Chapter 51
Chapter
Fifty-One
A short time later, my hair is braided perfection, my dress sleeves are laced and puffed artfully, and I feel every bit the princess I am. Nemeth has dressed more casually, wearing only his kilt and a knife at his waist. I’m full of excitement as I slip my shoes on, picking up one of the lamps. “Do you suppose the dead men are still out on the shore? Their presence is a little horrifying, but at the same time, I feel they’re an excellent deterrent for others that might want to rob us. Still, I don’t want anyone scared away at the sight of a couple of bodies upon our doorstep.”
“They know their duty to us,” Nemeth replies. “They will not be frightened away.”
I know he’s right. It’s just that I’m so very excited for the influx of food and supplies. It’s like a Feastday celebration, and we have so little to celebrate or to change the monotonous passage of time that this feels momentous. Even so, I’m surprised when Nemeth moves toward the hearth and picks up his favorite stool. “Where are you taking that?”
“Downstairs.” His mouth curves into a knowing smile. “I imagine you standing by the doors waiting, listening for our supplies, and I thought a seat might serve you better.”
“Bend down so I can give you a kiss,” I tell him, beaming. “You clever, delightful man.”
He’s not wrong, though. I’m fluttering with anticipation, my heart beating rapidly as we head down the stairs and toward the double doors that are the only way in and out of this tower. Will we be given more supplies this time? Will it be different than last year’s batch? Will there be new letters to read and pore over? I clutch my stack of letters to my chest, wondering how we’ll be greeted this time. Rude soldiers or polite ones? What will we tell them if they want to know about the bodies outside?
I ponder all of this as Nemeth sets the stool near the door and then approaches the entrance. He carefully unwinds the ropes around the handles and removes the broom-stick. I pull the knives out and kick aside the wedges we’ve lodged in place.
“Want to look outside?” Nemeth asks.
Do I? The idea feels downright naughty, as if we’re children up to no good. But there’s no rules against opening the doors—we simply cannot cross through them. I nod at him. “I’d love to get some fresh air, even if just for the day.”
“Just for the day,” he agrees. We both know we can open the doors any time we like, but there’s something about keeping them tightly sealed that reminds us of our duty. That reminds us just how dire things would be if we chose to leave…which is why we cannot.
Nemeth pulls the doors open and steps back, regarding the space outside.
It’s raining. Not a noisy, thunderous storm, because we would have heard that through the tower walls. This is a gentle, dreary rain, the skies gray and unpleasant, the water equally so. I move to Nemeth’s side, peering over his shoulder as humid, fresh air slides inside, and I take a deep breath, closing my eyes at the feel of the breeze.
My throat tightens with yearning. In this moment, I want nothing more than to race outside and feel the rain on my skin. Tears threaten, but I swallow them down. I’ll cry over it when we’re free.
We stare out at the beach in silence.
“I wish it was sunny,” I say after a moment. “Just so I could glimpse the sun. Rain almost feels like we’re being cheated.”
Nemeth stares out, and his wings flick. I touch his arm, knowing how hard this must be for him. Twice as hard as it is for me, because he cannot fly here in the tower. He’s doubly trapped. “I suppose we should be grateful the weather is unpleasant. It makes it that much easier to stay inside.”
“Mmm,” I agree, though secretly I would still race out into that dreary rain if it wouldn’t cost the world everything. I scan the shore. “I don’t see boats or rafts anywhere. They must yet be on their way.”
“My people will fly in,” Nemeth says absently, his gaze still on the stormy-looking skies. “But yes, I do not see them, either.”
“Then we’re early,” I say, making my tone bright to distract him. “I suppose we have time to waste.”
“I suppose we do.” Reluctantly, he pulls his gaze away from the outdoors and focuses on me again. I hold my hand out to him, and he squeezes my fingers tightly. My heart aches for him. “Shall I fetch you a cup of tea? Do you need to sit?”
I shake my head, reluctant to move away from the doors. If I stand just so, there’s a drizzle of rain that brushes inward and feels lovely against my skin. “Do you see our attackers anywhere? Their bodies? Surely they must still be on the beach.”
He squints out at the sands, then gestures. “A bit of weathered clothing there. And some bones. I imagine that whatever the elements did not finish off, the sea birds did.”
Wrinkling my nose, I try not to picture that. “Horrid. Just horrid.”
“It’s what they deserved.” His unearthly eyes gleam with remembered anger. “I will not waste a moment lamenting their fates.”
Me either. But I still don’t think I’d like to be left in the sands for the birds to pick at. I hold his hand tightly and lean on his arm. “Well,” I say with a sigh. “I suppose there’s nothing to do but wait.”
