“You look really pretty today, girl,” he tells me.
My cheeks go pink. “Do you want to come with me and Rye? We’re going for a—”
“Boring,” crows Peter, and I roll my eyes, and then he claps both his hands on my face and kisses me again and takes off in the other direction.
“You two seem to be doing better,” Rye says, pushing himself up from the tree he’s leaning against. I hadn’t noticed him there, and I flash him an embarrassed smile.
“Sorry.”
“What for?” He shrugs, indifferent. “You ready to go?”
I nod once.
“Got your basket?”
I flash it to him.
“Got your shears?”
I shake my head.
“A knife?” he asks.
I pull a face.
He shrugs. “I’ve got two. Come on.”
“Where are we going?” I ask him after a few minutes.
“The best place to forage.”
I lift my eyebrows, waiting for more.
He looks over his shoulder and gives me an excited smile. “The Fallen Kingdom.”
I blink at him. “The what?” I guess I’ve not reached this particular part of history in the book yet.
“The fairies, right? They live in tiny pockets, a few here and there. A lot of the time they’re alone.”
“Right.” I nod. They live in the trees mostly, and you can spot them because there’s always this bright light that feels almost too beautiful to be real but feels too warm to be your imagination. The little hollows are usually mossy, baby mushrooms growing around them, the tiniest flowers you’ve ever seen and so much sparkle. I haven’t dared peek in, but it sounds like wind chimes and chirping birds.
“But they used to live in a kingdom.”
“Really?” I stare after him.
“They used to be big too.”
I stop in my tracks, because now this just sounds fake. “What?”
“They still can be.” Rye shrugs.
I shake my head. “Then why?”
“When they’re small, they’re harder to catch.”
I frown over at him. “Who’s trying to catch them?”
Rye gives me a sobering look. “Lots of people.” He reconsiders this answer. “Lots of things.” He doesn’t say anything for a couple of minutes again before he stops and crouches down. “This is a type of mycorrhizal mushroom.”
“Oh.” I nod. “We have those on Earth.”
“Yeah.” He nods. “I think they’re from there originally, but my people brought them with us. Anyway, it’s safe and edible.” He picks three of them and puts them in his basket. “This one”—he points to a smaller one that’s stringier looking—“also edible.” He pulls a face, and I squint at him, confused. “But the pirates, they’ll come out here looking for these. They’ll grind them up and—” He sniffs.
“Oh!” I gasp. “Like drugs?”
“I mean—”He shrugs. “I don’t know what that is. That’s not what we’d call it here.”
I squint over at him. “What would you call it?”
He chuckles and thinks for a half a second. “Herbal recreation.”
“Drugs.” I nod with a laugh.
We keep walking.
“There’s a few plants around that do that. Flowers and leaves and mushrooms—”
“Do you use them?” I ask as Rye stands and keeps walking.
“Sometimes,” he says.
“For what?” I ask nosily.
He looks back at me. “When I need to.” He stops at a tree and reaches up for a branch, pulling it down. “Come smell this.”
He’s tall and broad and has such a warm face that it’s impossible not to grin up at him as I do. His eyes are dark like leather, short dark brown hair, brown skin, and the loveliest smile. He’s handsome too, and I suspect that he knows it, though he doesn’t appear to use it to his advantage.*
“Lune bl?.” He breathes them in, and I don’t know how I’d explain the wonder of the smell. Maybe muddled blackberries with cream?
“It’s the leaves,” he tells me. “Not the berries. You make tea from it.”
He picks me a bunch and puts it in my basket, flashing me a quick smile as our faces are close enough to feel each other’s breath. It’s not deliberate; it’s just by circumstance.
“Peter likes that.” He nods at the leaves in my basket and then he clears his throat.
“So…” I glance around. “Are you seeing anyone?”
Rye’s eyebrows flicker, confused. “I can see you…”
“Oh!” I let out a little laugh, shaking my head. “No, on Earth, you’d say—” I purse my mouth as I think. “Are you, um, romantic with anyone? Are you…in a…couple? With someone?”
“Ah.” He gets it. “I’m…interested in someone, yeah.”
“Oh!” I look over at him, delighted. “That’s exciting.”
He rolls his eyes and keeps walking. “Is it?”
I nod even though he doesn’t see me. “Do they know?”
“I don’t know,” he calls, not looking back. “Hard to say. They’re always preoccupied.”
I frown. “What with?”
He flicks me a look. “Other people.”
“Ah.” I nod once and wonder if he’s talking about me. He might be.
I wonder. He’s been a very good friend to me since I got here, but I thought he was just being my very good friend.
I press my lips together and glance over at him. “Thanks for doing this.”
“Yeah.” He nods, flashing me a quick smile. “Happy to.” Rye blows some air from his mouth and picks a few berries off a bush, tossing them to me.
I look down at them. Beautiful, hot pink, soft, almost velvety. “What are these?”
“Raspberries.” He smirks.
“Oh.” I laugh once, feeling a bit embarrassed.
He chuckles and walks on ahead of me, and for a minute or so, we say nothing, but I think the silence between us is the okay kind, not the bad kind.
“Can I ask you something?” I call to him.
“Yes,” he says without stopping.
“Do you forget things?”
He stops walking, pauses. “What?”
I breathe out my nose and catch up to him. “Why do I forget things here but you don’t and Jem doesn’t and—”
“Jem?” His head pulls back.
“Sorry.” I shake mine. “Jamison.”
He blinks, surprised. “Jamison?”
I swallow and sort of roll my eyes a bit.
Rye gives me a look. “When did Jamison become Jem?”
“Why does that matter?” I shrug, turning away from him to pick some flowers like I know what I’m doing.
“Do you see him?”
I pause, press my lips together, and I’m conscious of how my voice sounds before I let myself speak. “Sometimes.”
Rye stands a few metres away, just watching me. “Wow.”
“Wow what?” I frown.
He cocks an eyebrow and gives me a look, then walks past me, sweeping a branch of weeping willow aside and holding it open for me.
“He’s my friend,” I give him a look.
“If you say so.” He juts his jaw.
“I say so,” I tell him, nose in the air.
He nods, but it’s weird. He looks bothered with me.
I frown up at him. “Why are you being strange?”
“I’m not.” Rye sighs. “I just—nothing.” He shakes his head. “I don’t know why you forget things.” He gives me a shrug.
“Just some things,” I clarify even though he didn’t ask for clarity, and then I realise he’s stopped walking.
He’s standing before a giant, overgrown marble arch.