I frowned and clucked my dry tongue against the roof of my mouth. “I told you I didn’t want to celebrate today; it’s not right with the threat we are under.”
He leant closer and that wonderful earthy, herb-filled scent washed over me. “What’s not right is you not enjoying your day. Come. This is a festival of celebration and I won’t hear anything else about it.”
“My father would argue.”
He chuckled and plucked at my hand, linking his fingers easily within mine like he always had since early childhood. Alen had on numerous occasions in the past taken great mirth in retelling stories of our childhood infatuation with one another and how we used to run about the place with our hands tightly clasped. Those days seemed but a distant memory. A fond memory, but distant nonetheless. “Your father would argue about most things.”
Narrowing my eyes, I tugged his arm until he’d look at me. He was picking a path towards the forest, his feet sure and firm on the wet ground. “What have you been asking my father?”
It could have been the sun edging over the horizon, but a pale-pink hint of colour spread across his cheeks.
“Just normal chief and priest discussions.”
“Tristram? What aren’t you telling me?” That unsettled feeling I seemed to be living with of late squeezed my chest.
His dark gaze swept in my direction and my stomach tightened a little. “Has he not spoken to you?”
I sighed, and we walked in silence for a while. “I’ve hardly seen him. He seems more distracted than ever. I keep trying to find him to tell him of my studies but he’s never where he ought to be.” I trailed off, my mind wandering as I replayed the last few days in my head. “He’s obsessed with the delivery of stones.” I turned towards Tristram. “I don’t think it’s healthy. Those trees, they hold so much power, he shouldn’t have cut them down like that.”
Tristram pulled me closer. “Shh, Mae, you mustn’t speak like that.”
I laughed but his darted glare cut the mirth short on my lips. “Everyone’s asleep, Tris.” I glanced around at the silent settlement and giggled, but it faltered on my lips when I took in the serious expression Tristram wore. “No one is going to hear.”
His lips set into a grim line, the full wide mouth always so quick to smile and tease turned down at the edges. “There is always someone listening.”
“What’s happening, Tristram? You can trust me with everything, you know that.” Why did I seem to be in the dark? Tristram and I, even when he annoyed the life out of me, always shared everything. Why did I now feel that was no longer the case?
The dark onyx of his gaze lifted with a spark of light and he nodded, pulling on my hand and tucking me closer to his side. My breath caught a little as our hips brushed. “I know I can, but come, this is just us, let’s not ruin it with dour talk and worries.”
I smiled, but I didn’t feel it in my heart. Worry spread a dark cloud over my eighteenth birthday.
“The river?” I looked around in amazement. It had been a while since I’d had the time to come to this favourite place and the dark weight on my heart lifted and soared. Autumn winds and high tides made the river run and churl with muddied swollen water. I didn’t care, I knew the water wasn’t dirty. This river was the flow from which my people lived. Skipping forward, my heart light and carefree, I slipped out of my sandals and placed my big toe in the water. “She’s cold today.”
Tristram laughed, the worry I’d watched him carry on his shoulders during the walk here lifting. The dawn was rising bright. Pale golden streaks of sunlight landed on his skin, painting it with a deep glow, making his hair catch a light with pale flames. “Always a she with you.”
“I told you,” I giggled a little, a careless sound in the morning quiet. “She told me who she was.”
Shaking his head, he stepped closer. I held my breath for his touch, but it didn’t come. “And I keep telling you, this river must be male, look at how masculine and virile it is.”
I chuckled harder. “Virile?” I prodded him with my middle finger smack in the middle of his stomach. It met with firm resistance. “Virile? You sound like Deacon now. Isn't that what he’s always telling the eligible ladies?”
Tristram snorted, his arm resting casually over my shoulders. “It’s what he tells himself most of the time.” A flicker darkened his gaze. “Yet he wonders why he can’t get Arethia with child.”
Deacon’s wife was young, only my age, and they’d been married a good few months. “It will happen when the gods will it.”
With heavy lids, he gazed upon my face, “It seems we are waiting for the gods to answer a lot at the moment.”
Automatically, and unwittingly, I brushed my fingers through the strands of his golden hair, tucking it behind his ear. “What troubles you, Tristram? Lighten your heart to me, we are old friends.”
I hesitated. So much of me wanted us to be more. The violet gem at my throat heated and thrummed. My fingers dropped from Tristram’s hair and clutched the pendant. It was silly, but I was sure it was trying to tell me something.
Tristram’s attention dropped to the necklace. “Who gave you that?” His tone was guarded, and I prickled.
“Heather. She said it would help guide me on my studies.”
Using two fingers he stroked the pendant with a delicate touch. The gem thrummed with energy. “That witch? Who knows what she intends.”
“Heather isn’t a witch; she’s highly skilled, and essential for our people. We’d be lost without her and be a few bairns the less without her guidance and wisdom.” I glared at him brazenly, my cheeks heating.
His hand caught mine, turning it palm up, his