Total pages in book: 204
Estimated words: 193124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 193124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
Some things are best kept to myself.
Nineteen
On Matters of Fish.
“It’s time.”
I must have fallen asleep at some point because I wake up to find Merc standing over me. He’s wet again, so I guess he’s done a little more exploration, and in the dwindling torchlight, the sheath that cleaves to his torso like a second skin gives me quite a show—especially as he picks up his mesh armor and straps it on.
With every movement, his muscles contract and release, the power in him as transfixing as flame. And I grow warm.
At least until he continues talking.
“We have to do it now.” He nods toward the pool as he begins strapping on his weapons. “We need to get you away from the village before it’s broad daylight, and there’s just enough sunrise for me to navigate the collapse—”
“I can’t swim.”
That shuts him up sure as if I’ve slapped him. “What do you mean you can’t—”
“I tried a couple of times when I was younger.” I’m flushing again, but this time, it’s with embarrassment. “I can’t do it.”
“Of course you can’t,” he mutters as he pulls on his leather coat and his pack. “How is this possible?”
“I sink—”
Merc slashes an impatient hand and then goes digging into his pack. “It’s as if I knew—and that’s why I brought this. Stand up.”
He holds out a rope, and when I just stare at the thing as if I’ve never seen one before, he pulls me to my feet. Stepping in close, he reaches around my waist with the twist of fibers—
The scent of him washes over me and I breathe in deep. How can he always smell so good? This is the only thing I’m thinking of as the band tightens across the small of my back, and I nearly take a step forward just to keep us together.
“I’ll do the swimming.” My body tugs back and forth as he ties things in a tight knot. “You just need to hold your breath and not fight me.”
His strong, sure hands test the tie at my belly button one last time. “You have your knife?”
“There. By the pack.”
“Tuck it into your waistband. You’re going to need your hands free.”
On reflex, I bend down for my cloak.
“You’re not wearing that. It will drown you.”
“But I have to bring my—”
“That thing is going to absorb enough water weight to equal two of you. I’m not dragging it through the currents as well.”
As I stare down at the folds of ugly brown wool, I wonder how many more parts of myself I’ll have to jettison during this journey. The idea of leaving the thing behind makes me sad in the same way I feel when I think of my nook beneath the stairs.
“You’re not actually going to argue with me, are you.”
I shake my head. “I’m just thinking about how habit will turn even a hovel into a home, and a rough cloak like that into comfort.”
“You’re going to do so much better in this world, as soon as you drop the sentimentality.”
“I’ll keep my emotions, thank you very much.”
Looking at the pack, I decide to leave it behind. After thinking things over before I fell asleep, I’ve decided nothing that Mr. Lewis told me made any sense, and I’m not heading off on any quest just because he tossed a bunch of lore around. I’m going to try to hide and survive in a town of outlaws under the theory that there’s a kind of safety in numbers, especially with people who have good survival instincts. Surely that’s a better option than being alone in a landscape where demons are escaping the Fulcrum. Or some half-cocked story spit out at me by a man trying to save his business—by making sure I leave his establishment and do him the kindness of either getting myself killed, or at the very least, never, ever darkening his door again.
This was why I didn’t bother to look in the satchel or the box. I don’t care what’s inside either of them—
“Hold on.” I glance up to Merc’s chest level. “Do you have a compass?”
“No. Why?”
“How—ah, how sure are you that you know the way to the Badlands?” Although it isn’t as though we have a map—
“I know the way.”
And what if we get separated? I think. Or something happens where I have to go on my own? I’ve heard it’s to the south and west. How will I know which directions they’re in if I get turned around, or it’s at night?
Glancing down, I decide I could use a compass. And even if I don’t need the thing for navigating, I could maybe use it to barter.
Grabbing the pack, I slip the straps on my shoulders, and before he can argue, I flash my palms at him. “Hands free.”
I just hope the water doesn’t destroy the mechanism of the instrument.