Trial by Fire

“May I?” he asked tentatively.

Lily nodded, not sure what she was agreeing to. She felt a chill creeping under her skin and realized that Rowan was draining some of her heat. His eyes closed, and he swayed toward her until his sinking forehead nearly touched hers.

“Thank you,” he sighed. “I just need a little bit more to light this.”

Lily inhaled sharply as the cold sank down deeper into her. Rowan’s willstone sparked and the wick ignited. She shivered.

“Sorry,” he whispered, his eyes still closed.

“It’s okay.”

Lily watched the planes of his face, turned golden by the light of the candle between them. She wanted to touch his mouth. Rowan’s eyes flicked open, and he lifted his sagging head up and away from hers. He released her arm and pulled his hand out of her sleeve.

“There are preserves put up in the cabinet,” he said, turning toward the hearth.

A little bewildered about what had just happened, Lily followed the direction of his pointing finger to a small pantry while Rowan used the candle to light a fire in the hearth. Lily searched the nearly bare pantry and found four dusty jars.

“Blueberry jam,” Lily said, reading the first label. She turned the second jar around. “Dried crickets,” she read, confused. “Why would someone put dead bugs in the cabinet?”

“Because they’re nutritious,” Rowan replied evenly.

“No way,” Lily replied. “You don’t actually eat crickets, do you?”

“I haven’t had them in years,” Rowan said, more to himself than her, like he was reminiscing.

“Seriously?” Lily grimaced at the thought, but tried not to look too disgusted. She didn’t want to offend him.

“Only the richest of the Outlanders can afford to keep and protect livestock from the Woven. But nearly all of them have cricket farms in their living quarters.” He looked up at Lily’s wan expression, his eyes glinting with humor. “I’d prefer the blueberry jam, though.”

Lily went back to inspecting labels. “Pickles!” she exclaimed happily, and more than a little relieved that he wasn’t going to try to make her taste cricket. “I love pickles.”

Rowan laughed under his breath and nodded while he fanned a small flame. “That’s because they’re mostly salt and vinegar. Two things you need desperately. Eat all of them.”

Lily took down the pickles and the jar of blueberry preserves and brought them over to Rowan.

“Does this mean no squirrel blood?” she asked, placing the jam on the hearth and handing him the pickles. He stopped what he was doing and, without needing to be told, started wrenching on the tightly sealed lid. A satisfying sucking sound followed.

“No squirrel blood,” he said, handing her the opened jar with a smile. “That ought to be enough salt to hold you over for a while.” He frowned suddenly. “We should still get you back to Salem soon though. We can’t live on our own in the woods forever.”

“And I didn’t let you cut off all my hair for nothing.” Lily started munching on the pickles, and her mouth watered with pleasure. “So good!” she mumbled around her food. “You explained the salt part, but why do I crave vinegar?”

“Vinegar is an antimicrobial, antiviral, and antibiotic. The less you have to fight internally, the stronger you are,” he said, feeding kindling to the small fire. “So you can fight your enemies instead.”

Lily crunched and nodded, too happy with her jar to ask any more questions. She sat down on the hearth, right up close to the tiny fire, and ate pickle after pickle. She’d never seen anyone build a fire in person before. The way Rowan watched it and fed it was fascinating to her. He took such care tending to its every whim that she’d finished all the pickles before he was done. Lily couldn’t think of anyone in her world who had that kind of patience.

“Aren’t you starving?” she asked.

“I am,” he replied, still stoking the growing flames.