Spellbinder
Page 19
She scrubbed at her wet face. “I don’t understand.”
“I know you don’t. Just believe this much: I would get you out of here if I could, and I will help you as much as I can. Here, take this.”
Fingers closed over her wrist, making her start. He put something under her fingers. Bringing up her other hand, she felt along a round rim then down the smooth sides. The object felt metallic. “Is this a flask of some sort?”
“Yes. There’s soup in it. It’s not too hot to eat.”
“Thank you,” she breathed.
Opening the lid, she held it close and inhaled the rich scent of something meaty. Moist warmth touched her cheek, and suddenly she was so ravenous she could barely contain herself. Cautiously, she sipped at the warm liquid. He was right. It wasn’t too hot, and it was unutterably delicious.
Hunching her shoulders, she concentrated everything on savoring the delectable liquid. She had eaten at some of the most exclusive, expensive restaurants in the world, but she had never tasted anything as wonderful as that soup.
Something hard and straight pressed against her fingers, making her start again. The man whispered, “Sorry. It’s a spoon.”
She whispered another thanks, took it, and kept the edge of the rim against her lips as she spooned chunks of vegetables, meat, and noodles into her mouth. When she had devoured all the pieces of food, she upended the flask and drank the last of the broth.
He didn’t speak while she ate, nor did he move, until again she would have wondered at his presence or her own sanity if she hadn’t held the physical evidence of the flask between whole, dexterous fingers.
When she had finished the soup, he touched the back of her hand, slid a light finger down to the flask and took it from her. His actions seemed so confident, it was almost as if he could see her.
She frowned, not liking that thought. She felt completely blinded by the night and intensely vulnerable, and the possibility that he might be able to see her while she couldn’t see him was disturbing.
The flask was definitely not from here, which meant he probably had other things from Earth. Could he be wearing night goggles?
“I can’t see a thing in here,” she whispered cautiously. “But you seem to be able to.”
“It’s very dark in here, but I have exceptional eyesight too.” His reply was calm and untroubled. Confident. “You’re mostly a collection of shadows to me, but I can get a general idea of how you’re sitting and where you are.”
From everything he said she gathered he wasn’t human, but that wasn’t much of a leap in deduction. She had been in Avalon for days and hadn’t seen another human.
While she pondered that, he said, “Here—I have water, fruit, and bread too.”
As he talked, he set items in her lap, and she identified each one by touch. One was a water bottle. Another was a small loaf of bread. Unlike the hard, unappetizing bread she had been given on the road, this bread had a crust that broke easily as she pinched a corner of it, and the inside was soft and smelled yeasty. He also set a bunch of grapes on her knee.
After having been without for so long, she felt overwhelmed, and tears prickled at the back of her nose again. She forced them down.
Thickly, she whispered, “This is amazing. I-I don’t know what to say.”
“No need to say anything. I’ll have to take the water flask with me when I go, but you can eat the evidence of the fruit and bread. I dumped out the water cup they gave you on the tray, wiped it out and put fresh water in it. That’s safe to drink too. I wouldn’t trust the food or drink they give you. It’s not very sanitary, and it could make you sick, especially since you’re not used to it.”
She had eaten so little, her stomach must have shrunk, because the soup had completely filled her up. Still, she rested her fingers lightly on each gift. With real nourishment, she began to feel stronger and more clearheaded than she had for quite some time. Not exactly steady, not yet—the abyss of despair she had fallen into was still too close for that. But still… better.
“You’ve helped me so much, and I don’t even know who you are,” she whispered. “What’s your name? Where are you from?”
He took in a deep breath. Like everything else, it was a quiet sound, but something about it made it seem as if he braced himself. “I can’t tell you that.”
She considered that. “Can’t?” she asked. “Or won’t?”
A small silence fell. Without sight, everything felt extra weighted, especially significant.
Then he replied, “Won’t.”
That shook her. She wasn’t even sure why it rattled her so, but it did, and her imagination careened from thought to thought like a car hurtling down a mountain without brakes.
Why wouldn’t he tell her his name? What was constraining him from helping her to escape? Who was he? Why was he here?
She had relaxed with him, and all because he had healed her hands. She had eaten the food he had given her, but what if it had been drugged or poisoned? What if he worked for the Queen, and this was all an incredibly cruel ploy? What if—what if—
What if they had healed her fingers only to come back and break them again?
The blackness pressed down all around her. Suddenly it felt crushingly heavy, almost as if it were a live creature intent on suffocating her. Her breathing turned short and ragged as panic closed her throat.
“Easy there,” he whispered.
Fingers touched the bare skin of her forearm. Flinging the food and water bottle, she scrambled blindly away from him, scuttling on hands and knees. Pain exploded in her head and one shoulder as she slammed into something hard. Reeling back, she reached forward with both hands and felt rough stone. She had run into a wall.
Firm hands came down on her shoulders. The man whispered, “Stop before you seriously hurt yourself.”
Still in the middle of panic and driven by instinct, she slammed her elbow back, collided with hard, packed muscle, and twisted away from his touch.
He emitted a quiet, strangled moan. It sounded odd enough that she paused uncertainly, but this time he didn’t follow or try to touch her again. His breathing had turned ragged.
After a moment, he gasped, “I understand you are… under extraordinary stress, but I am… not entirely well. Don’t do that… again.”
The stress in his breathing and whispered words snapped her back to herself. Twisting on her knees, she groped her way back in the direction of his voice, one hand outstretched. Her fingers collided with clothing. Lightly, quickly she ran her hands over the outline of his body, and he did nothing to stop her.
