Page 40 of The Wind and the Wild (The Keepers of Faerie #1)

He turns my hand over in both of his absently, as if he does not realize he is doing so.

His fingers run through and among mine, and I force myself not to grasp at them in return, worried of stopping his little exploration.

His skin is much paler than mine—we are a tiny village and rather light in appearance in general, tending to be born with straw hair and light eyes that squint at the sun.

But we spend our days working outside, and my hands are tan against his; they’re oddly soft in appearance atop it all.

Still, I feel the rough patches from that pretty blade he has somewhere near him though I cannot see its presence.

“’Tis a great dishonor to force oneself upon another who does not wish them in their presence.” His voice has become so low and soft I barely catch it over the dim crackle of the fire. It’s such an unfamiliar tone in him that I wish I knew better how to respond.

“ Yes,” I say, adjusting my skirts as if his hands are not around mine. “ Well, we humans aren’t too great at sticking to honor at all times. I think it doesn’t really enter our thoughts unless it’s brought to our attention.”

Carefully, I dare to close my thumb over his. He glances down. As I feared, he carefully folds his hands away but gazes at me with no less enjoyment in his wild eyes.

“ Who is bringing it to your attention?”

I blink. “ What?”

“ You have much honor. Is someone bringing it to your attention?”

From him, with the strange weight behind his words, I feel as if he has given me a great compliment. “ Thank you. No, I don’t think anyone is bringing it to my attention, not right now. You seem quite honorable yourself.”

The amusement falls from his eyes. He glances away, at the fire. “ It is kind you think that.”

The sudden change hurts. I know very little of how to comfort him, not enough about him to offer any soothing words, and not enough friendship or bravery to reach for his hand again. “ Why shouldn’ t I? ”

“ You? No reason, no reason,” he murmurs, rolling a bit more onto his side, decidedly closer to me. Retrieving the poker, he nudges a few of the coals.

“ Were you all right?” I ask softly. “ The other night. It was... frightening.”

“ Yes, I heard,” he mumbles. “ I was not harmed.”

Not exactly an answer to the question. Leaning over, I get directly into his line of sight. “ Are you all right?”

Some of the humor finally returns. “ Are all humans so pushy?”

“ Yes. ”

Rolling his eyes, he finally sits, and I’m back to tilting my head to look at him. My face is right beneath his chin. I scoot back so I can see him better, and he leans his arms against his legs, evening the height.

“ Shall we go to the kitchen?” he asks, and I raise my eyebrows at the avoidance.

Getting to my feet and checking in on the sleeping kittens, I say, “ Yes, but shall you answer my question?”

“ I will be all right,” he tells me, which is the same response as last time.

It is coming upon a few weeks, and I do not appreciate how he still appears to ail, but I feel as unequal to the task of bringing it up as ever.

“ You did not go outside at night, did you now?”

I open my mouth to say, No, I did not , but he is sitting right there , staring directly into my eyes. He may be forced by the creation of his soul not to lie, but I am forced by the intensity of his gaze. Besides, I would not like it much if he lied to me should he be human.

Sighing, I admit, “ I climbed onto the roof.”

“ Oh? ”

He is following me down the steps, so I no longer see his expression, disappointed or otherwise.

“ I couldn’t quite convince myself not to,” I say. “ I could hear them and see their shapes in the trees, and I felt as if I must look. I did not go outside though. I climbed through the attic door. The hounds did not see me.”

That last part I am less certain of, but the woman dispatched of the one I thought for a moment might have been meeting my gaze.

“ I should have supposed,” he says, handing me firewood as I nurture the stove to life. “ They were in your lands—it is difficult for your kind to not be drawn to their presence.”

I send him a dry glance at the irony of me being here so often, to stay in his presence; he shrugs a shoulder, unbothered.

He leans too heavily against his cane, worse than last time.

It has been days since we had our little stroll in the human side of the woods, and the weight he puts on the walking stick has me desperately concerned in a way I do not know how to voice. He is already avoiding my questions.

Would he be angry should I press the topic?

Setting out my basket, I take a few mushrooms and watch him seat himself carefully along the same chair as before. It seems a proper place for the two of us, carefully aware of each other’s presence and spending easy time together, even in the strangeness of this old place.

