Page 97 of Valour

She smirked and brushed her fingers over his jaw. “I haven’t had a cycle the last few months. One of the joys of malnourishment. It should be fine.”

“God,” he whispered. “You’re incredible.”

“So you said.” She smiled smugly, propping herself up on her elbows and batting the rolls of canvas away. “You were sublime.”

“Hmm.” He brushed kisses along her neck, laying down and tucking her close to him.

“Do you think anyone heard us?” she asked.

“Heard us? They probably saw us by the end.” He pushed the canvas up.

Hester sniggered, nestling into the warmth of his body.

He tightened his arms around her. “I am so in love with you, Hester Orn.”

She laced her fingers through his, tucking his hand over her heart, over the tattoo that had caused her so much pain to look at lately.

Maybe she could move past that loss after all.

Hester awoke sometime later, nestled in Septimus’s arms, sheets of tent canvas on top of them. That new tether in her chest burned brightly. She didn’t understand it, but she felt him there too.

He stared down at her. “You had wings.”

“Ah. Yes.” She swept the loose feathers up. Would he shove her away? Reject her? “That is a new thing. They’re always gone when I wake up.”

He picked up a feather. “They’re beautiful.”

Her cheeks flushed. “Thank you.” She shouldn’t have doubted him. “Charlotte has a book of mythical people.” Was she really going to tell him everything? “I’m one of them. There are people called aquiline. They have wings. That’s the only thing I know. That, and they come from a place the book calls The Hidden Wilds. I knew I was different. I didn’t know I was a myth.”

Septimus stroked the feather along her cheek. “I love you whatever you are.” He bent his head, pressing his lips to hers.

She pressed into him. “And my mother really is dead.” It was difficult to know what to do with that information. There was no neatly marked shelf for the chasm that had opened in her heart.

He stroked a hand over her hair, pulling her closer. “I’m here, if you want to talk about it.”

Hester shook her head. “We should get up.”

“I suppose.”

Hester batted away the canvas and grasped the metal tent pole. With Septimus’s help she repositioned it, then crouched to pull his watch from his coat pocket, abandoned on the floor. “What time is it?” she muttered, then frowned as she looked at the watch face. “Eleven fifteen? That cannot be right—wait.”

She raised her eyes to his.

He took the watch from her, pulling his breeches and shirt back on and giving her a pointed look. “That was the worst moment of my life.”

She sucked in a breath and wrapped her arms around his neck. “So why keep being reminded of it?”

“As a promise to myself. Not to let it happen again.”

She kissed his cheek. “I never took you for the sentimental type.”

He smiled ruefully, saying nothing.

Hester pulled her clothes and boots on, then poked her head out of the tent flap. The whole camp was dismantled and gone. Only one sled remained, with Snowball, Sooty and three other dogs harnessed to it. Hester walked over to Snowball and plucked a crumpled note from her harness.

She read it out, “Follow our tracks. We couldn’t bear to hear you screaming any longer. Hope you had a good ride, Fliss.”

Hester laughed and tucked the letter into her pocket. “The best ride of my life,” she said, her lips curving.