The Continent (The Continent #1)(19)
A flush comes over me, though the breeze presses a cold kiss about my face. “I…is that what you want, Aaden?”
“Yes,” he says, his breath tight, the muscles in his neck taut. “I want you to be mine. I want to discover all the things that lie deep inside you, for I know there is an ocean left undiscovered in your heart.”
“Aaden,” I say, caught in the moment, flattered beyond all belief, weak at the center of my being.
His lips press to mine, soft and urgent, and only the wind rustling in the branches of the blackwood trees is to be heard.
Mr. Cloud soon comes to collect us, and I am certain he somehow knows that Aaden has kissed me, that an intention of courtship has been declared, that my stomach is fluttering like mad. My first kiss—and from a boy I’ve known only a matter of days. Evangeline will want every detail—and whatever shall I say? I hardly know what to think; it was so brief, so unexpected. I liked it well enough, I suppose, but it was rather wet, now I come to think of it. Is that how it’s supposed to be? I wish I could ask my mother, though I know she’d only ask a thousand questions in return. I feel somewhat anxious, if truth be told, as though I have embarked on a journey for which I am unprepared. Still…isn’t that love? Is that the way it should feel?
My pulse races as we follow Mr. Cloud down the cliff-side—no small feat, even though the trail is not terribly steep. The snow shifts and slides beneath me, moving in great clumps and making it impossible to stay on my feet. I spend half the time sliding down on my behind, feeling most undignified, but ahead of me Aaden is doing exactly the same. Only Mr. Cloud, with a practiced air, manages to stay upright all the way down the slope.
Back on the path, we come to the place where we first spotted the Achelons. The little birds have gone, but Mr. Cloud sprinkles a few extra crumbs for them even so. Our party has almost reached the complex when I notice a thriving berry bush a short distance away.
“Look!” I say, feeling terribly nervous about what has come to pass between Aaden and I, and eager to point out a distraction. “Clayberries—the ones we had at dinner! Shall we gather a few for your mother, Aaden?”
“No, no, miss,” says Mr. Cloud. “Those are snowthorn berries—quite poisonous.”
I turn back to the plant. “Are you certain? They look exactly like the ones we’ve been enjoying with our meals.”
Aaden steps off the path and plucks a fat, ripe berry from the branch. “They do at that,” he says. “What’s the difference, sir?”
“The difference is that those ones will kill you, and the clayberries won’t,” Mr. Cloud says flatly. “But if you’re asking how to tell them apart, don’t look at the fruit—look at the shrub. Snowthorn plants have knobby branches—see those gnarls there? Clayberry branches are smooth as silk.”
“I guess we oughtn’t collect any then,” I say, disappointed. “Mrs. Shaw would have been so delighted.”
“Don’t you worry,” Mr. Cloud says. “The kitchen here at Ivanel is well stocked. Now, let’s get you two back inside—this cold is getting sharper, and you’ll probably want to rest up before dinner. After all—tomorrow is a new day, and from what I hear, the pilot has a truly fascinating trip planned for those who wish to return to the Continent. Trust me, citizens—you won’t want to miss it.”
CHAPTER 6
THE FOLLOWING DAY, DESPITE MY PREVIOUS protestations, I find myself aboard the heli-plane once more. Aaden was right: I didn’t come for the war; why should it keep me from doing what I came to accomplish? Cartography is the thing I have loved more than anything in my life, and I may never again have the chance to see the Continent with my own eyes. I would be a fool to squander such an opportunity. The plight of the Topi and the Aven’ei is tragic, but it is immaterial to my work—that sounds cold, but what can I do about the conflict here? I am not the first to be disturbed by the violence—the steward said as much. Even if the natives could see the senselessness of their war, I am in no position to help.
In any case, today’s tour has actually been rather pleasant; we’ve all engaged in lively conversation from time to time, and the general feeling of well-being among the passengers has been delightful. Even my mother—who came along at my request, and who is none the wiser in regard to the kiss I shared with Aaden—has enjoyed the flight, having taken a remedy beforehand to alleviate her airsickness. Mrs. Shaw is in a very happy mood because her husband was kind enough to bring along a good portion of their luggage to “keep her busy.” After five hours, I’ve seen several geographical formations of interest—including a second tour of the southern reaches and a flyover of the Aramei mountains in the northwest—filled an entire sketchbook with illustrations and commentary, and have not set eyes upon a single native (Mr. Shaw apparently had a private word with the pilot before we left the island and instructed him to tour unpopulated areas whenever possible).
Aaden has been absolutely charming all day long. Throughout the afternoon, he has regaled us with fun little facts about the Continent, none related to violence. Even Mr. Shaw has been impressed by Aaden’s considerable knowledge, and made a comment in passing about the prestige of his son’s upcoming professorship. It has been a pleasant day indeed.