“Would you walk with me?” I ask.
Kol’s eyes curl at the corners, a momentary smile. “I was hoping to. I thought you might say no.”
“I still might say no—”
“I meant to the walk—”
“We’re still betrothed. We should spend time together—”
“While we can,” Kol says. He holds out a hand and I take it. His palm is warm. I wrap my fingers around it like I’m enclosing some small, vulnerable thing that I want to keep alive.
“While we can,” I echo. Kol has a spear, so I know he is thinking we will leave camp. “How well can you climb?” I ask. “Are you well enough to handle the climb up the ravine?”
“All the way to the cave,” he says. “Where else would we go?”
The hike up into the ravine that leads to the cave is not an easy one, but today, with the sun out and the ground dry, it’s nothing like it was on the day Lo attacked our clan. The water that runs down from the peaks forms a shallow and winding creek, but I remember the raging river that swept us away that day—the day Lo drowned. The memory of the sight of that white water has faded like a dream, but I remember the loud roar in my ears and the cold that cut right to my bones.
And I remember Kol standing over Lo’s body when he pulled her from the stream. The memory of her ash-gray face and pale blue lips will never leave me.
Kol uses his spear as a walking stick, but I worry about his footing when we reach the place where the trail splits, the left side leading down to the creek, the right side becoming a hanging shelf of rock leading to the summit and the cave. “Are you sure?” I ask. Besides his spear, he carries a pack and a waterskin. He pauses at my question and offers me a drink.
“I’ll carry this the rest of the way,” I say, “and the pack too.” I shrug it over my shoulder. It’s light. “What’s in here?”
“You’ll see.”
“A surprise then?”
“More like a memory.”
We pass up the trail slowly, feet cautiously placed, spots of hidden ice carefully avoided. When at last we reach the summit overlooking the sea, I know that the worst part of the path to the cave still lies ahead of us.
“It’s easier, I think, if you go down backward,” I say, climbing over the ledge and descending onto the side of the cliff that faces the sea. The footholds are narrow, the handholds few. Two steps down and I am almost to the lip of rock that skirts the mouth of the cave, but my attention is on Kol as he climbs down the cliff above me. One more step and I am on the cave floor. I draw a deep breath when Kol drops in behind me.
Crawling back deeper into the cave, I’m surprised by how well I can see. “I remember it being much darker in here.”
“It was raining both times we were here together,” Kol says. “I remember the sound.”
We sit side by side, facing the curved opening in the rock. Today, the sound of distant waves below filters in from outside, but I’m far more aware of the inhale and exhale of my own breath echoing off the close walls. My pulse quickens, my heart runs hard in my chest, and I tell myself these are the lingering effects of the climb down the cliff, but I doubt it. Kol moves beside me and I turn to watch him dig through the pack I’ve dropped on the floor.
He pulls out a fire starter.
This cave is used as a lookout point, and a supply of wood is already stacked against the wall. He would have remembered that.
It isn’t long before Kol has an ember glowing in the fire pit. He stretches out on his side, his face close to the glowing tinder, his lips pursed as he blows breath into the flames. I watch his mouth, moving like he’s sharing a secret, and I want to know his secrets, too.
I stretch out beside him. He startles.
“So why did we come here?” I ask. “Did you want to talk? Or . . . something else?”
Kol laughs, a nervous sound in his throat. “I came here with you to spend time with you. For now, we’re still betrothed, and you said it yourself—that’s what betrothed couples do.” The fire catches. He turns to lie flat on his back, still stretched out across the ground. He doesn’t make a move to sit up, so I slide closer to him, propping myself on an elbow.
“That’s one thing they do,” I say.
I watch Kol as warmth from the fire spreads across his face, creating shadows in the hollows beneath his cheekbones, setting circles of light in the blacks of both eyes. A smile climbs from his lips to those eyes. The blacks cool when I lean over him, shielding his face from the light, my mouth hovering over his.
“I’m not ready to kiss you,” he says. His smile widens and his eyes flash when I pull back. “Not just yet, at least.” He draws his legs in and sits up, reaching for the pack again. “I brought something for you—not really a gift. Something more symbolic.”
His hand slides out of the pack, a pouch of honey tucked against his palm.
“I’ve been wanting to share honey with you again, ever since the evening you brought a cup of honey from the south to my hut.” He pauses a moment, and I wonder if the same memories that light in my mind are lighting in his. “I wanted to kiss you that night—I wanted to taste the honey on your lips—but I missed the chance.
“I was hoping maybe I would get another chance today.”
A flutter of nerves ripples through me as he places the pouch of honey in my hands. It’s warm from his own. I notice the pouch is a bit larger and newer than the one he gave me as a betrothal gift—the one I’d refused when he’d tried to give it to me the first night we met.
A hollow bone serves as a spout, and I consider pouring a bit onto the tip of a finger. But that’s not what I did on the evening we’re re-creating. I turn the pouch in my hand, feeling the fullness of it, and I let my gaze sweep over Kol for just a moment. The playful smile on his lips only fans my nerves. I look away.
Tilting my head back, I close my eyes as I hold the pouch above my open mouth. The shock of taste on my tongue pulls a breath from my throat, a short gasp. I open my eyes, and as I lift my head, a drizzle of warm sweet liquid spills over my lower lip.
