Page 46 of The Wind and the Wild (The Keepers of Faerie #1)

F or a terrible moment, I fear we shall never find the library again in the dark, but only a few steps later we are plowing right into the edge of a familiar plum tree. Aidyn trips but manages to keep his footing, dragging me along while my head spins.

“ Where is the burrow?” he asks as my mind struggles to grasp at his words. “ The way you came through, where is it?”

I blink, pointing to the little maple tree where I first crawled out and finding... nothing. Aidyn puts his hand to the trunk of the tree, more as if he’s seeking support than searching for the path I took to the plums.

“ It was here,” I say, my voice faraway. “ This is where I came. I’m certain...”

Glancing at the nearest trees and back over his shoulder, Aidyn shakes his head and drags me along, abandoning the search for the little tunnel.

I take a final glimpse for it, but my eyes find nothing before the brambles cover any chance of finding it again.

Clinging to Aidyn’s hand, I let him lead me away.

It is pitch-dark. Even the library is less a comforting presence and more a looming giant in the shadows and strange bird calls.

Bees still buzz but don’t pay us much mind as we trip and stumble in our return to the back door.

I nearly trip up the back steps, catching myself on the railing before the stillness of the old structure envelops us.

Aidyn shuts the door behind us and pauses, leaning against it like we both did when the hunt hound first came around the side door.

My head spins, and I sit down hard all at once the moment we are no longer running for our lives. Aidyn slides down beside me. There is no light in the old place, just a faint glow down the hallway from Aidyn’s hearth flicking warmth into his room.

“ Look at me,” Aidyn says, then takes my jaw in his hand, turning my face toward him. “ Do you still know who you are?”

I fumble with his words, attempting to make sense of them. “ What?”

“ Your name, do you know it? Don’t tell it to me, just think it to yourself.”

Niamh , I think immediately, and it clears some of the blur from my thoughts. “ Yes. ”

“ And my name?”

“ Aidyn ,” I breathe.

“ And where you are?”

“ At the old library on the edge of Faerie,” I tell him, understanding more and more why he is asking me these things: because I was sung to by a strange creature of these lands.

I may very well be cursed, entranced, destined to wander back into the eternal woods with nothing but these lands in the forefront of my thoughts.

“ Am I cursed? Did that thing... ? ”

“ No, you’re well,” he says, sitting back. “ I must tend to those stings, but you’re well enough.”

Well enough . Tears burn my eyes. Embarrassed, I bury my face in my hands and cry. Stupid, stupid girl. I could’ ve died.

Why didn’t I run past that clearing faster ? Why didn’t I ignore that stupid creature when it was sending me those stupid little poems?

“ Flower,” Aidyn says, and his breath tickles my hair against my ear. His fingers pull some of the locks aside so he can gaze at what there is to see of my face through my fingers. “’Tis all well now.”

I shake my head, though he cannot be lying. We may be safe enough, but nothing is well. “ Where did the passageway go?”

“ I am uncertain,” he admits. “ We can search for it later. Anything that wanders in cannot get through the door. There is nothing to worry over.”

I sniffle. He is right, after all; the door was heavy to open and the lock sturdy. Safer than the small side door. We are safe.

“ How did you become lost?” he asks, and I shake my head again. I feel foolish enough already and do not need to be admitting it to him. He should still be in bed. Still be resting. Still be a bit sulky—

“ You should be in bed,” I tell him.

I receive a gentle scoff, and I finally glare, ignoring my puffy eyes and wet cheeks.

“ I should be many things,” he mumbles, then pushes himself to his feet with great effort, grimacing, offering his hands. I think of not taking them, but then I’m unsure I would ever be getting off the floor. The warmth of his fingers is oddly stabilizing, comforting.

Wobbling, he nearly catches himself against me, and I frown, more determined to put him to bed. Night has fallen, and I do not know if I should be returning across the border this late—no matter how I wish to. Besides, I’m unsure I could make it down the stairs.

“ You’ re stung, ” he says, running his thumb across the burning spot on my hand.

I flinch without meaning to, then simply pull him along toward the bedroom. “ Tell me what is wrong with you.”

“ Hmm,” he says as we shut the door to his room, a strange safety washing over me.

The kittens are mewling in their basket, and I remember the heavy burden of plums still looped over my shoulder, weighing me down as I walk.

Since he won’t answer, I ask, “ How long will I be dizzy?”

