Long arms pulled Gale away from the cheerful red blossoms. She gasped, struck by dizziness as the world blurred and spun. When her feet found the leafy ground again, it rocked, and the sun shone on her with a dreamlike quality. Spindly arms held her propped against a warm, thin body with a hollow chest behind her head. She peered over her shoulder and found Fenn’s white blouse.

  Is this a dream?

  She blinked rapidly, seeking clarity. His hands dug painfully into her arms, crossed over her body like a tackle–or a hug. But it was no dream.

  Finding her voice, she yelped and wriggled, only to find he captured her tighter. She shoved him away with all her might, sending them both stumbling over fallen leaves.

  “Don’t touch me!” she spat. After days spent making her anger clear to him, he had some nerve to hold her like that. She glowered at him.

  He panted, his jaw hung slack. She thought, for a moment, that it quivered a bit. His stupid handsome eyes gazed at her widely, appraising her with a strange gladness. It was relief, she realized to her own bewilderment. She held her glare steady. She had heard him call out to her, yes, but he owed her an explanation. Several, actually, and mostly not about the flowers.

  Suddenly, he stood erect, as tall as she had ever seen him stand, and he set his jaw. “You don’t have to speak with me,” he began. “We most especially don’t have to touch. But, Galendria, if you do not listen when I call out to you, you will find yourself trapped by some fae, whether in an eternal sleep feeding the poppy-sprites or in some hag’s dinner. So please, if I say be careful, then be careful, and if I say don’t, then don’t.” His voice sounded tight with emotion and his fists were clenched, but he enunciated each word carefully. “Do you understand?”

  All she could do was gape, stung by his bluntness. She nodded, silent. If that had been their dual of words, he had won without her even having a turn.

  He spun on his heels, striding toward camp with a long, confident gait that she’d never seen before. It was as though he didn’t miss her at all; as though he didn’t miss talking with her between watches; as though her fond squeezes to his arm or pats to his shoulder had meant nothing to him.

  She scowled after him. As she did, his warning settled into her mind. Poppy-sprites. She turned her glare on the patch of scarlet flowers. One of them tilted up its receptacle to glare back at her, its little opal eyes opening against the green. A white tongue shot out before it turned away again. She gasped. Eternal sleep. Goosebumps prickled her skin in the chill wind that blew from across the blossoms. She wished she hadn’t torn off her sleeves, no matter how muddy and ripped they’d become.

  Fenn was not one to exaggerate danger. She could’ve died.

  She glanced after him. What if he had tried to grab me and fallen in also? Had he even considered that possibility? She had been leaning pretty far over the glade when he’d grabbed her.

  Fenn joined Syrdin in raising their tent, talking quietly. That bitterness she’d recently come to know roused itself, and her moment of appreciation was forgotten. Those two had become downright friendly, and she couldn’t stand it. She plodded toward camp, passing them by in a huff, and joined Krid. He sniffed and snorted at trees, ever scanning their surroundings. He noted her as she approached. “Would you take the first watch with me?”

  He was getting better about asking instead of demanding. She nodded, still stung a heart, and plopped on the leafy ground with her back to Fenn, resting her head on her knees. Her limbs felt heavy and sluggish, and she wondered if the poppies hadn’t affected her after all.

  You don’t have to speak with me. Fenn had said those words so easily, as though her friendship mattered nothing to him.

  We especially don’t have to touch. Didn’t he want closeness? Didn’t he ever see her and want to simply close the distance between them in an embrace? Perhaps he only spoke from frustration. Maybe her anger was difficult for him. She dared to hope so.

  Yet, matroniages didn’t require love. Surely he hadn’t agreed only because she was so “far above his station.” They had been the closest of friends once. She squeezed the Truth’s Eye in her pocket. He'd denied her initial approach for that same reason. That meant he regarded her highly, right?

  He had a poor way of showing it.

  She huffed and raked her fingers through some of the tangles in her hair. After a lifetime of observing her parents’ love for each other, watching their gentle looks and soft caresses; their love that overcame even barrenness and the politics of Ceanship–she couldn’t help but desire the same. She had hoped for that; had very nearly prayed for that. With her magic and adoption, it had seemed impossible to find someone who would accept all of her with no secrets.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  But when Fenn, her truest friend, had returned, she had finally had a chance. He was not suave, or genteel, or well-spoken, or even confident like many of the young elf men who had competed for her attention. But he was kind, gentle, and considerate of her. And he knew her, beyond the title and voice. He would’ve been a doting father, an attentive patron–perhaps one day a fine husband. Only, he had kept secrets. He consorted with a Night Elf.