Kol doesn’t hesitate. What he said must be true—he must have been waiting for this chance since that night. His hands grasp my waist, pulling me toward him. His lips cover mine, and he drinks in every trace of honey that lingers there. His kiss deepens, his tongue tasting the inside of my lip.
His grip loosens, and he pulls away just enough to look into my eyes.
“Was it worth the wait?” I ask. My voice bubbles out of me. It’s the happiest sound I’ve made in a long time.
“It was even better than I’d hoped.”
“It is remarkably good honey,” I say. “The sweetest I’ve ever had.”
“I would agree.”
“Whose is it, then?” I ask. “Yours or mine? Gathered in the north, or the south?”
“Hmmm, good question. Let me sample it again.” He reaches for the pouch, but I pull it away. “Let me.”
His eyes pinch—he’s not sure what I plan to do and he’s strangely wary. I slide closer to him. “Lie back,” I say.
“I’m trusting you,” he answers, that half smile I know so well flickering in the firelight. His eyes close and he slides back, stretching against the stone floor once more.
“Hold still,” I say, my voice so low it makes no echo even in this cave. The snap of wood on the fire almost drowns out my words. The fragrance of the honey mixes with the smoke. The scent warms me.
Kol’s lips are parted but my hand is shaking, and the first drips from the spout fall on his cheek. My lips find the place and I kiss the honey away. I try—and miss—again, this time leaving a sticky trail across his chin.
“I think you’re missing on purpose,” he murmurs as my lips move over the warm skin of his face, tracing sweet lines left by my nervous hand.
“Maybe,” I whisper back. My fingers are sticky, and a trail of honey smudges Kol’s skin as my hands slide down his throat. I lean over and touch the spot with my lips.
But then I hesitate. Am I taking this too far?
Maybe—just for a little while—it’s all right to be playful. Maybe for a few moments we can stop being two High Elders and be nothing more than each other’s betrotheds. My lips flutter over Kol’s skin and I kiss the last of the honey away.
Kol pulls me down beside him, finding my lips with his. His kiss is slow and searching. Heat ripples across my skin like a vibration on the head of a drum. His hand draws back my hair and he leans close to my ear. When he speaks, his words stir my hair against my neck. “I wish this never had to end.”
I pull gently away, not so much to separate us as to look into his face. His skin glows in the firelight, but around him the room is growing dim. It’s getting late. I know we will need to leave, to return to camp soon. Even by saying he wished this would never end, Kol has admitted he knows it must.
I want to speak, to hear my own voice say out loud the truth that is thrashing inside me like something savage. That at this moment, I know I love him.
But I can’t say that, even if I know it to be true. I can’t tell Kol I love him if I’m going to refuse a merger. If I’m going to become the High Elder of the Olen, even as he becomes the High Elder of the Manu. It wouldn’t be fair. So instead of the words I love you, I say, “We should really get back.”
“We should,” he says. I notice that he also makes no declaration of his feelings. I can’t be surprised—it would be unfair to expect him to speak about his feelings for me while I choose to stay silent on mine for him. But he also hasn’t mentioned the topic of a merger at all.
Perhaps he’s given up on the idea already.
Kol opens his pack, reaches for the pouch of honey, and I set it in his hand. “You didn’t tell me,” I say. “Is it from the north or the south?”
His face opens, like a secret is about to be released to me. “Neither. Or really, both. This is what you get when you combine both together. The Manu and the Olen, mixed together as one.”
“Merged,” I say.
“You could say that.”
“Well, in the case of honey, it works very well.” I feel a wave of relief to learn that Kol is still hoping for a merger, even though I’m still unsure of what I think is best for my clan. I want so much to do as Yano says and choose a path for the future without relying on the past. I wish I could believe that the past shouldn’t control the future, but for now I’m not sure what I believe. With Kol’s taste and scent all over me, in this moment I’m not sure my judgment would be clear anyway. I notice my teeth biting into my lower lip. “Ready?”
“You first,” he says.
So I slide toward the mouth of the cave as Kol extinguishes the fire. The sound of the sizzling coals washes me in a diffuse sadness, and I try to push it from my mind by bracing myself for the coming climb back up to the summit of the cliff. I stare out at the sea and I stop. A chill chases away all of Kol’s warmth.
Two boats are approaching from the north.
“Kol,” I say. “Boats. Kayaks.” I look harder and I recognize the shape of the kayaks. I recognize the design. “Bosha,” I say.
Kol comes to sit beside me to watch the two kayaks come closer into view. The paddlers don’t notice us high on the cliff, and we stay still, letting them approach. I don’t want to react too soon. But it doesn’t take long for me to recognize the paddlers.
Thern and Pada.
“I’m going to confront them,” I say. “Give me your spear—”
“Mya, no—”
“We have only one weapon, Kol, and you’re not well enough—”
“I just don’t want you to react too quickly. You don’t even know why they’re here.”
“I do know,” I say, reaching for Kol’s spear. “Look at what they each carry on the deck of their boat.”
As they get closer, almost to the base of the cliff, everything comes into view. Thern’s hands red with cold. Pada’s hair, sticking to her forehead from the spray.
And on the deck of both kayaks, an atlatl and a pack of darts.