Favián’s eyes were innocent, like those of a newborn babe, wide and full of wonder whenever he allowed himself a moment to look at her. Arwyn had never felt such reverence before, so she forgave herself the thrill whenever his large brown eyes slid over her face like he was paying her a compliment, one slow blink at a time.

“We are going to be great friends,” she stated.

“We-we are?” Favián asked.

“Yes, we are.”

His eyes lit up like wind-whipped embers. It made her smile. It couldn’t be helped. He made her smile. He had gaped at her at length after her little announcement of friendship, and she felt something stir and shift in the air. She smiled demurely, now feeling the stirrings of shyness herself as he looked at her like she was something remarkable. Truth be told, she rather thought there was something remarkable about Favián as well.

But then he settled, and the air settled and soon they were talking. She sipped her water and asked him questions about himself, where he came from, what his home was like. He found an uncomfortable-looking wooden chair in the corner, pulling it beside her bed, and obliged her by answering softly, a sweet-sounding lisp replacing his nervous stuttering, and as he grew more comfortable conversing, he became more excitable, his words dancing with a flourish, and sometimes whole words exploded on his tongue.

“You talk too fast,” she joked.

“You listen too slowly,” he countered.

A ripple of laughter escaped her, like a scattering of loose coins. Favián’s whole face lit up at that and wrinkles of laughter leaped into sight the more they talked.

And so it was, the two falling into a friendship, just as she had predicted. And then…

Zeph was standing in the doorway, filling the space like a snow-capped mountain, his countenance blank, void, like a still, breezeless day.

Anxiety flowed through her body like a current. There was something in the way Zeph didn’t move, a frightening stillness. The air was knotted in silence before he withdrew from the doorway and crossed to the other side with nary a word, the heel of his boots striking against the floor. Arwyn and Favián’s laughter hung in the air like a foul smell. When he reached the window, he simply stared out, unseeing.

A dark form came up beside her. Her heart leaped; she was startled until she realized it was only Lochlan. With a hand clutched to her breast, she murmured, “You scared me.”

“My apologies. But dare I say you scared us all.”

With chagrin, Arwyn looked at Zeph, his white hair hanging long and loose down his back. “I’m fine. Really. I’m sorry to have scared everyone.”

Zeph slowly turned around, though he spared her not a glance. No, he looked directly at Favián, crossed his arms over his chest, and said, “Get out.” Zeph’s eyes were as hard as the polished stones he kept inside his sash and every bit as indestructible.

“Zeph!” Arwyn hissed.

Arwyn slid her gaze to Favián as he rose from his seat.

“Get out,” Zeph ordered again.

Favián mimicked Zeph’s mien. “If Arwyn wishes me to go, I go. If she wishes me to stay, I stay.” His remarks were thrown like daggers as he held Zeph’s cool glare.

“Favián, it is quite all right,” Arwyn said, touching his arm. “Why don’t you and Lochlan go on to bed? It’s late, and I know you must be tired.”

Favián slid his eyes from Zeph’s to hers, softening immediately. “Sí. Are you certain you want to be alone with him?”

Zeph took one step forward. “Get. Out.”

“I’ll be fine,” Arwyn rushed to say, though her words might as well have been weightless leaves for how quickly they were whisked away.

“I think I should stay,” Favián said, his eyes veering back to Zeph, sharp as wet blades.

She turned to Lochlan. “Please, you have to do something.”

“Are you sure? You’re not at all curious—”

“Lochlan!” she scolded.

“Right. Favián, come with me. Arwyn will be well without us here, I assure you.” Then he turned to Zeph and said his name.

“What?” he barked.

“He only did as we asked.”

Zeph said nothing. He and Favián stared at one another, each taking the measure of the other. The air was rife with contention, a viscous silence, and unformulated words. When Favián finally gave in and followed Lochlan out, Arwyn felt she needed to say something.

“Thank you, Favián, for seeing to my well-being. I hope to see you in the morning. Perhaps at breakfast, and if not, then perhaps lunch?”

