Page 79 of Unkindness of Crimson Ravens
“Perhaps tomorrow.” The words flew out of my mouth as I lost the battle with my sanity.
A grin spread across Francis’ face. “Can’t wait.”
Two voices carried from Florence's room as I made my way up the stairs, my legs froze in place. I pushed on the ajar door.
Dark curls, pink lips. “Florence?” My voice broke when the woman sitting on the bed had faced me.
My feet carried me towards Florence as I embraced her in the tightest hug I’d ever given anyone. “How are you feeling?” I searched her eyes for any sign of pain.
“Better.” She bestowed me with the sunshine smile I’d thought I’d never see her wear again.
My hands squeezed her tighter until she squeaked. “Sorry!” I retreated; my eyes fell onto her wrapped wound.
Florence chuckled. “If only I knew all I had to do was almost die to get a hug out of you.”
I wanted to roll my eyes, but the smile on my face refused to leave. “I was so worried,” I whispered.
“I’m all right,” she nodded, her hands found mine.
“Caleb said you must stay in bed for the rest of the night.” Roxanne gestured for Florence to lay back down. “Let me bring you something to drink.” She smiled, departing from the room.
“What happened while I was gone?” Florence rasped; her eyes met mine.
“Not much,” I shrugged. “The Barrens agreed to help.”
“So I heard,” she smiled. “And how are you?”
My brows knitted together, realizing the truth. “I’m good.”
Chapter 29
Poisonous Thorns
Snow crushed under our steps as we made our way into the woods just behind the castle. The moon hid from our view, leaving us in the night forest alone. The cold riddled my lungs when the soft singing of an owl echoed from afar.
What a great mistake I’d made agreeing to this.
“Have you shot a dagger before?” Francis stopped before a huge oak, unsheathing four daggers. He skillfully spun one of them in his hand.
“No.” I watched the snow fall onto my palms.
“It’s fairly easy to learn.” Francis handed me the blade. Beautiful patterns decorated the hilt. “Although, it does require a lot of practice.” He carefully adjusted my fingers on the handle of the dagger; a shadow of a smile made it onto his face. “Put your right leg in front, keep your shoulders straight,” Francis demonstrated. When I failed to recreate the stance his hands reached in my direction, stopping mere inches from me. “May I?”
I nodded; his hands softly fell onto my shoulders. The flowers bloomed deep in my stomach at his touch.
