“All right over there?” Jode asks.
A moment ago, he and Marcus were stacking the wood for the fire. Now they’re both watching us, big smiles on their faces.
“I didn’t say anything to them about us, Daryn. They’re just idiots.” Gideon winces slightly with self-awareness. “I didn’t mean that there’s anything to say.”
“Isn’t there anything to say?”
Something settles in his eyes. A sincerity. A promise, like this moment is his and mine. Only ours. When he steps closer, my entire body buzzes to life. I feel actual voltage.
“I wasn’t exactly sober last night,” he says, pitching his voice low. “You may have noticed. But I wanted to say that I remember everything. And I meant everything.”
“So did I.”
He grins, and it’s true and breathtaking. A smile I’ll see again in daydreams and night dreams, I’m sure. “That’s what I wanted to hear.”
“Gideon, whenever you’re ready to get your horse,” says Jode. “We need a flame. This campfire won’t start itself.”
“Set us on fire, G.” That’s Marcus.
Then it’s Jode again. “Yes, Gideon. You’re so hot.”
I laugh, but Gideon doesn’t. “Be right there,” he replies without looking away. He bends close to my ear. “This is going to be good, Daryn,” he says. “I promise.” Then he brushes a kiss against my cheek like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
*
We claim spots around the fire and unpack blankets, fruit, crackers, cheese, and water, and then set to eating industriously.
There’s no enjoyment. We need food, water, and sleep. We’re just refueling before we can get back to searching. I’m hungry, but not hungry. Chewing is work.
The mood is subdued. My stolen moment with Gideon is like a brilliant canary in a cage. Nowhere to go. But still beautiful despite the grim context.
When we’re finished we wrap ourselves in our blankets and stare into the fire with longing on our faces. For home. For Bas. For resolution.
The darkness presses into our golden circle and I keep imagining the Harrows out there beyond the light. Crouching on branches. Peering around the thick trunks. Watching us.
You won’t succeed until you fail … Your only hope is surrender.
The words of the Harrow I slung to the tree circle in my mind like a riddle.
Then Samrael’s. He’s with me. He’s safe. Sebastian is well.
Was he telling the truth?
Finally, I hear the echo of Isabel’s words from the last time I saw her. Evil is its own undoing.
They’re pieces of a whole I can’t quite fit together. A kaleidoscopic view of what’s right in front of me.
Gideon shifts beside me, reclining on an elbow and crossing his legs at the ankles. His pose is unconsciously seductive. An athlete in repose. His face is painted in flickering amber and gold. Contrary to his serene posture, he’s concentrating intensely. Somehow I know that whatever he’s thinking, it’s in the service of someone he cares about. All the intensity in him comes from love.
And from passion.
Heat builds on my cheeks at my own thoughts. It’s so strange to feel this—whatever it is that’s growing between us—in this place, at this time. How can something this good be happening in here?
Gideon becomes aware of my attention on him and his mouth lifts in a subtle, private smile. Caught, all I can do is smile back, my heart aching and stretching and expanding to make room to accommodate moments like this in my life.
Jode scratches the pale stubble on his jaw. He clears his throat, and I realize it’s the first sound I’ve heard in a while, aside from the crackle of the fire.
“I’ll keep first watch again,” he offers. “I’m overtired. I haven’t got much chance of sleeping anyhow.”
No one argues. It wouldn’t work anyway.
After a few minutes of willfully pressing my eyelids closed, I accept that sleep isn’t in my near future either, and give up trying.
Sitting up, I pull my journal from my backpack. Marcus has disappeared into his blankets. Across the fire, Jode winks at me, then goes back to panning the woods. Gideon is asleep eighteen inches away from me. But who’s counting?
I turn to a blank page and write Sebastian’s name a few times in all its variations.
Sebastian. Bastian. Bas.
Seb, which he once told us was what his brothers in Nicaragua called him.
Then I write Famine. And then hunger, and I don’t even look Gideon’s way, but my heart starts racing anyway.
I page to “Reasons.” It’s become a habit to add to this list. Going to sleep without reflecting on the day’s Reasons would feel incomplete. I reread the last few lines. I add to it.
19. Humor, in the face of the frightening and bizarre
20. Conviction, in times when hope is scarce
21. “This is going to be good, Daryn. I promise.”—I promise, too. I won’t let fear stop me.
I close my notebook and stash it in my backpack, double-checking to make sure the orb is safely tucked at the bottom. Then I twist my hair up, piling it on top of my head.
“For the record,” Jode says from across the fire, “I think the recent developments I’ve observed are excellent.”
I smile. “Thanks. I do, too. And who knows? Maybe he’ll lighten up on the Anna thing now.”
“One can hope,” Jode says, in a wry voice, devoid of all hope.
In the interest of newly added entry number twenty-one, and of the bravery it’ll require from me to keep my promise, I move to Gideon, lift the edge of his blanket, and burrow right against his back.
His armor isn’t bulky—it’s much tougher than leather, though just as thin and flexible—but it still makes him feel distant. I can’t feel the life in him at all, but that’s not the point.
The point is I’m here.
Gideon stirs, his body flexing with awareness. Cool metal slides over my hip, and he relaxes again.
For a while all I notice is his prosthetic on my hip. All I feel is surprise at how much I like it—this adopted part of him that makes him so unique. Then tiredness washes over me in waves. As I drift off, a blurry, brilliant happiness fills me.
He told me this would be good, and it will be. I won’t run, like I usually do. Even if he hurts and I can’t make it right, or even if I hurt and he can’t make it right, I’ll stay.
This will be good.
CHAPTER 20
GIDEON
“Did I miss something? Did you ask them to leave?” Daryn asks, tipping her chin at Jode and Marcus.
“No. I didn’t say anything.” Instead of sitting with us by the fire this morning, they’ve wandered off about thirty yards to eat. I think they’re giving Daryn and me some time alone before we get going again. There’s no other logical explanation. “But, pretty cool of them, right? This is practically our first date.”
She laughs. “It’s certainly memorable.”