Favián paused, though he did not turn around. “Sí. Sleep well.” A tired disappointment underscored his words. He closed the door behind him and Arwyn felt the pang of disappointment as well.

She waited several minutes before speaking again. Zeph had turned his back after they had left, and she contemplated throwing something at him. She considered the empty cup in her hand, weighing it. Instead, she set it aside and counted off in her head. When she thought she could speak to Zeph without temper, she asked, “Why did you do that?”

Zeph’s shoulders stiffened, though no words passed his lips. His gaze remained fixed on some far-off place he always seemed to retreat.

Arwyn’s lips pursed at his haughty demeanor. She folded her arms in a huff, her eyes narrowing at the back of his head. She opened and closed her mouth three times, longing to lash out at him. The way he came into the room like a silent storm, demanding Favián to leave. Thinking of it now made her nostrils flare. And the longer he stood there not speaking, the more she realized she was rather angry with him. Quite, actually.

Then he dropped his head, and suddenly he looked disconsolate, miserable, like a man who had watched too long from a window to glean an answer to a question he had posed, or for a sign from a god he had prayed to and finding none.

Her anger crept away like fog.

The night had been particularly dark, a mild storm had passed through, but at that moment, that exact moment, the moon had lifted the darkness, cutting a swath through the black, and for a whole minute, Zeph was bathed in a silver beam of light. And wasn’t it just like Nature to know how to paint the greatest effects with just moonlight and shadows. She didn’t know why she remembered it then, but she recalled his whispered, desperate plea…“Tell me how to heal you, luv. I am not at all good at it.” But he had healed her, hadn’t he? He alone. She marveled at how he had taken care of her. There was goodness in this man, for she had seen it, more than once.

“How do you do that?”

Arwyn blinked, surprised he’d spoken. “Pardon?”

“How do you do that?” he repeated.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Just now…you were smiling.”

“Was I?”

He nodded.

“Well, it’s quite simple, really,” she explained dryly. “You lift the corners of your mouth like so.” She used her index fingers to demonstrate. “Perhaps you should try it sometime.”

She wished she understood better what he was feeling. His emotions were a confusing, tangled mess, and so were hers.

“That’s not what I meant,” he whispered.

“Then what did you mean?”

He sank into the wooden chair beside her bed, his eyelids drooping as though they weighed considerably. “I don’t know,” he murmured.

Time passed like centuries between them, the silence rolling and breaking against her ear. Arwyn opened her mouth several times to speak. Each time, she chose not to. She had accused Zeph of being a coward, and maybe she was a coward too, afraid of saying the wrong thing at the wrong time. With Zeph, she never knew.

“You almost died,” he said. His voice was splinters and broken glass and oh, how she wanted to reach for him—to hold him.

“I remember certain things,” she answered, her brows wrinkling.

“What things?”

He sat with his eyes closed. She leaned against her pillow, staring up at the ceiling. “Well,” she said, the corner of her mouth tugging upward, opting for a bit of levity, “You were very high-handed. Something about forbidding me to die.”

There was a brief pause before Zeph spoke. “You scared me, did you know?”

Arwyn’s heart expanded, filling up with so much tenderness that she couldn’t possibly have room for it all. It leaked out the corners of her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Thank you for…for saving me.”

Another pause, and then… “Thank you for not dying.”

A hush prevailed once again. This time it hummed rather than roared. She liked the melody of it.

“I buried them,” he said, so quietly she barely heard him.

“What?”

“Your family. I buried them for you, right after I brought you to my keep. There was an old elm tree behind your home. You can find their graves there if ever…if ever you want to visit them.”

Arwyn closed her eyes, pinching them tightly together, tears falling like rain, a sob escaping her throat.

“I just thought you should know.”

She heard the creaking of the wooden chair as he moved to stand. She felt his eyes watching her. And then…she felt his breath on her cheek and the barest brush of his thumb as he wiped her tears.

The only thing she’d ever wished for, a proper burial for her family. He had given that to her.

“Thank you,” she whispered when she was able to say the words.

He didn’t hear her. He had already left the room.