It was real. He was here, soaking and shivering in his torn shirt, and she was on her hands and knees, coughing, spluttering, retching up river water, her gown dripping, her chest heaving.

“What were you doing? I thought you had drowned!”

Through her discomfort, she heard the desperate note in Ash’s voice. “I’m sorry,” she choked. “I brought you some food, some other things . . . but they’ll be all wet.” She snatched a breath; managed to sit up. Eased the sodden bag off her back. Realized that the soaking had rendered her gown somewhat transparent and crossed her arms over her chest. “You’re still here,” she said. “I thought you might have gone home.”

“Just as well I didn’t, or you would be far down the river by now. You scared me, Lily. I haven’t run so fast in a long time. And now you’re wet through and freezing cold, and I have neither warm hearth nor blanket to offer you.”

She was indeed cold. The island might be a pretty spot, but the day was cool and her clothes were wet through. “I’m sorry,” she said again through chattering teeth. “The ferryman wasn’t there. And I didn’t want to go home without checking that you were all right.” He seemed to have more bruises and cuts than before; had that damage been done in the water?

“What ferryman?” Ash asked.

“The little ferryman. The . . . I don’t know what he is. A small fey person.”

Something changed in Ash’s face; something closed up. Did he think she would lie to him?

“There are fey folk in these woods. I see them sometimes. But that was the first time I had spoken to one. He was . . . friendly. Helpful.”

“Not today.”

“I’m sorry,” she said once more, not sure whether she felt embarrassed or guilty or furious or all three at once. “I . . . I needed to come over. I needed to be sure you . . . I mean . . . You saved my life, Ash.” She was shivering so hard now that she could barely speak. She had indeed been foolish. How was she going to get home?

“Here,” said Ash, and drew her into his arms. “I have no hearth fire, but I’ll warm you the best I can.”

It was an awkward sort of embrace, made more so by the fact that the two of them were wet through, but Lily felt his body strong and warm against hers. She laid her head on his shoulder, and knew that if her whole world had not changed the moment she first saw him in the tower, it surely had now. His hand came up to stroke her hair; his fingers were gentle, brushing back the wet strands from her face. Through a rent in his shirt, her cheek touched smooth bare skin.

“I’m—” she began after a little.

“Shh,” whispered Ash. “Don’t say you’re sorry you came. I am not sorry at all, only glad that I did not fall and break my neck in my headlong rush to reach you. Glad that I still have you.” There was a lengthy silence, during which his hand came down to caress the back of her neck, while her fingers moved tentatively, then lingered in the strands of his crow-dark hair.