Loath as I was to follow orders, I wouldn’t do myself any good staying awake out of sheer stubbornness. I wandered around the glade until I found a lump in the moss I could put my back against—an engulfed tree stump, I thought—and curled up on my side facing Rook, who remained standing, facing away. I worked my ring back onto my finger, grateful to have at least some measure of protection, however small. But now I faced a different problem. I couldn’t imagine how I was going to sleep.
Emma and the twins probably hadn’t noticed I was gone. They would in the morning, when they found my bed empty. What would Emma do? She’d given everything up to raise me. She’d promised on my father’s deathbed to take care of me. And now I’d vanished in the night without a word. Unless I was very lucky, and very clever （I had to remain honest about my odds）， she’d never know what had happened to me. She’d wait for me forever. It seemed too cruel to bear.
She had enchanted chickens guaranteed to each lay six eggs a week, I reminded myself. A cord of firewood magically appeared outside the house every other month. Another fair one delivered a fat goose once per fortnight; and oddly, due to an awkwardly worded agreement, a pile of exactly fifty-seven walnuts materialized on the doorstep whenever a thrush sang in our oak tree. The twins would give her trouble, but she’d be all right. Wouldn’t she?
Several paces away, Rook had finally sat down. He sat elegantly with one arm propped up on his knee. Perhaps he knew I was watching and arranged himself in his handsomest pose accordingly. No—he thought I was asleep. Somehow I knew this to be the case, because he’d taken off his raven pin and was turning it over in his hands. Beyond him the scarlet leaves continued sifting down through the moonlight, like rose petals illuminated by silvered stained glass.
Heartsick, I wondered if Emma would think I’d run off with him on purpose. Just hours ago she had proven how well she knew me. If that was the case, she had to realize that no matter how wary I was of fair folk, I’d wanted to see Rook again more than anything else in the world. Maybe she’d be tortured forever by the possibility that her regretful words had encouraged me to run away. That I’d decided taking care of my family was a burden after all, and I’d abandoned her and the twins without bothering to say good-bye.
It occurred to me then that my imagination was conjuring up increasingly unrealistic, maudlin scenarios, but wallowing neck-deep in misery, I was powerless to stop it from happening. I thought of Emma taking too much of her tincture and collapsing. I thought of the twins going through my room, searching for any sign of where I’d gone, and finding Rook’s drawings in my closet. A hot tear spilled over. I breathed through my mouth so Rook wouldn’t hear me snuffling through my clogged nose. Eventually, I cried myself to exhaustion. My eyelashes drooped and my vision blurred. I didn’t remember falling asleep.
When I woke up, everything was golden. The light caressing my face was golden, and the warmth was golden too. I felt like I was suspended in honey or amber. An autumn fragrance surrounded me, engulfed me, underlain with a wild, masculine but not-quite-human smell that at once comforted me and settled like molten gold deep in my body, melted and poured into a crucible.
Also, someone was combing my hair with his fingers.
“Stop that!” I cried, bolting upright in alarm. Rook’s coat fell from my shoulders and I cast around until I found him behind me, wearing a self-satisfied smile. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“You have a few twigs left in your hair,” he said, and reached toward me again.
I intercepted his hand with my own ring-wearing one, or at least tried to, because he was up like a shot before I managed it, glaring down at me.
“Rook,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady, “before I get up, you have to promise to never touch me again without my permission.”
“I can touch whomever I please.”
“Have you ever stopped to think that just because you can do something doesn’t mean you should?”
His eyes narrowed. “No,” he said.
“Well, this is one of those things.” I saw he didn’t understand. “Among humans it’s considered polite,” I added firmly.
A muscle jumped in his cheek, and his smile had faded. “Well, that doesn’t sound in the least reasonable. What if you were being attacked, and I had to touch you to save your life, but I couldn’t because I needed to request your permission first? Letting you die wouldn’t be polite.”