“Now, that would be a bestselling headline,” he said cheerfully, not at all winded. “INKRIDDEN IRIS AND THE HILL THAT BESTED HER.”
She smacked his arm, pressing a smile between her lips. “How much … longer … until we walk?”
He checked his watch. “Forty more seconds.” And he wouldn’t be Roman Kitt if he didn’t show off.
He turned to face her, running backward and slightly ahead, so he could keep his gaze on her as she labored up the hill.
“That’s it. You’re doing great, Winnow.”
“Shut up, Kitt.”
“Absolutely. Whatever you want.”
She glared at him—the flush of his cheeks, the mirth in his eyes. He was quite distracting, and she panted, “Are you trying … to tempt me to … press onward, like you’re some … metaphorical carrot?”
He laughed. The sound went through her like static, down to her toes. “If only I were. Do we need to stop?”
Yes. “No.”
“Good. You have twenty more seconds. Deep breaths through your belly, Winnow. Not your chest.”
She bared her teeth against the discomfort and strove to breathe as he had instructed. It was difficult when her lungs were heaving beyond her control. I am not doing this torture tomorrow, she thought over and over. A chant to carry her up the rest of the hill. I am not—
“Tell me what you think of this place,” he said, not two seconds later. “Do you like Avalon Bluff?”
“I can’t run and chat, Kitt!”
“When I’m done training you, you’ll be able to.”
“Who says … I’m doing this … tomorrow?” Gods, she felt like she was about to die.
“This does,” he said, at last turning around to lead her the rest of the way up the hill.
“Your backside?” she growled, helplessly studying it.
“No, Winnow,” he tossed over his shoulder. “This view.” He came to a stop on the crest of the hill.
Iris watched the sun gild his body. The light hit her two breaths later, when she reached the top at his side. Hands on her knees, she fought to calm her heart, sweat dripping down her back. But when she could stand upright, she reveled in the view. The fog was melting in the valleys. A river meandered through a field. The dew glittered like gemstones on the grass. The land seemed to roll on and on forever, idyllic as a dream, and Iris shielded her eyes, wondering where the road would take them if they kept running.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispered. And how strange to know this view had been here all along, and she had failed to see it.
Roman was quiet at her side, and they stood like that for a few moments. Soon, her heart was steady and her lungs calm. Her legs felt a bit shaky, and she knew she’d be sore tomorrow.
“Winnow?” he said, glancing at his watch with a frown.
“What’s wrong, Kitt?”
“We have exactly five minutes to get back to Marisol’s.”
“What?”
“We’ll have to run the whole way to make it by eight, but it’s mostly downhill.”
“Kitt!”
He began to jog the route they had come, and Iris had no choice but to chase after him, ankles sore as her boots hit the cobblestones.
Oh, she was going to kill him.
They were late by seven minutes.
{28}
A Divine Rival
Dear Iris,
Last night, I had a dream. I was standing in the middle of Broad Street in Oath, and it was raining. You walked past me; I knew it was you the moment your shoulder brushed mine. But when I tried to call your name, no sound emerged. When I hurried to follow you, you quickened your steps. Soon, the rain fell harder, and you slipped away from me.
I never saw your face, but I knew it was you.
It was only a dream, but it has unquieted me.
Write to me and tell me how you are.
Yours,
—C.
P.S. Yes, hello. I’m able to write again, so expect my letters to flood your floor.
Dear Carver,
I can’t even begin to describe how happy I was to discover your letter had arrived. I hope everything is well with you in Oath, as well as whatever required your attention the past week. Dare I say I missed you?
An odd dream, indeed. But there’s no need to worry. I’m quite well. I think I would like to see you in a dream, although I still try to imagine your appearance by day and often fail. Perhaps you can grant me a few more hints?
Oh, I have news to share with you!
My rival from a previous employment has shown up as a fellow correspondent, just like a weed. I’m not sure why he’s here, although I think it’s to try and prove that his writing is far superior to mine. All of this to say … his arrival has caused a stir, and I’m not sure what to do with him being next door.
Also, I have more letters transcribed for soldiers. I’m sending them to you—there are more than usual, given that we just recently had an influx of wounded brought into the infirmary—and I’m hoping you can drop them in the post. Thank you in advance for doing this for me!
In the meantime, tell me how you are. How is your nan? I just realized that I have no inkling what you do for a living, or even for fun. Are you a student at university? Are you working somewhere?
Tell me something about you.
Love,
Iris
They had planted the garden but had completely forgotten to water it. Marisol grimaced when she realized this.
“I don’t even want to know what Keegan will think of me,” she said, hand on her forehead as she stared at the crooked rows Iris and Attie had made. “My wife is fighting on the front lines and I can’t even do something as simple as water a garden.”
“Keegan will be impressed that you instructed two city girls who have never tilled or planted or tended a garden to help you. And the seeds will be fine,” Attie said, but then quietly added, “won’t they?”
“Yes, but they won’t germinate without water. The soil needs to say wet for about two weeks. This is going to be a late summer garden, I suppose. If the hounds don’t trample it.”
“Do you have a watering can?” Iris asked, thinking of sirens in the daylight and rivals arriving unexpectedly and wounded soldiers returning to the front. How did any of them remember to eat, let alone water a garden?
“Yes, two, actually,” Marisol said, pointing. “In the shed there.”
Iris and Attie exchanged a knowing look. Five minutes later, Marisol had retreated to the kitchen to continue baking for the soldiers, and the girls had the metal cans full, watering the dirt mounds.
“Six mornings,” Attie said with a smirk. “Six mornings you’ve been late to breakfast, Iris. All due to running with that Roman Kitt.”
“Four mornings, actually. We’ve been on time two mornings in a row, now,” Iris replied, but her cheeks warmed. She turned to water a second row before Attie noticed. “It’s because he underestimates how slow I am. We wouldn’t be late if I were in better shape. Or if he chose a shorter circuit.” But she loved the view of the countryside on the hill that seemed destined to best her, even though Iris would never confess as much to Roman.
“Hmm.”
“You want to join us, Attie?”
“Not in the slightest.”
“Then why are you smiling at me like that?”