Chapter 3

Cricket

The flickering fire reminds me of Julian's glowing hands. I stare into the flames and roll the coin between my fingers as the unlucky pigeon I stole from a noble manor's dovecote cooks on a spit.

I'm safely out of Lemossin and camped for the rest of the night—what's left of it—under a stand of evergreens. By my estimate, the sun will rise in about five hours, leaving little time for sleep after I've eaten.

No matter.

It'll take several weeks of walking to return home, and I'm eager to be on my way. An early start to launch the journey won't kill me.

As the fire snaps and pops, so do my thoughts. I'm used to being alone. I like being alone. But it's not often I feel this lonely. Like the world has abandoned me to my fate and cares not whether I live or die. Like it may as well be me roasting on that spit, for all I'm needed now that everyone I've ever cared for is gone.

And this bizarre coin in my possession seems to have a mind of its own. Power of its own. Magic to do its bidding that it used to protect me from those guards. From Julian. I'll never give up such a treasure.

The hair on my forearms bristles. A shiver racks its way up my spine to my nape. All my senses heighten.

Twigs snap, and dry needles are crushed behind me.

A footfall.

I whip my head around, muscles tense, and find the damned sorcerer has appeared out of nowhere. I'm half-undressed and seated on my messy bedroll, completely unprepared for company, especially that of the adversarial sort.

He stands a few feet away, palms open, long, black cloak billowing around his ankles.

"My, my. Jumpy, are we? I did try to warn you." He glances at the forest floor beneath his polished boots.

So he made the noise on purpose and probably hasn't come to attack. At least, not yet.

My heart beats thunderously anyway. "What are you doing here?"

"You already know the answer to that." His intense gaze fixes on the coin in my hand.

I clench my fingers around it. "Did you gate straight to me?"

His lips curl into a half smile. "I did."

"How?"

"How does one gate? Years of study and practice. Or how did I find my way to your camp?"

"The latter." But he knew that, of course. He enjoys the teasing. It's obvious from the dancing glimmer of mirth in his sharp green eyes.

"The coin calls to me. So as long as you have it, I'll always be able to find you."

Fantastic. Just my luck. "I don't believe you."

"Suit yourself."

"You're not getting my coin." I tuck it into my inside pocket and turn my back to Julian, a risky move, perhaps. What will he do? Something tells me he isn't accustomed to being ignored.

"You don't live in Lemossin, I take it?" Crunch, crunch, crunch as he closes the distance between us, hovering over my left side.

The spicy scent of pine tickles my nose. "Do you?"

"I have. Not recently, though. I've lived in a lot of places."

I snort. "How very strange and mysterious of you."

He shrugs. "May I sit?"

"I can't stop you."

"I'd prefer to be invited."

"Well, we can't always have what we'd prefer."

Julian plucks a gray woolen blanket from thin air and spreads it right next to me. Too close. He settles with an elegant movement a man as tall and lanky as he shouldn't be capable of and stretches his long legs toward the flames, one ankle crossed over the other.

Casually he leans back on his elbows as though he belongs here. As though we're travel partners, journeying together, about to share a meal and a drink before bed. As though we've done this countless times. As though this is our routine.

I could scream. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Getting comfortable." He rolls his eyes. "I should think that much was obvious."

Both the fire and my temper heat my face. I don't deem that worthy of a response, so we stew in silence.

When Julian speaks again, his voice has softened. "I'd like to know your name, and before you say, ‘You can't always get what you'd like,' take a moment to consider. I'll have to call you something. Would you rather I come up with a moniker myself? Or would you prefer to be called by your proper name?"

By the weeds, he's irritating. "Cricket."

Julian hums. "Nice name. Suits you." He smiles. A real-looking smile this time, which only serves to stoke my simmering anger.

"We're not friends."

"Not in the slightest," he agrees all too amicably. "My magic doesn't work on you, which makes me dislike you on principle."

I narrow my gaze. "Then why are you acting like we're friends?"

"Would you rather I be unpleasant at you? I'm happy to accommodate."

"I'm sure you are. And no. If you insist on hanging around, you may as well be pleasant."

"That's what I thought. Where are you headed?"

"Home."

"Which is…?"

"Why should I tell you?"

"Because wherever you're going, that's where I'm going. Until you hand over the coin, that is. If you want to be rid of me, that's the quickest way."

