up. It made no sense. I should not have survived the spell only to have this name take all the space in my head. There was a shell behind a waterfall, there was Lark in her castle, there were rumblings of something monstrous, and Lark’s terrible fear….
And I was thinking on a name.
I’d shared a single glance with that Rider—even if I now recognized how powerful that glance, ’twas still only the briefest of moments. He’d caught the Troth with his sword, caught my eye as he flung it away, then galloped on while I sat with Raif until Quin and Kerrick Swan came to carry him from the square.
Eleven of the twelve Riders came that day to Merith,
eleven,
not one. They all did their part in saving our village. None stood out more heroic than the next. Food was prepared when the dead beasts were carted away, when the smoke cleared and the stone was swept. The Riders stayed for that, grateful for a hot meal as we were grateful for our rescue, but I was not there. I stayed with Raif—washed his body, sewed the gaping wound shut, and dressed him while they supped in grim celebration. The eleven were gone soon after, their hoofprints soon erased. Later I asked Quin the name of the Rider with the dark curls and bluest eyes. I asked, because it seemed polite to do so, to put a name to the one who’d erroneously spared my life.
A name—it meant nothing. So why should a Rider be the answer to Harker’s challenge to open my eyes?
I got up from my makeshift bed and paced the perimeter of the little island under the starlight. I trailed my fingertips along the rushes so that their rustlings drowned the whisper of his name. Still, I tasted the word on my tongue, whispered it myself once, then twice. Laurent.
Laurent
—
I stopped my mouth with my hands. I loved Raif! I would have been
glad
to wed him—his warm smile, his calm strength, bountiful harvests from the orchards and market days, the cottage at the west edge of the village, and pudgy, red-cheeked babies and an herb garden—to fill our world with laughter and sweet fragrance. I yearned for those lost plans; it was ridiculous to focus on a name, as if it took precedence.
“There, and be done with it!” I clapped my hands three times and threw them wide to dispel the thoughts. But there was still a whisper in the air. So I chafed my bare arms and legs with my palms to still the trembling and erase the Rider’s name forever. But when I stood up, the whisper lingered.
“A fool’s suffering,” I bit out, walking away from the reeds. But the whisper suddenly wafted from the far edge of the marsh, and I could not help but turn to look. Nothing was there. But then another whisper hinted from the near border, and then again behind me. I turned, turned again—
Whispers were floating from all around the marsh. I almost laughed at my obsession, except the sound was curdling, resolving into something else entirely—
She…
Whispers doubling, then growing tenfold.
She…She…
I stopped and stared into the wall of reeds. Darkness, all of it; there was nothing to see. The whispers rebounded now, bouncing from one end of the little island to the next. And there was too the faintest rattle of stems—a rattle when there was no wind.
And then, not just a rattle, but a cracking, a breaking of stems. The night lost its hushed privacy. Three days I’d spent in silence, but now things were in the marsh. Things that sensed.
Things that searched.
She…She…She…
I backed away from the boundary, stunned by the suddenness of company, the
Similar Books
