Page 20 of For the Love of the Quest

Edith had justified this manipulation in the same way she had justified most of her decisions lately. She would do whatever it took to reach Excalibur, even if it meant a slight stretching of her morals. But as she stared at the deep crease between Thomasin’s furrowed brows, she felt anything but justified. There was the smallest sparkle of pride at having outwit the greatest criminal ofLondon, though she batted the thought away quickly. It wasn’t becoming.

“I’m sorry,” Edith mumbled, her mouth pinching. Thomasin’s gaze jerked up to meet hers, and she almost looked surprised, as if she had forgotten Edith was there.

Thomasin gave her head a little shake before furrowing her brow even further and saying, “What could you possibly have to be sorry for?”

“I lied to you about the clues and deliberately led you to believe the treasure would be here. I didn’t actually apologize before. So, I’m sorry. It wasn’t fair of me.” Edith’s voice wobbled at the end. She covered it with a cough, hoping Thomasin hadn’t noticed.

A pained groan escaped Thomasin’s lips, and she dragged her hands down her face as she came over to where Edith sat slumped against the sculpture. Thomasin slid down to sit next to her with a huff. She watched as Thomasin drew her knees up and tipped her head back against the marble.

“You have to stop apologizing to me,” Thomasin said, letting her head fall to the side so she was looking at Edith. There was something heavy churning in her eyes. For a second, Edith could’ve sworn she looked horribly guilty. But then Edith’s vision went blurry again, and by the time the green of Thomasin’s eyes had come back into focus, the only thing she saw was concern. “Are you still with me?” Thomasin asked, leaning closer.

Edith nodded, even though just that small movement had her stomach roiling. But she didn’t care about that just yet. She needed to know if this was all over.

“Just tell me,” Edith whispered, unable to meet Thomasin’s eyes. “Are you giving up on the quest, now that you know there are more clues?” She waited for Thomasin’s response to hit her like a slap. Instead, a warm calloused hand cupped her cheek. With gentle pressure, Thomasin tilted Edith’s face up.

Thomasin’s mouth was set in a firm line. “Absolutely not.”

“Really? I don’t know how many clues there’ll be,” Edith said, unsure as to why she was trying to talk Thomasin out of helping her with the one thing she wanted most in the world.

“Five clues. Five hundred clues. I don’t care. I’ll see you through them all. I figure I owe you at least that much.” Thomasin nodded meaningfully at Edith’s shoulder, where Edith currently had her hand pressed to the bandaged wound.

“Thank you,” Edith said.

Thomasin winced. “Please don’t thank me.”

That didn’t make any sense to Edith, but she was too tired to figure it out. Instead, she grimaced and said, “Well, now that we have that figured out, I should probably do something about this.”

At Thomasin’s look of confusion, Edith withdrew her hand from her wound to reveal the blood-soaked bandage. Her hand, too, was slick and sticky with blood.

“Fuck,” Thomasin said, jerking forward to take hold of Edith’s arm. Thomasin hissed through her teeth. “I need to stitch this up now. You’re still losing too much blood and fading fast.”

Edith let herself slump farther against the sculpture. Her thoughts were murky, and the world around her was starting to feel less real. “Well, I did get shot with an arrow,” she said thickly.

“I can stitch it, but maybe we should get you to a real doctor. I don’t want you to—”

“Shh.” Edith attempted to press her pointer finger to Thomasin’s lip, but her hand was weak and clumsy, so she ended up very lightly slapping her on the side of her face, right under her cheekbone. “This makes me a real treasure hunter. I’m not gonna stop now just to see a stupid doctor.”

“Treasure hunter isn’t technically a real profession.”

“Says the crime boss.”

“I’m not sure how you’re winning arguments while delirious,” Thomasin said as she pulled her flask from the pocket of her jacket. “But I’m going to cut my losses and just let you have this one.”

“That’s nice,” Edith sighed.

“Do you have a sewing kit?” Thomasin’s voice sounded far away.

“In my bag,” she said.

Thomasin fished the little tin container from one of the many organizational pockets in Edith’s satchel, then returned to her side to help her lie down on the cold stone. It felt amazing against her sweaty skin. She let her eyes flutter close, finally giving up on the battle of keeping her vision focused. Edith was content to listen to the sound of Thomasin rustling around. At least until the shock of cold water being poured on her shoulder jerked her back to clarity. Her eyes flew open to the sight of Thomasin kneeling over her, canteen still in hand.

Craning her neck, Edith dared a glance at the wound. Washed clean, it didn’t look quite as bad. It was a small but deep puncture, and while blood still pooled, it was no longer spilling down her arm. Lying down must have stemmed the flow. When she looked back up at Thomasin, the canteen was gone. In its place was a threaded needle. Gripped in her other hand was her flask.

“You probably don’t want to watch,” Thomasin warned before taking a deep swig from the flask. That wasn’t the most reassuring sight.

“You’re probably right. I’ve never been queasy about needles, but then again, I’ve never been the embroidery cloth.” Edith laughed, but it came out like more of a wheeze.

“This will hurt,” Thomasin said, the flask poised above the wound. A breath later, sharp pain exploded in Edith’s shoulder. She gasped and attempted to bolt upright. Thomasin must have been ready for that, though, because her hand was already there to hold Edith in place.