Lee’s trials

A fox with good timing

*Thalia*

The rain has eased to a mist. It clings to his curls and runs down the sharp line of his cheek. He still has the old key in one hand.

"I should have protected her," he says.

I step closer. "From what?"

"From all of this."

"She made her own choice."

He sighs, "She should not have had to."

"No," I say. "She should not."

He stares at the river.

I know this look. I have watched him take blame for group projects he did not ruin, fights he did not start, bad decisions other people made while he was busy trying to keep everyone happy. He takes responsibility like it is a sacred obligation. Like setting it down would make him smaller.

I reach for his hand.

"You cannot save every person in Eirawen tonight."

His fingers close around mine.

"No," he says. "But I can get my father back."

The words are rough. He seems to surprise himself by saying them.

Across the river, something flashes.

A lantern.

Then another.

Lee looks up sharply.

"Patrol boat," he says.

We run.

The riverbank is uneven and slick. Roots rise from the mud like knuckles. I slip twice. Lee catches me both times, never slowing. Behind us, voices carry across the water.

"Search the eastern shore."

"Spread out."

The words are distant, but they are getting closer.

We duck beneath a curtain of hanging willow branches. The reeds here are taller than I am, thick and wet around us. I crouch in the mud beside Lee, both of us breathing too loudly.

A boat glides past on the river.

Its lantern throws pale light over the water. Four guards sit inside, their green uniforms dark with rain. One stands at the bow, holding a long staff tipped with a blue crystal.

The crystal hums.

My skin prickles.

"Tracking spell," Lee whispers.

The boat slows.

The crystal brightens.

I press one hand into the mud.

The ground answers slowly. This riverbank is not mine. Its trees do not know me. Its reeds have been cut back and trampled by patrol boots. Still, living things are generous when they are allowed to be.

I push green magic outward.

The reeds bend.

Not away from us. Over us.

Their long leaves knit together, dripping rain over our heads. Mud sucks at my knees. Lee's shoulder presses against mine. The patrol boat comes closer.

The blue crystal burns brighter.

One guard leans over the side. "There."

My heart kicks hard against my ribs.

Lee's hand goes to his coat pocket.

The letter.

The compass.

He is preparing to run, or fight, or do something stupidly brave.

I catch his wrist.

He looks at me.

No, I mouth.

The reeds tighten around us.

A fox bursts from the bank twenty feet upstream, all rust-red fur and frantic legs. It splashes into the river and scrambles across a floating branch.

The blue crystal flares.

"There," the guard says. "Something moved."

The boat turns after it.

For several seconds, nobody speaks.

Then the patrol boat glides away into the rain.

Lee lets out his breath against my shoulder.

"That fox has excellent timing," he whispers.

"I'll send it a thank-you note."

"We should invite it to Yggdrasil as a mascot."

"It would probably have better survival instincts than half our class."

He chokes out a small laugh, "That is harsh."

"It knows when to run from magical tracking crystals."

He laughs quietly again, then covers his mouth as if the sound might betray us.

The laugh does not last. Nothing does tonight. But when he lowers his hand, his expression has shifted. He looks at me with raw, frightened gratitude.

"I nearly left you behind," he says.

I blink. "When?"

"At your room. Before Nessa came." His gaze drops to the reeds between us. "I thought I could go to the archives alone. I thought if I got caught, at least you would be safe."

My chest tightens.

"You would have gone alone?"

"Yes."

I shake my head, "That is a terrible plan."

"I know."

"You would have been arrested in a library."

He shrugs, "I have had worse evenings."

"Lee."

He looks up.

I want to tell him how angry I am. I want to tell him that being loved by him sometimes feels like standing outside a locked door, listening to him decide which disasters I am allowed to see.

Instead, I take his cold face between my muddy hands.

"If you leave me behind again," I whisper, "I will grow roots through your mattress."

His eyes widen slightly.

Then he leans into my palms.

"I believe you."

"Good."

"I'm sorry."

The apology is simple. No smile wrapped around it. No graceful escape route.

I kiss him before he can try to make it prettier.

His mouth is cold from the river and trembling just a little. He touches my waist with both hands, careful even now, as if I might break if he holds on too tightly. I move closer until our knees knock together in the mud.

For a few seconds, Eirawen disappears behind rain and reeds.

Then a horn sounds again.

We pull apart.

Lee rests his forehead against mine. "We should go."

"Yes."

Neither of us moves immediately.

Finally, he draws back and looks downriver.

"Larkspur Crossing," he says. "Dry clothes. Food. Then we find a way to New York."

"And Ari and Kieran, we should ask them to come help us."

He nods.

The compass is safe inside his coat. The note is folded against his chest. We have a city searching for us, a sick king, a poisoned palace tree, and one address written by a man who may not remember his own son.

Lee reaches for my hand.

This time, he does not let go.