Page 83 of Brambles and Bellflowers
“Is that mandrake?” Miles let go of my arms and pointed toward the river. “I haven’t seen one inages.”
Or maybe he’d just seen a pretty flower.
Still, though, I’d never seen one in person. This was a reason for celebration.
He rushed toward the water, and I followed until we reached a fallen tree. Its thinner branches were splintered, barely holding it in place, while the base, tangled with exposed roots, stretched into the river. Harsh waves battered the bark, frothing white as the current fought to drag it under. Still, the tree held firm, its roots clutching the shore like a lifeline.
“Crap,” Miles said, stepping onto a low bough. The tree swayed unsteadily under his weight. His gaze fixed on the purple star-shaped flowers nestled among the roots, their vibrant petals untouched despite the chaos around them.
“They’re still healthy,” he said, frustration creeping into his voice. “The fall must’ve been recent.”
I watched as he stepped back onto solid ground, his shoulders tense. “I’m too heavy. It won’t hold me.”
I silently agreed. The sharp and unyielding rapids roared around the base, and the flowers were too far out to reach. Swimming was just as impossible.
Miles stared at the blossoms, his expression wistful. “Those would have been really helpful.”
“For your potion?” I asked.
Miles shot me a strange look, brows furrowing. His lips moved, but the roar of the rapids swallowed his words. I caughtonly fragments—something about an artifact—but didn’t linger to piece it together.
Instead, my gaze flicked to the flowers.
The tree was unstable. The rapids were violent. The risk was clear. But I wasn’t Miles.
I was smaller and lighter. I could do this.
If he got this, maybe he would stay.
I took a steady breath, focused on my footing, and moved before I could second-guess myself. I slipped past him, leapt onto the bough, and—thanks to my brilliant sense of balance and years of ballet lessons—was out of reach before he could stop me.
I adjusted quickly, steadying myself as the tree dipped slightly beneath me. It swayed, but I could handle this. I could help him.
My focus stayed forward, on the flowers nestled near the roots.
“What are you doing?” Miles’s voice reached me faintly, distorted by the rushing water. I didn’t turn to respond, keeping my eyes on the prize.
“Getting you flowers,” I called over my shoulder.
“I don’t care about the flowers anymore!” His voice rose sharply, and I thought I detected panic, though I couldn’t be sure. The rapids drowned out most of his words. I stepped forward slightly, testing the branch beneath me.
I took another careful step forward. “I’m lighter than you, it’ll be fine.” As my sentence ended, a loud vibration shot through the tree, traveling up my legs. I didn’t hear the crack so much as feel it, a shudder that stole my breath, and Miles’s voice broke through the noise.
“Bianca!” The shout was different—commanding, urgent, cutting through the chaos. His tone struck something primal in me, steadying the whirl of my thoughts even though I couldn’t see him.
“Don’t move,” he barked, and the urgency in his words froze me in place. My stomach twisted as the branch dipped further beneath my weight. I could feel it giving way.
The rushing water seemed louder now, its roar pressing against my skull. I couldn’t tell if he was still speaking, couldn’t look to see. My focus narrowed to the splintering wood beneath my feet and the growing certainty that this had been a terrible idea.
“Goddamn it, Bianca. You better fucking listen to me right now.” The sharp edge in his voice startled me, calling for my attention.
“Inch your way to me,” he ordered, and his eyes flashed. “Grab my hand.” My spine tingled as the air pressed in around me.
“I can’t…” My response felt small over the roar of the river. “It’ll break.”
“It’s going to break no matter what you do,” he said. “Come here.”
The tree shook, yet I couldn’t move. My mind raced, grasping at excuses, but he called again, firm and absolute.
