Page 44 of For the Love of the Quest

Edith’s eyes drifted back down to the bunch of oleander on the back of her hand. She frowned and said, “I don’t think oleander actually has thorns, though, does it?”

“Fuck if I know, just looked cool.”

Edith laughed, tipping her head back. “I want one,” she said suddenly.

“An oleander? It’s poisonous, that’s the whole point.” Thomasin let her head fall to the side, so that she was facing her. Edith followed suit, their faces mere inches apart.

“No!” Edith bumped her knee into Thomasin’s. “I want a tattoo.”

She had never considered getting a tattoo before. It just wasn’t something that ladies of her standing did. But not only that, she knew that she’d never be able to decide on something that permanent. How could she trust herself to choose something that would be etched onto her body forever? It was more than likely she would make the wrong choice, and then she’d have to live with her regret proudly displayed forever. It was the commitment of the whole endeavor that made her so anxious.

But in that moment, amid her quest and with Thomasin by her side, she wanted to be reckless. Edith wanted to make a choice without weighing the consequences for years on end.

Thomasin’s eyes lit up as she tilted her chin down and said, “Really?”

Edith nodded again, her resolve hardening. “You make me far too brave, Thomasin Shaw.”

Chapter Eighteen

Thomasin had never been so happy that she carried her tattooing kit with her. She never knew when the whim would strike her to add another piece to her collection. But this … this was a thousand times more exciting than any new tattoo she could give herself.

She had Edith lie down on the bed, her arm stretched out to one side, inner forearm facing up. Thomasin dragged a chair next to the bed and sat down. “What do you want?” she asked as she prepared her little pot of black ink.

Edith let out a small laugh. “I don’t actually know.” The nerves brought her voice up a few octaves. Thomasin turned to face the wall as she dipped her needle in the alcohol so that Edith wouldn’t have to spend too much time looking at the needle and contemplating what it would feel like being jammed into her skin.

“I have an idea,” Thomasin said as she turned back around. The image was suddenly so vivid in her mind.

“Okay.”

“Can I surprise you?” She didn’t want Edith to have to get muddled down in the details, and she thought it would be easier for herto not have to decide on the intricacies of it. But this was also permanent, and she knew she might be asking far too much of Edith.

She nodded without hesitation.

Seized by sudden doubt, Thomasin asked, “Are you sure?”

Edith met her eyes. “I trust you.”

Something lodged in Thomasin’s throat. Trust. She realized then that no one had trusted her, maybe ever. Feared her, obeyed her. But never trusted. Sometime in the last ten years, she had confused obedience with trust, and fear with respect.

“Thank you,” she said without thinking.

Edith’s brow scrunched. “For what?”

Thomasin swallowed, shook her head as she dipped the needle into the ink pot. “For being you.” She saw the blush rise on Edith’s cheeks out of the corner of her eye. Thomasin wanted to look up, but she didn’t think she could take seeing it in full. The force of it would bowl her over.

Silently giving thanks for her steady hands, she held Edith’s arm in place with a hand right below the crease of her elbow. She pretended that the satin feel of her skin didn’t send shivers throughout her entire body. She admired the vein of her wrist, like a river cutting through a pale sand beach.

Thomasin shook her head and gently placed the tip of the needle against Edith’s wrist. “Are you ready?”

“How badly will it hurt?”

“Nowhere near as badly as being shot by an arrow.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Edith mumbled.

“It’s all about perspective,” Thomasin agreed with a smile, then raised her brows, waiting for the go-ahead.

Edith squeezed her eyes shut and turned her head away. “Do it.”