“ There is a brownie here,” he says suddenly, as if aware I am watching his every move.

I blink.

“ Yes,” he says, stealing one of the mushrooms, still covered in flecks of dark earth, and nibbling on the ends of the cap. “ They do not settle alone, so it must have realized I am here. It is in the rafters near the trees. I shall show it to you.”

I glance out at the edge of the tree roots I can see from this angle. “ I miss getting them in my house.”

“ Put cold water on your sill at night; they will come in the summer.”

I stare at him, open-mouthed, for a moment before laughing and shaking my head.

“ What?” he asks, returning the mushroom. After he stuffed his face with my raw ingredients the last few times, I frown at his lack of appetite.

“ You are such marvelous creatures, capable of amazing magics, and you live so much longer than us... and you’re so drawn in by little things. It’s... sweet.”

He raises an eyebrow, resting his chin in his hand and gazing at me in a way that makes my cheeks hot once more. “ I found a cellar as well.”

Changing the topic? “ Anything down there?”

“ Wine, ” he says bluntly.

I snort. “ Where is it?”

He points to the left of the little kitchen, down the hall I haven’t properly explored, at a slightly different angle from the path we took to the strange basement door.

“ Are you drunk?”

“ No ... I tried some last night. It was rather awful.”

Washing the dirt from the mushrooms in the sink, still marveling that the water pump works with enough force put into it, I tell him, “ I have some raspberry wine in my house from last year. Would that be sweet enough for you?”

“ Only if you wish it. I do not need it.”

Perhaps it’s better I don’t. I’ve no idea what a drunk faerie man would be like... even Aidyn. Instead, I say, “ Tell me something about Faerie.”

When I turn back to the counter, starting on dough for bread while the mushrooms simmer, he’s gazing at me oddly.

Truly, I cannot tell if he is unwell or simply in a strange mood from the events of the other night.

Perhaps the more I encourage him to speak in any way possible, the more I’ll learn about him.

Enough to piece together something I can do to help, even in the smallest way.

“ What about it?” he asks, drawing a circle in the flour I’ve spread on the old table.

“ I don’t know. We know very little about your lands. Tell me something you love about it.”

This brings a slightly more genuine tug of a smile to his lips.

“ My magic can do a great many things, as you’ve seen. They are not all particularly useful.”

I glower.

He ignores me. “ If I try with enough effort, I can lift myself off the ground. There are many fae with wings, but this is the closest I will certainly get to flying. There are hundreds of mountains here, if you go far enough and deep enough into this realm. I am not even sure about the others. I’m certain there are all sorts of creatures even we do not know about.

Maybe one day I can take myself there, if my magic ever grows strong enough. ”

His eyes are not on me, not on anything here in this library. When he eventually takes up a new topic, about some of the meals he is familiar with that he once claimed a human will have never heard of, his gaze remains faraway as ever.

Late that night, Una is helping with some of my baking—or rather I’m testing a few different pies for midsummer and she’s hovering about licking the ingredients off her fingers, but it’s nice to have her.

I did not miss the relief in her features when I returned from Faerie in one piece and within a reasonable time before dusk.

Olivia and Andrew are smoking their pipes on the front porch.

Everyone is jumpy of being outside after the other night, and they have seated themselves right before the door.

Night air drifts in the windows, as well as puffs of sweet herby smoke in swirling fingers past the moon.

Rain clouds are finally gathering, and the spare droplets hit the window.

I’ve told Una all of what happened today in bits and pieces and whispers when we think her parents won’t overhear.

Niall is sitting at the kitchen table—given that he hasn’t yet left for the night, he’ll probably end up sleeping on the carpets before the fire instead of walking home at midnight.

His facial expressions change with my pieces of information, so I know he’s listening.

Truth be told, there isn’t much to tell. I cooked for a while, and Aidyn spoke of little random things about his own lands, and neither of us truly had any revelations. We did not have to. I know little of whether he thinks of me as I think of him, but he seemed to enjoy my company.

Any little interaction with him feels as if I’ve had the strangest, most worthy-of-speaking-of experience.

Perhaps I am wrong, but Una seems vastly interested.

Niall can pretend he isn’t invested in the gossip as he likes, but he’s still chuckling quietly to himself at what Aidyn said about dishonor.