Page 35 of The Last War We Ever Fought

Again, he ate it directly from her hand, stopping to press a light peck on her palm as well, rendering her silent and unable to think a single other thing besides his lips on her skin. “What are we looking for out here, little thief?” he asked, wincing at the taste of mint as well. “You can poison me at the comfort of your tent, too.”

She looked ahead. “Looking for more noreberries. For my sleep.”

He’d caught her lie far too easily, but he didn’t say anything. Elijah only followed after her as she stacked the deep maroon coloured berries in her pouch.

When she reached the high riverbank that overflowed with the fastest current in the whole of Tisiania, she braced herself on a rock and leaned forward to dip her hand in it. The water was so clear. Crystal. And cold. Her reflection fluttered over its surface, her ears filled with the sound of the stream.

She felt so at peace near water. So at peace that she had not noticed the man who stood on the other side of the river bank, aiming an arrow at her.

She felt peace even as he pulled the string and let it loose.

She felt at peace even as the sharp tip came flying in her direction.

The brief hope of an end faltered when the arrow was cut in half right before her eyes by a dark sword, its hilt gleaming red from the rubies etched to it.

Elijah stood in front of her, wearing his dark armour for the first time since that day he came.

Her attention fell on the hilt again, at the rubies that suddenly melted and turned liquid, dripping over his hand and down the blade like blood.

“Leave,” Elijah ordered, his voice chasing into the wind, growing louder as it echoed further and further like a tidal wave.

The Gobresh man dropped his bow and fled, running fast towards his lands.

Once he disappeared from sight entirely, Elijah turned to her.

“I thought you weren’t supposed to interfere,” she said.

“I am not.”

“What will happen now?”

“I don’t particularly care,” he said, his sword and armour vanishing from his body. For the first time, he looked angry. He looked angry at her, too. “You didn’t move. You saw him, you probably heard him, too. You didn’t move, Rowan,” he said a bit louder, and Rowan flinched. His chest rose fast, his jaw was set tight. “Why do you need the haleberries you’ve been collecting for days now?”

As she’d thought, he’d known her lies from before. “I am fine,” she said, brushing her wet hand to her shirt.

“Answer me, Rowan!”

She simply spun on her heels and headed back towards the forest. He had no right to demand anything of her.

Rowan would have kept going, but she heard a grunt and then a thud coming from behind her, where she had abandoned him. She’d never ran faster. Tree branches lashed at her face and body, pricking her skin until she felt the warmth of blood stick to her as she ran back to him.

He had knelt down, a bloody palm braced to the ground and another to his heart. He was breathing fast, more blood sticking to his shirt that had entirely matted to his front.

On shaky legs, she reached and knelt before him, attempting to raise his body up so she could look at his wound. “What is happening?” she breathed, pressing both of her palms against a gushing wound on his chest.

He leaned back. “What was meant to kill you is now trying to kill me.”

“How?”

A dark chuckle slipped out of his lips. His head tipped back and his eyes screwed shut. “Godly humour.”

She rose to her feet. To get help. To find some way to stop his bleeding. To do something. Anything. But he stopped her, his hand grabbing her wrist. “Stay.”

“And watch you die?”

His violet eyes opened and found hers. “It can’t be that hard. Stay.”

Her breaths started coming in with difficulty. Something had tightly grasped her insides and wouldn’t let go. “Why are you doing this to me?”