Trisk stared at him. The tips of her toes were almost touching him, and she fought the urge to shove him out the door. “You are unbelievable,” she said, her thoughts going to Quen and that rash she had seen but hadn’t recognized. She wished there was a way to contact him magically, and she ached to know if he had escaped or if he was lying in a field somewhere, dying.
“Why?” His eyes were on the field in evaluation. “Because I don’t worry about things I can’t control?” Kal glanced over his shoulder at the two families, then, as if satisfied, he lifted his hat a bare inch. Orchid slipped out, dropping the few feet to the car’s floor.
“This is the last of it,” Kal said as he took a leaf-wrapped ball of what looked like pollen from his front shirt pocket and handed it to her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t expect we’d have to leave the car. I think your food stocks are halfway to Colorado by now.”
He is such a dick, Trisk thought. Worried one of the kids might come over, she inched closer to Kal to make a more certain barrier, hiding the pixy.
“I’m not your responsibility, Kal,” Orchid said, her wings slowly moving as she unfolded her provisions and began eating the soft cake. Like magic, the blue dust falling from her began to brighten. “Besides, it’s dark now. I can slip out. Do some foraging. Catch up.”
“Orchid . . .” Kal whispered, and Trisk eyed him, shocked at the depth of his worry.
Smirking, the tiny woman rose up, cutting her motion short when she remembered they weren’t alone. “Relax. The train isn’t going that fast. I can find something to eat in a cornfield.”
Without another word, she swan-dived off the platform, her wings catching the wind and zipping her out into the open field. “I should have planned for this,” Kal muttered, and Trisk wondered if he’d forgotten she was there as he chewed on his lower lip and peered out into the night, probably for a trace of pixy dust among the dark plants.
“I’m sure she’ll be fine,” Trisk said, and Kal started.
Clearly embarrassed to have been caught unawares, he shrugged, taking his hand away from his face where he had been scrubbing his thickening bristles in worry. “She’s not used to having to think about pesticides,” he said in explanation. Moving surprisingly gracefully in the swaying car, he stood, holding the open door for balance as he waited for Orchid’s return.
Trisk frowned up at him, thinking he looked different as his eyes searched the dark for any sign of trouble. She had no doubt he’d jump from the train if Orchid showed any indication of distress, making Trisk wonder how he could care so much for the pixy and nothing for the people behind him dying.
Her hand strayed protectively to her middle. She’d said that she’d tell Kal, but not until she knew if Gally had been lying. And even then, she wasn’t sure if she wanted him to know. Conceiving was never easy between elves, and the idea that she and Kalamack were so genetically compatible that a one-night stand left her in a family way was . . . icky.
Holding her knees to her chest, she watched the kids feed their little bonfire. She couldn’t tell if their skin was red from the heat or a coming rash. “Do you think they’ll be okay?” she whispered, her gaze lingering on the little black-haired girl, her eyes solemn as she watched the flames from the security of her mother’s side. Four? she wondered. Five?
Kal never took his eyes off the night. “I don’t know,” he said, but what she heard was I don’t care.
Angry, she gathered herself and stood. “Excuse me,” she said coolly.
“What?” he protested as she pushed around him to go help Daniel open another box.
“What can I do?” she asked, and Daniel smiled, looking good surrounded by the kids.
“I could use a few more boxes,” he said, and the two boys darted off before she could move, their voices loud as they said they wanted the very top ones.
“Hold up,” she said as she went to get them, reaching over their heads to carefully pull down one, then another. At the edges, the parents watched, heartache and grief in their eyes, as they knew they were dying. Their blisters were obvious, the oozing pustules growing as they crept down their arms. They are not contagious, she thought, putting an arm around the smaller boy to keep him from falling in the swaying car as he made his determined way back to Daniel and dropped the box at his feet with satisfaction.
“Well, let’s see what we have,” Daniel said, and Trisk pulled the boy back, gently holding him to her and out of the way of Daniel’s knife. “More paper for the fire,” he said, and they reached in, giggles sounding and then shouts as the boys ran off, eager to play with the flames they’d been forbidden to touch until tonight.
“Why didn’t we hop a produce car?” Trisk whispered.
“Good question.” Head down, Daniel unrolled a wad of paper from around yet another piece of glass. But then a smile threatened. “April? Come and see what I found.”