The Goblets Immortal by Beth Overmyer (read 50 shades of grey .TXT) 📕

put a stop to this. “Slaíne, you cannot possibly break that branch. Come down before you—”

Too late. She shot down at the branch at breakneck speed, and the branch creaked ominously. Again she floated higher, and again she shot downward.

“Slaíne,” he warned. “You’re going to break something.”

“Yep!” she shouted, then, “Timber!”

Aidan ran back a few paces as the branch crashed to the forest floor, scattering leaves and scaring birds in its massive wake.

A moment later, Slaíne floated down, panting yet grinning. Her smile, however, melted, as she looked at the waist-thick branch with her tongue stuck out from between her teeth. Slaíne sighed and shrugged. “Too big and heavy to move, ain’t it? Guess we’ll have plenty o’ firewood.”

At that, Aidan burst out laughing, and she had to smile again.

Aidan hated to discourage her, but the noise was sure to have drawn unwanted attention. Anyone living on the outskirts of town would be drawn in their direction to investigate the noise, and attention was the last thing they needed. With a sigh, he shook his head. “I fear this won’t do.”

Slaíne’s brow creased. “What, sir?”

“We should move on perhaps a little further tonight.” As he said the words, the sky began to spit down on them…not a heavy rain, but a thin mist. He caught a shiver and smiled at her ruefully.

She nodded and followed him away from the fallen branch.

Before crossing the main road, Aidan felt for Pulls, satisfied himself that there were no travelers within their immediate reach, and they both crossed the way, trembling against the cold and damp and trying to leave as few tracks as possible. By the time he thought it a safe distance to stop, there was but a bit of daylight left. They ate their supper, such as it was. Slaíne shook so hard that Aidan feared she might miss the apple entirely and bite her lower lip instead. It was not a satisfying meal. Aidan didn’t know when they’d be able to restock their food supplies, seeing as he was a wanted man in Breckstone; they had to be thrifty.

Once they’d finished eating, Aidan found a giant evergreen, beneath which they would sleep. He crawled under after Slaíne, who swore as the needles prickled her.

“Can you nay get rid of ’em?” The second he collapsed next to her, she surprised him by grabbing and clinging to him, her breaths coming in clouds that hung in the air above them. “Well?”

Her hands were cold against his chest, and her thighs against his waist were…. Lucidity left him for a moment, and he forgot what she had asked him.

“Ouch!”

Aidan jolted back to reality. “Try not to move about so much.”

She swore at him through chattering teeth. “These blasted needles will be the death of me.”

With a sigh, he felt for their thin, fragile Pulls and Dismissed as many as he could sense. It didn’t take long, and as soon as he finished, he tried extricating himself from her tight grasp, which was rather strong for someone so slight. But she appeared to have fallen asleep, so he gave up trying.

The hours trickled by like sand down the throat of an hourglass. Aidan watched through the branches as the sun finished its descent, and the moon climbed to its highest point, and all the stars lit up a cloudless sky. The night dug its nails into him, leeching the warmth from his body. At once he was thankful for Slaíne’s warmth and strove to think nothing more of the situation.

Dew fell. The night-dwelling creatures pitched their songs into a cacophony of sound, until, the moon sinking, the creatures grew still and left Aidan to believe the sun’s dawning was near.

The night through he tried running the plan through his mind. It was a feeble one at best, downright deadly at its worst. But they needed that blasted map…if Larkin hadn’t been lying about it in the first place.

Perhaps, Aidan mused, I should simply Dismiss all the paper and parchment from the house. It was an idea, a somewhat workable one. Yet there was a problem: What if the paper was concealed by iron? Or what if the map was not made of paper at all, but painted on oilskin? There would be no knowing. He could try Dismissing all the paper and oilskin he could sense, and sort through it at a distance, seeing if he had discovered the document. But how much paper might Dewhurst’s manor contain, and what then if the map was not among that which he had Dismissed and Summoned? It would look suspicious to Dewhurst if all the paper goods had gone missing from his home, and the issue of theft would be raised. Naturally, all the vagrants, Romas, and foreigners would be rounded up and questioned, drawing so much attention to Aidan and Slaíne as to prevent their attempting the theft a second time. No, they would get one chance at this, and they had better get it right. No map meant no Goblet. No Goblet meant an angry Meraude, no answers, and another bounty on Aidan’s head.

These thoughts worried him until first light, keeping him from any semblance of sleep or rest. He meant to stir early, hoping to pace about and get rid of some of his nervous energy. It was not meant to be, it would seem. Slaíne, as usual, slept as one dead; freeing himself from her would mean waking her, and he didn’t relish the idea.

At last, when the sun had cleared the trees, the girl stirred, rolled over, and sat up with a start. For a moment, she looked about as though uncertain of where she was or who Aidan was, her eyes wide and wild. After that moment had passed, she came to her senses and stopped shaking and casting him odd glances. “Well, that was strange.” She did not expound.

He wasn’t going to ask, but as they scarfed down their sad excuse for a breakfast – one shriveled and drying