Aria Blackwing's Arc

Chapter 18 of 24

Aria woke before the light was full. The fire had burned low. The cabin was still. Derek slept with one arm across her waist, his breath slow against the back of her neck. She did not move. For once she did not want to. The black blanket lay heavy over them. She had pulled it up in the night without remembering. Its thick fur held the warmth close. She watched the shutters. A thin gray line marked the edge of the boards. The birds had not stirred yet. The hawk was a shape in the new pen. The owl slept in its box. Derek shifted. His hand spread flat on her stomach. "You're awake," he said, low. "For a while." "Worrying?" "No." She turned onto her back so she could see him. His hair was flat on one side. His eyes were still soft with sleep. "Not this morning." He pulled the blanket up over her shoulder. She let him. Outside, the trees were quiet. Whatever waited in them had not moved in the night. She knew it was still there. She knew they would go out later and mark the ground for the new room and feel it watching. But not yet. Not in this hour. "Aria." She looked at him. He leaned in and kissed her. It was slow and careful, the way he did most things. His hand came up to her jaw. She kissed him back and felt the last of the night's cold leave her chest. When he drew away she kept her hand on his wrist. "I used to wake up counting," she said. "Supplies. Sounds. What I had to do before the sun was up." "And now?" "I woke up warm." She said it plain, the way he had said he loved her. "That's all. Just warm." He pressed his forehead to hers. She felt him smile against her skin. The raven scratched at its perch. The owl gave a small clicking sound. The hawk shook out its good wing. The cabin was starting. "We should get up," she said, and did not. "In a minute." She stayed under the blanket with him until the light through the shutters turned from gray to pale gold. Then she sat up and put her feet on the boards. The floor was cold. She did not mind. She pulled her dress from the peg. The little raven watched her from its perch and cocked its head. She fed it a scrap from the tin. She fed the owl. She stood at the hawk's pen and let Derek reach past her with the water. "Today we mark the ground," she said. "For the room." "Today we start," he said. She looked at the wall that faced the trees. Something in her had settled. The work would be harder now. She was ready to begin it.