As I fumble with their blankets, I dump some of the fruit onto the floor beside them.

They crawl over it with little paws, ripping open the purple flesh and licking at the juice.

Satisfied, I slump onto the pillows, shivering in the warmth, finally understanding why Aidyn keeps his room so heated if this is how he feels.

“ Show me,” he says, seated beside me, silver eyes on the side of my face.

I stare up at him, thinking of the creature and her face bent over his, his harsh glare in return. There is something dark on the bottom of his cane—I know precisely what it is and don’t wish to think too hard on it.

“ What?” I ask again, feeling dull. I have never passed out before, though I may simply do so now.

Sighing, he pulls me around. Startled by the contact but finding it nothing like that strange creature and her song, I attempt to move my body in the direction he wishes while he mumbles something about monsters and silly humans.

I feel silly , I think about telling him, but I find no determination.

His hands turn over my own, touching again at the beesting and then at some of the small scrapes from my struggle before tugging at the shoulder of my torn dress where another sting is.

His shoulders are slumped. He wavers slightly, wobbling even as he is sitting.

I want to lay him in bed and put blankets over him, smooth his hair from his forehead.

Scowling, he returns to my wrist and puts it up to his lips.

“ What are you doing?” I ask, giving a weak tug at the idea of him putting my ruined finger against his pretty face.

Rolling his eyes, he ignores my weak protests and presses his lips around the sting.

A sharp pain follows, but the strange numbness retreats.

I’m not entirely certain what he’s doing.

.. Sucking the venom out as one would a snakebite?

It feels almost as if his teeth broke skin but does not hurt enough.

Some of the haze clears from my thoughts. It must be the venom of the stings, not the words of the creature still echoing in my mind.

“ You are all so susceptible to Faerie,” he mumbles, spitting into the ashes of the fire.

I think of putting another log on but can’t quite move my body correctly.

“ These could drive you mad if you let them fester. But I suppose you’re susceptible to our magics in good ways as well.

This will work better than any of your little tonics you’re sneaking in. ”

Somewhere in the back of my thoughts, I have the wherewithal to be annoyed by the statement, to roll my eyes in return at the fact he has known about the medicines and not mentioned it.

“ Well,” I mumble, “ you did not tell me anything, so I had to try something .”

I say it with a fair bit of attitude, but he gives me such a strangely sad expression that all hints of annoyance flee.

“ I appreciate your trying,” he whispers. His face is very close to mine. I look down, at his two hands wrapped around my smaller one, ruined fingers resting between his. The pain there is mostly gone. Gently, he removes his gifted ring, returning it to his own finger.

“ Do that for the others,” I tell him. “ Then tell me what is ailing you. Even if I cannot help, I wish to know.”

“ Of course you do, tiny Bluebell,” he murmurs, making an expression somewhere close to a smile. He presses his lips to my finger again for a moment before spitting the venom out into the hearth. This time, I do move to place another log onto the fire. He gives an appreciative hum.

“ I’m tall for a woman,” I repeat grumpily.

Brushing my hair aside, he glances at me with a strangely shy expression, then does the same to the burning wound along my neck, his hand cupping the other side of my face.

E mbarrass ment pecks at me, though the pain is winning out.

There is a third along my shoulder, and I do not have time to consider the implications of such before he simply moves aside the torn fabric to repeat his little healing session.

“ What else hurts?” he asks, paying special attention to my hand, though the pain has mostly cleared. It was the worst sting by far. His thumb touches near the cut along my brow, but it no longer bleeds and does not bother me much in comparison.

“ My ankle,” I say, “ but I don’t think you have any special faerie spit for a rolled ankle.”

He gives another approximation of a half smile and glances at my feet, which are now beside him as one of my legs is resting over his. “ No. Which one? You should take your shoes off.”

He’s quite correct. Fumbling with the few laces—I should’ve worn my boots to begin with and not rolled my silly ankle—I pull both off as carefully as possible. The right one is swollen, but not as terribly as I anticipated. Aidyn must see, as he touches it immediately, careful enough not to hurt.

“ Anything else?”

“ Yes,” I say in exhaustion. “ Everything. ”

He chuckles tiredly, leaning against the closest desk where the pillows create a little wall.

“ Tell me,” I say again. His eyes are closed—he doesn’t appear to be listening. “ Aidyn. ”

“ Hmm? ”