And I remember Kol standing over Lo’s body when he pulled her from the stream. The memory of her ash-gray face and pale blue lips will never leave me.
Kol uses his spear as a walking stick, but I worry about his footing when we reach the place where the trail splits, the left side leading down to the creek, the right side becoming a hanging shelf of rock leading to the summit and the cave. “Are you sure?” I ask. Besides his spear, he carries a pack and a waterskin. He pauses at my question and offers me a drink.
“I’ll carry this the rest of the way,” I say, “and the pack too.” I shrug it over my shoulder. It’s light. “What’s in here?”
“You’ll see.”
“A surprise then?”
“More like a memory.”
We pass up the trail slowly, feet cautiously placed, spots of hidden ice carefully avoided. When at last we reach the summit overlooking the sea, I know that the worst part of the path to the cave still lies ahead of us.
“It’s easier, I think, if you go down backward,” I say, climbing over the ledge and descending onto the side of the cliff that faces the sea. The footholds are narrow, the handholds few. Two steps down and I am almost to the lip of rock that skirts the mouth of the cave, but my attention is on Kol as he climbs down the cliff above me. One more step and I am on the cave floor. I draw a deep breath when Kol drops in behind me.
Crawling back deeper into the cave, I’m surprised by how well I can see. “I remember it being much darker in here.”
“It was raining both times we were here together,” Kol says. “I remember the sound.”
We sit side by side, facing the curved opening in the rock. Today, the sound of distant waves below filters in from outside, but I’m far more aware of the inhale and exhale of my own breath echoing off the close walls. My pulse quickens, my heart runs hard in my chest, and I tell myself these are the lingering effects of the climb down the cliff, but I doubt it. Kol moves beside me and I turn to watch him dig through the pack I’ve dropped on the floor.
He pulls out a fire starter.
This cave is used as a lookout point, and a supply of wood is already stacked against the wall. He would have remembered that.
It isn’t long before Kol has an ember glowing in the fire pit. He stretches out on his side, his face close to the glowing tinder, his lips pursed as he blows breath into the flames. I watch his mouth, moving like he’s sharing a secret, and I want to know his secrets, too.
I stretch out beside him. He startles.
“So why did we come here?” I ask. “Did you want to talk? Or . . . something else?”
Kol laughs, a nervous sound in his throat. “I came here with you to spend time with you. For now, we’re still betrothed, and you said it yourself—that’s what betrothed couples do.” The fire catches. He turns to lie flat on his back, still stretched out across the ground. He doesn’t make a move to sit up, so I slide closer to him, propping myself on an elbow.
“That’s one thing they do,” I say.
I watch Kol as warmth from the fire spreads across his face, creating shadows in the hollows beneath his cheekbones, setting circles of light in the blacks of both eyes. A smile climbs from his lips to those eyes. The blacks cool when I lean over him, shielding his face from the light, my mouth hovering over his.
“I’m not ready to kiss you,” he says. His smile widens and his eyes flash when I pull back. “Not just yet, at least.” He draws his legs in and sits up, reaching for the pack again. “I brought something for you—not really a gift. Something more symbolic.”
His hand slides out of the pack, a pouch of honey tucked against his palm.
“I’ve been wanting to share honey with you again, ever since the evening you brought a cup of honey from the south to my hut.” He pauses a moment, and I wonder if the same memories that light in my mind are lighting in his. “I wanted to kiss you that night—I wanted to taste the honey on your lips—but I missed the chance.
“I was hoping maybe I would get another chance today.”
A flutter of nerves ripples through me as he places the pouch of honey in my hands. It’s warm from his own. I notice the pouch is a bit larger and newer than the one he gave me as a betrothal gift—the one I’d refused when he’d tried to give it to me the first night we met.
A hollow bone serves as a spout, and I consider pouring a bit onto the tip of a finger. But that’s not what I did on the evening we’re re-creating. I turn the pouch in my hand, feeling the fullness of it, and I let my gaze sweep over Kol for just a moment. The playful smile on his lips only fans my nerves. I look away.
Tilting my head back, I close my eyes as I hold the pouch above my open mouth. The shock of taste on my tongue pulls a breath from my throat, a short gasp. I open my eyes, and as I lift my head, a drizzle of warm sweet liquid spills over my lower lip.
Kol doesn’t hesitate. What he said must be true—he must have been waiting for this chance since that night. His hands grasp my waist, pulling me toward him. His lips cover mine, and he drinks in every trace of honey that lingers there. His kiss deepens, his tongue tasting the inside of my lip.
His grip loosens, and he pulls away just enough to look into my eyes.
“Was it worth the wait?” I ask. My voice bubbles out of me. It’s the happiest sound I’ve made in a long time.
“It was even better than I’d hoped.”
“It is remarkably good honey,” I say. “The sweetest I’ve ever had.”
“I would agree.”
“Whose is it, then?” I ask. “Yours or mine? Gathered in the north, or the south?”
“Hmmm, good question. Let me sample it again.” He reaches for the pouch, but I pull it away. “Let me.”
His eyes pinch—he’s not sure what I plan to do and he’s strangely wary. I slide closer to him. “Lie back,” I say.
“I’m trusting you,” he answers, that half smile I know so well flickering in the firelight. His eyes close and he slides back, stretching against the stone floor once more.
“Hold still,” I say, my voice so low it makes no echo even in this cave. The snap of wood on the fire almost drowns out my words. The fragrance of the honey mixes with the smoke. The scent warms me.
Kol’s lips are parted but my hand is shaking, and the first drips from the spout fall on his cheek. My lips find the place and I kiss the honey away. I try—and miss—again, this time leaving a sticky trail across his chin.
“I think you’re missing on purpose,” he murmurs as my lips move over the warm skin of his face, tracing sweet lines left by my nervous hand.
“Maybe,” I whisper back. My fingers are sticky, and a trail of honey smudges Kol’s skin as my hands slide down his throat. I lean over and touch the spot with my lips.
But then I hesitate. Am I taking this too far?