I try to ignore the pressure in my chest as I check on my father.
He’s paler than yesterday. His voice rasps, too. I put down my basket and straightway make him more aster leaf tea and soup. I take the pillows and blankets from my bed and make him as comfortable as he can be. He wakes from his dozing and smiles at me.
“I’ll get over it,” he promises.
“Of course you will. I’m not caring for all those mushrooms myself.” I need to tend the oon berry surrounding the house. I may have the Will Stone, but my father does not, and I am not home as much as I should be. If only I’d healed Maekallus last night instead of trying to save a few hours. Then I could have stayed at Papa’s side today.
I help my father drink his tea. I won’t be gone long. I pray that my body will have the strength it needs to be swift. The cut on my palm throbs in response, soaking the bandage.
I wait until slumber claims my father again, then take a long moment to listen to his breathing before I set out for the glade.
The Will Stone tells me Maekallus has not wandered far. I find him only an eighth of a mile from the clearing where his binding spell is staked. I’m glad—it takes so much of my energy just to make it this far, and I can’t spare time waiting for him to return.
He’s tucked into a small space between clustered trees, a little rocky to get to, the ground slightly sloped. He leans against an aspen. His breathing is similar to my father’s, but heavier, wetter. The mortal realm is working hard on him. His skin is more black than peach, and black streaks through his bound hair. Half his face is darkened with corruption. The muscles of his back are taut. I can only imagine the pain it causes him.
When I speak, it startles him. It is becoming easier and easier to sneak up on Maekallus. I imagine few could scare him, before he met me.
“I brought you some stew,” I offer. “And water, though now you should be able to find it on your own.”
He somehow manages to grin, even as the skin around the gray burn on his chest weeps a few drops of tar. “Did you know the forest looks all the same? The cage has only gotten larger.”
“That’s not true.” I set the basket down in a nook formed by a tree root. “Farther east it opens up into a sort of studded meadow. South, past my home, there’s a waterfall. Just a small one, but it’s beautiful in the winter. It makes thick icicles that shine with rainbows when the sun hits them.” I pause. “Do you have that, in the monster realm? Rainbows, waterfalls.”
“Rainbows, no,” he rasps. “Waterfalls, yes. Most are not made of water, however.”
The scholarly part of me wants to ask what they are made of, but the memory of that strange, horrifying substance Attaby had collected in a bowl on his makeshift worktable makes me pause. Besides, now is not the time for research.
My eyes drop to the thread of light ever piercing his chest. I wonder if that hurts, too. He doesn’t show it, if it does. For a mysting and a trickster, Maekallus keeps his complaining to a minimum.
I lick my lips. Half a soul. “We’ll break it, won’t we?”
He rubs the poisoned flesh of his chest and stands with effort. “Somehow.”
We face each other, silent for several seconds, until I feel strange inside. My mind blanks of words. Why should I feel awkward now? I’ve kissed him several times. Yet now, even with him in this deteriorated state, I feel . . . nervous. Like I did with Tennith.
Papa is waiting, I remind myself. I leave my basket and pick my way across the short space between us. Clench my hands into fists to hide the anxious quiver of my fingers. Say a silent apology to that deep space inside me. I can feel the warmth of what I lost radiating from Maekallus’s broken body.
I lift my face toward his. Take in the slope of his nose, the curve of his mouth. I don’t want to admit it to myself, but he is handsome. More so than before, though the exchanging of soul hasn’t altered his face. It is the way I look at him that has changed, and that scares me most of all.
He hesitates. Only for a moment, but I notice it, and I wonder.
He doesn’t touch me, save for his lips to mine. They are half-cold, half-warm. I crack with silent thunder even before feeling the break inside me. Hear my fractured soul’s sorrow as yet more of it spins out of me and into him. At least this time I remain conscious.
Maekallus stumbles as though the extra piece of my soul struck him. He grabs my bandaged hand for balance. Almost instantly his skin clears, even the burns.
I don’t feel any different, save for the sadness blooming in my gut like a poisonous flower. I squeeze his hand. He looks at me, and my mouth falls open.
“Maekallus”—his name is half breath—“your . . . eyes.”
Their harsh yellow pigment has given way to warm amber. Not a common color by any stretch of the imagination, but a passable one, for a mortal. I marvel at them, at the humanness of that hue. Again my grandmother’s voice surfaces in my mind: What is a soul if not an extension of the heart?
My lips part. Am I giving Maekallus a human heart, too?
“What—” he begins, but he’s interrupted, and not by me.
“Enna?”
I’m so startled to hear the familiar voice I nearly collapse where I stand. Whirling around, I see Tennith coming through the trees. He’s in his hunting leathers, but carries no game.
I glance back to Maekallus, then to Tennith, choking on my own breath. To be seen here, with a mysting, and in such a compromising position. Dear gods above, whom will he tell? Maekallus’s eyes may be passable, but that horn gives him away! My father and I will be cast out completely, and I will be lucky if that’s the only consequence—
The lack of judgment in Tennith’s features confuses me, even as my pulse races faster than a mountain-fed brook. His countenance is gentle, concerned.
He pauses. “You look so pale. I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to follow you. But I saw you go into the wildwood, and I’ve been meaning to speak with you.”
Words fail me. Tennith’s eyes only watch me, not Maekallus. He does, however, glance to my basket.
“Hmm.” Maekallus puts his hands on his hips. “At least that part still works.”
Tennith doesn’t seem to hear him. To see him. “Enna?”
The instant he says my name, I remember the first thing Maekallus ever said to me. You can see me?
Breath rushes out of me all at once. Relief has never tasted sweeter. Somehow, Maekallus is hiding himself from Tennith’s eyes. The Will Stone must have prevented Maekallus from remaining invisible the day we met. He had never meant to interact with me, only sate his curiosity, but his spell hadn’t held against my charm.
“I-I’m sorry. Yes, you startled me.” My heart is beating so quickly, perhaps I’ll faint after all.
Tennith again glances to my basket. “Where are you going?”
I say the first thing that jumps to mind. “My grandmother’s.”
To my relief, he nods.
Maekallus steps around me, studying Tennith like he’s some bizarre mortal creature. “Who is this?”
I don’t answer him, of course. Tennith may not be able to hear Maekallus’s voice, but he’ll certainly hear mine. I try very hard to keep my eyes on Tennith.