  She ripped one of the overly pink puffball seeds from her hair. If only it were as simple to tease secrets out of Fenn.

  She hurled away the puff and watched it catch on an easy breeze. Why can’t life be easy? It had been, once, when they were kids resting by a stream with their bare feet soaked and no more problems than which art class to take the next autumn. They would take it together.

  That was worth saving. Fenn was officially a traitor to the nation, true, but only because he'd been misled by good intentions. This was only one argument. A first argument. A big one, granted, but still only one. One she still had time to win. Fenn’s time in the University had given him strange ideas, but he… he was still…

  Fenn handed Syrdin a stake, face written with sincerity as he spoke his whispered conference.

  …him.

  She buried her face in her skirts with a growl. That him was being extremely difficult. He didn’t seem to care to apologize at all, though he’d tried to make some excuses–had tried to “explain” why this was her fault. She’d have no excuses. Night Elves had killed her birth parents. Maybe Syrdin wasn’t one of “those” Night Elves, but zhe wasn’t a nice person. Not even a good one.

  “You are bothered, Gale?” Krid whispered in a low rasp behind her.

  She nodded into her knees.

  “This is still because of Fenn, yes?”

  She repeated the motion.

  “You could still challenge him directly.”

  She considered it–considered marching up to him, pointing a finger at his chest, and telling him to never ever lie to her again, and to apologize and tell her everything or she’d fight him. And, while he was at it, to beg her for forgiveness and explain just how he had intended for things to go if she hadn’t followed him here. What excuse did he think he could feed me for disappearing again? She hoped he had intended to explain himself… eventually. And how did he think he was going to return for me?

  She’d have been hurt beyond grief and worried near to the end of her when he’d been discovered gone again.

  She was both of those anyway, and she was with him.

  She watched Fenn lay out Mell’s bedroll beside her, prompting her into it.

  “And you wonder why Gale wants you,” Mell grumbled in a loud huff as she shifted onto the pallet.

  Gale felt her cheeks heat in her skirt and waited for the rustling of Fenn’s boots to retreat before she continued talking to Krid.

  She sighed, lifting up her head. “I suppose I could duel.” It was a bit childish, her sulking—especially the silent treatment while she waited for him to apologize properly. “But if he comes to me on his own, then I’ll know he still cares. I just want to know that he wants to repair our relationsh…” she squinted, seeing motion in the forest. She rubbed her eyes, forcing them to focus. “What’s that?”

  Something like a small cloud drifted near the forest floor only a dozen paces from her. It spun slowly in place. When the round body rotated the full circle, Gale spotted eyes like blue depressions aglow in the center of its mist. Its gaze alighted on her, and it made a small chirrup noise not unlike a kitten.

  “Is it a cloud?”

  “Wisp.” Gale breathed the word. She had learned a song or two with mentions of them. Invariably, those mentions were written out by the House of Tradition before the song was approved for performance. That meant that, most likely, these creatures were connected to magic and the gods. Otherwise, the House of Tradition would not have cared. She understood that much from what Fenn left unsaid–and from what she had been required to redact before.

  “Fenn?” she whispered, turning to his tent. He had disappeared inside.

  The creature chirruped again, and when she looked back it was gone. She drooped over her knees with another sigh.

  “See? You want to speak with him.” Krid stepped to her side and reached a hand to the top of her head. Claws scratched relief into her scalp. Until that moment, she had wondered how Fenn tolerated the treatment. It was bliss.

  She relaxed into it only for his hand to retract. She had too much self-respect to ask him to continue. “Of course I do,” she mumbled. She loved him–or at least had the beginnings of love for him. Even as she learned more about him and witnessed new sides of him, she couldn’t shake the attraction.

  She was fox-nipped, frosts-take-it, and for an excitable, bookish idiot who would save her life at his own peril, but who could not be bothered to apologize when he clearly betrayed her trust. She stared at the empty ground where the wisp had disappeared, wondering if they would ever sort out their problems.