Page 34 of The Last War We Ever Fought

The mornings after that night had been new. She’d pretended that night had never happened, and to her luck, he’d played along. Rowan had been ready to waste her little wishes on things she couldn't afford to wish. She’d been ready to do worse after he’d called his Rowan, but thankfully, he had left faster than she could react.

His shadow followed after hers as she trailed around the forest, foraging. The Gobresh lands had always been richer, more fertile. She couldn’t count the number of strange consumable plants she’d come across since she'd left Mugril borders to join the infantry. Mugril was rich with mines and Gobresh was rich with produce. Mugril was much smaller in size and mostly sat between mountains and high rock while Gobresh was all fields, rivers and rich loams, much bigger in size, too—stretching almost five times the size of Mugril. But it was the land of farmers, fisherman, forgers, builders and mostly such pacifistic disciplines. While Mugril forged man and steel alike, with an army three times the population of the Gobresh capitol, made of men and women who had held swords before they’d held a pen. The only luck Gobresh had against Mugril in this war was its size. It had taken their infantry years to drag itself to battles across the many towns to the heart of Gobresh. Though they’d mostly won them with ease, the Gobresh had managed to wear them down enough to stretch this war longer that it should have been and strengthen their own army with each city they’d lost.

“What is that?” Elijah asked, crouching beside her as she began picking a few green leaves.

“Basil,” she said, plucking a leaf and holding it to him, expecting him to take it from her hand, not lean in and bite it from her fingers, his lips brushing over her skin.

Elijah winced. “That is pleasant to you?”

She nodded, propping a leaf in her mouth. “Very. It’s the most pleasant thing in this realm especially when you have a stomach-ache.” For some reason, even after she’d answered him, he remained there. Close to her. Watching her. “What?”

“Nothing,” he said, his violet eyes sinking onto her face, looking so profoundly and deeply that she almost shrunk back. “And everything.”

“You’re a confusing man.”

“I’m not a man.”

She raked a look over him. “Could’ve fooled me.”

He cocked his head back and grinned down at her. “This must be a dream. She’s making more harmless jokes.”

Standing, Rowan headed to another bush. “Should have just fed you poison.”

“Fifteen.”

“Fifteen what?” she asked.

“Fifteen times you’ve threatened me. Six is the number of times you’ve acted upon them.”

She stood up and leaned against a tree. “Huh.”

“Huh?” he asked, walking to her with a small red flower. A poppy. He tapped the flower on her nose. “Have I counted wrong?”

Rowan had to tilt her head up to look at him with how close to her he was standing. “It seemed more in my head. Possibly because I’ve threatened and attempted to kill you behind your back more than fifteen times.”

“That is the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me,” he said, putting the poppy behind her ear and running the back of a finger gently down her face before pulling it to his side.

Her mouth had gone dry, her heart had gone furious. She wasn’t concentrated enough to think of a snarky reply or a reply at all. Besides, after that night, she didn’t think they mattered anymore. He’d know she didn’t mean them, so she said, “Poppies grow in graveyards. They aren’t flowers you wear in your hair.”

“Poppies are harmless flowers that humans have made something odious out of.” He reached a hand down her braid resting over her right shoulder. “What an awful thing to do to such a beautiful flower.”

For a moment, it had seemed as if he had not been talking about poppies. “Perhaps they ought to stop growing in such ominous places.”

“Perhaps,” he agreed, taking the end of her braid and wrapping it around a finger. “But a flower's job is to grow. Anywhere. Its innocence is taken advantage of by men.”

“His clement divinity should have been a philosopher. Besides, both of them are useless jobs.”

“Believe me, if I could help what I am,” he pensively said, “I still wouldn’t.”

“Arrogance is the godliest trait you’ve shown me so far.”

His lip quirked. “If you’d allowed me to stay last night, I would have shown you something far godlier.”

Rowan gaped at him, half appalled at him for insinuating what he had and half embarrassed. Men rarely dared speak as such to her.

Chuckling, he nudged her chin up with a finger, forcing her mouth to close. “My singing abilities. I would have put you right to bed with a sonnet.”

The lie had slid so smoothly from his tongue, she couldn’t help but smile. “What a shame,” she said, moving around the bushes and eating some more of her basil, hoping it would help stop the flutter at the pit of her stomach. “If I had known, I might have let you stay. I love a good ballad.” Plucking some mint, she held it up to him. “Mint?”