The Perdurables

The Chalam Færytales, Book IV

You could have died! I could have died!” she cried, wondering why in the world he had risked his life—and her own—in such a flippant way.

“I will not let you die, Tipharah,” he said. And the sincerity, the finality with which he said it…

She met his eyes again, suddenly flustered at his hand still wrapped around hers, at the way he was looking at her.

She dropped his hand and turned away, pushing a shaky hand through her wind-tossed hair. She took a deep breath. Another. Near death was… Well, it was…

“Don’t tell me you’ve lost your gumption, Meren,” he said from behind her.

She turned slowly on her heel, narrowing her eyes on him. “You’re insane.”

He only wiggled his brows.

“I fail to understand your obsession with tempting death,” she growled, turning away from him. She crossed her arms over her chest, exhaling a frustrated breath.

She didn’t hear him step up to her, didn’t even realize he had moved from his spot until she felt his hand on her arm. “I know I scared you,” he said. She cut her eyes over her shoulder at the apology in his tone. “But death will not come courteously; she will not come with a smile on her face. The Dark færies—”

“I know about the Dark færies,” she said, cutting him off.

He searched her for a moment. “I know you do.”

And the way he said it… She believed him. She believed that he thought her brave. That this little experiment with the Wind hadn’t been for the sole purpose of scaring her.

It had been to prepare her. Not to run from the Darkness.

But to face it.

“Let’s go again,” she said at last, turning to face him fully.

His smile was broad and wickedly delighted.