My thoughts flick to the dagger hidden in my boot. "Or I could kill you in your sleep."

A full-belly laugh asserts his confidence. "I'd love to see you try."

Maybe I should try, if only to wipe the cocky smirk off his know-it-all face.

"But, in truth, don't. I can't be held responsible for defending myself when awoken by an attacker. Whether you believe me or not, I don't wish you harm."

"I don't believe anything anyone tells me. It's nothing personal. Except you seem extra shady. So maybe it is personal."

This brings another rumbling chuckle from deep in his chest. I shift my attention to the bird on the spit and turn it to cook more evenly. Let him laugh. What do I care?

Julian watches with a difficult-to-read expression. Hungry or horrified? Both?

"I'm not sharing the pigeon," I mutter. He can steal his own supper.

"Ew." He scrunches his nose. Horrified, then, which is somehow cute on him. "As if I'd take a single bite. I don't eat animals."

Huh? "Then what do you eat?"

"Fruits, vegetables, beans, nuts, bread…"

"Cheese?"

He shakes his head. "It comes from animals."

I arch my brows. What kind of maniac doesn't eat cheese? I'll never trust him. "I learned from a young age to eat whatever's available."

"I'm aware it's a privileged position to be so choosy about what I consume."

Spoken like a man who's never known true hunger. "Indeed."

"And I've already eaten. Hours ago. It's quite late."

"I know that. Someone held me up in town longer than I would have liked."

Julian folds his legs and leans closer to the fire, lifting his mangled hands toward the flames. His skin shines in the light, a fae trait, one that I don't possess. "Apologies."

"Pfft. You don't mean it."

"You're right." He's smiling again. He's so weird. "I don't."

Just because he's decided to be pleasant doesn't mean I have to be. "So." I nod toward his hands as he warms them over the fire. "What happened to your missing fingers?"

He wiggles the eight digits and two nubs. "Oh, these? Bitten off by a pogglewump, I'm afraid. Bad luck, that."

I roll my eyes. "There's no such thing."

"That's what I thought. And look what happened to me."

Apparently, I'm not to know what happened. Whatever. I pluck my bird from the fire. Julian stares off into the distance as I tear off my first bite.

The bird is delicious. Plain, as I have no spices to add, but perfectly cooked and crispy around the edges, just how I like it. Regardless, an unwelcome self-conscious sensation sweeps over me as I chew.

So what if the pigeon used to be alive, and now it's dead? That's how the pecking order works. We need to eat to live.

Right?

Right.

Except Julian's ignoring me. Probably judging me. And I don't like the way it feels.

I eat hurriedly, eager to be past this uncomfortable situation.

"Well, Cricket," he says. "It's past my bedtime." He conjures two pillows, a blanket, and a red velvet sleep mask. "Good night."

With that, he lies down and curls away from me, tucking himself up like a baby rabbit in its burrow.

"You're really staying?"

"I'm really staying. See you in the morning. Bright and early, I assume."

My reply is a disgruntled mutter. I finish the bird and wander into the forest to dispose of the remains and relieve myself.

Perhaps I should have stolen a horse instead of a pigeon. All the better to put some distance between the sorcerer and me.

As I return, Julian doesn't stir, but I don't think he's asleep yet either. Though he can pretend to be so comfortable as to doze off in my presence, I doubt that's the case. We're both in for a restless night.

I huff loudly, more to annoy him than anything else, and settle on my bedroll. His froofy velvet eye mask probably costs more than my entire camp kit. Him with his extra pillows and lavish blankets.

I stare into the dying flames instead of at Julian's broad back. The fire warms my cheeks. Can I sleep with him right there? Probably not. I'm no heavy sleeper, but the thought of him trying to steal the coin in the night is enough to keep me awake.

Perhaps I'll pack up and sneak away. Get a head start and test both his ability and resolve to follow me.

Yes, I'll do that. Carefully I open my travel bag and pack my things.

Julian grunts drowsily. "Go to sleep, Cricket. I promise not to molest you in your dreams… Unless you ask me to, of course."

Snail's slime. "Of course."

Giving up, I crumple to my bedroll, but I won't turn away. Got to keep my eyes on him. Don't trust weird, meatless, eight-fingered sorcerers.

Don't trust anybody.