“I know you don’t. Just believe this much: I would get you out of here if I could, and I will help you as much as I can. Here, take this.”
Fingers closed over her wrist, making her start. He put something under her fingers. Bringing up her other hand, she felt along a round rim then down the smooth sides. The object felt metallic. “Is this a flask of some sort?”
“Yes. There’s soup in it. It’s not too hot to eat.”
“Thank you,” she breathed.
Opening the lid, she held it close and inhaled the rich scent of something meaty. Moist warmth touched her cheek, and suddenly she was so ravenous she could barely contain herself. Cautiously, she sipped at the warm liquid. He was right. It wasn’t too hot, and it was unutterably delicious.
Hunching her shoulders, she concentrated everything on savoring the delectable liquid. She had eaten at some of the most exclusive, expensive restaurants in the world, but she had never tasted anything as wonderful as that soup.
Something hard and straight pressed against her fingers, making her start again. The man whispered, “Sorry. It’s a spoon.”
She whispered another thanks, took it, and kept the edge of the rim against her lips as she spooned chunks of vegetables, meat, and noodles into her mouth. When she had devoured all the pieces of food, she upended the flask and drank the last of the broth.
He didn’t speak while she ate, nor did he move, until again she would have wondered at his presence or her own sanity if she hadn’t held the physical evidence of the flask between whole, dexterous fingers.
When she had finished the soup, he touched the back of her hand, slid a light finger down to the flask and took it from her. His actions seemed so confident, it was almost as if he could see her.
She frowned, not liking that thought. She felt completely blinded by the night and intensely vulnerable, and the possibility that he might be able to see her while she couldn’t see him was disturbing.
The flask was definitely not from here, which meant he probably had other things from Earth. Could he be wearing night goggles?
“I can’t see a thing in here,” she whispered cautiously. “But you seem to be able to.”
“It’s very dark in here, but I have exceptional eyesight too.” His reply was calm and untroubled. Confident. “You’re mostly a collection of shadows to me, but I can get a general idea of how you’re sitting and where you are.”
From everything he said she gathered he wasn’t human, but that wasn’t much of a leap in deduction. She had been in Avalon for days and hadn’t seen another human.
While she pondered that, he said, “Here—I have water, fruit, and bread too.”
As he talked, he set items in her lap, and she identified each one by touch. One was a water bottle. Another was a small loaf of bread. Unlike the hard, unappetizing bread she had been given on the road, this bread had a crust that broke easily as she pinched a corner of it, and the inside was soft and smelled yeasty. He also set a bunch of grapes on her knee.
After having been without for so long, she felt overwhelmed, and tears prickled at the back of her nose again. She forced them down.
Thickly, she whispered, “This is amazing. I-I don’t know what to say.”
“No need to say anything. I’ll have to take the water flask with me when I go, but you can eat the evidence of the fruit and bread. I dumped out the water cup they gave you on the tray, wiped it out and put fresh water in it. That’s safe to drink too. I wouldn’t trust the food or drink they give you. It’s not very sanitary, and it could make you sick, especially since you’re not used to it.”
She had eaten so little, her stomach must have shrunk, because the soup had completely filled her up. Still, she rested her fingers lightly on each gift. With real nourishment, she began to feel stronger and more clearheaded than she had for quite some time. Not exactly steady, not yet—the abyss of despair she had fallen into was still too close for that. But still… better.
“You’ve helped me so much, and I don’t even know who you are,” she whispered. “What’s your name? Where are you from?”
He took in a deep breath. Like everything else, it was a quiet sound, but something about it made it seem as if he braced himself. “I can’t tell you that.”
She considered that. “Can’t?” she asked. “Or won’t?”
A small silence fell. Without sight, everything felt extra weighted, especially significant.
Then he replied, “Won’t.”
That shook her. She wasn’t even sure why it rattled her so, but it did, and her imagination careened from thought to thought like a car hurtling down a mountain without brakes.
Why wouldn’t he tell her his name? What was constraining him from helping her to escape? Who was he? Why was he here?
She had relaxed with him, and all because he had healed her hands. She had eaten the food he had given her, but what if it had been drugged or poisoned? What if he worked for the Queen, and this was all an incredibly cruel ploy? What if—what if—
What if they had healed her fingers only to come back and break them again?
The blackness pressed down all around her. Suddenly it felt crushingly heavy, almost as if it were a live creature intent on suffocating her. Her breathing turned short and ragged as panic closed her throat.
“Easy there,” he whispered.
Fingers touched the bare skin of her forearm. Flinging the food and water bottle, she scrambled blindly away from him, scuttling on hands and knees. Pain exploded in her head and one shoulder as she slammed into something hard. Reeling back, she reached forward with both hands and felt rough stone. She had run into a wall.
Firm hands came down on her shoulders. The man whispered, “Stop before you seriously hurt yourself.”
Still in the middle of panic and driven by instinct, she slammed her elbow back, collided with hard, packed muscle, and twisted away from his touch.
He emitted a quiet, strangled moan. It sounded odd enough that she paused uncertainly, but this time he didn’t follow or try to touch her again. His breathing had turned ragged.
After a moment, he gasped, “I understand you are… under extraordinary stress, but I am… not entirely well. Don’t do that… again.”
The stress in his breathing and whispered words snapped her back to herself. Twisting on her knees, she groped her way back in the direction of his voice, one hand outstretched. Her fingers collided with clothing. Lightly, quickly she ran her hands over the outline of his body, and he did nothing to stop her.