“They will be here soon enough,” Nemeth reminds me. “Patience, my greedy princess.”
Right. Patience.
We stand near the doors for a time, and when my feet begin to ache, I move to the stool and sit, arranging my skirts like I’m a queen and this is my throne room. Nemeth paces, moving in and out of the shadows, his gaze constantly straying to the wide open doors. I pick at my nails, and then pick at threads on my gown as the gentle rain eases off, and the long, gray afternoon stretches. My stomach growls but I can’t find it in me to get up and go to the kitchens for food. Some small part of my mind worries that if I leave my spot by the door, I’ll miss them and nothing will be delivered.
So I remain where I am, watching as the sun briefly peeks out from behind the clouds only to disappear below the horizon. It grows dark outside, and no one comes. Not the Fellians. Not the Liosians.
I chew on my nail. “Perhaps we have the wrong day? Perhaps today isn’t the solstice after all?”
But I know it is. I checked with my knife, and I’ve been keeping careful records of the days that pass, and Nemeth does, too. We both know today is the solstice. As the sun disappears below the horizon, the great golden moon of the goddess rises in the sky, the surface milky and clouded like a child’s marble. It feels as if the goddess is glaring down at us, and I flinch at the sight.
“They must be delayed,” is all Nemeth says. “They will be here soon enough.”
We wait for longer, neither of us speaking as the stars come out and the air grows chilly with a night breeze.
“Perhaps the weather,” I begin.
“Perhaps,” Nemeth agrees. He looks over at me, and his expression is weary. Mine must be, too. “Go upstairs and get your potion ready, love. If they arrive, I’ll come get you.”
I hesitate, and then nod. I’m tired, and yet it doesn’t feel right to leave him here. But even if his people arrive, I can’t be seen with him. And if mine arrive first, he can do that weird shadow thing and slip to my side faster than a blink. “Promise you’ll wake me the instant they get here.”
“I promise, love.” He holds a hand out to me.
I move into his embrace and press against his chest. He wraps his wings around me, holding me close, and before I can blink, he has me upstairs and in our room, the shadows receding as I blink in surprise. Well now, that was a neat trick. “How did you do that?”
“Trust me, I’m just as surprised as you,” he says with a chuckle. Nemeth bends down and kisses my upturned face. “I’ll come wake you the moment they arrive.”
He disappears in another swirl of shadows, and I absently go and tap the light in the corner, dimming it. I’m too uneasy to sleep, but sitting by the door is just making me anxious. It must be making Nemeth anxious as well, and that’s why he’s sent me up here. I kick my shoes off and lie atop the blankets, fretting. I tell myself I’m not going to sleep. I’m just going to lie here to satisfy Nemeth if he checks on me.
It seems an eye-blink of time passes. I jerk awake, wiping the corners of my mouth in surprise. Turns out I was able to sleep after all. I scramble out of bed, excited and terrified all at once.
Nemeth didn’t come and wake me. Maybe I didn’t sleep for long? Maybe even now his people are depositing food at our doorstep and he’s been so busy he hasn’t come to alert me? I put on my shoes as I race for the stairs.
When I get to the first floor, my heart sinks.
There, in front of the wide-open doors, sits Nemeth. He’s a few paces away from the entrance, still carefully inside. His back is to me, his face turned towards the dawn of a new day.
No one came all night.
Dragon shite.
“Nothing?” I ask as I approach. I know the answer already, though. It’s evident in the slump of Nemeth’s broad, strong shoulders. It’s evident in the empty first floor. It’s evident in the stack of letters at Nemeth’s feet.
No one has come.
“It is a delay, nothing more,” Nemeth says. When I get to his side, he pulls me into his arms, seating me on his lap. “They’ll come today. It doesn’t have to be on the solstice, after all. Perhaps the weather delayed the shipment.”
“That must be it,” I reply brightly, sliding an arm around his neck. “They’ll be here today.”
They have to.
I didn’t think there was a day that could be worse than the first day I arrived here in the tower.
I was wrong.
Waiting endlessly for supplies that never arrive is the worst kind of torture. Watching the beach—full of sunshine this day—remain empty and seeing no one on the horizon? It feels awful. Worse than awful. I don’t know what this means for the future.
Surely we haven’t been forgotten…have we?
Nemeth remains near the front entrance even after the sun sets on the second day.
“Please go sleep,” I beg him. “You can’t stay awake for days on end.”
“The moment I close my eyes, they will arrive,” he jokes, weariness etched on his hard face. “Is that not how these things work?”
“Then go and close your eyes!” I grab his hand and haul him to his feet. He must be tired, because he doesn’t resist. He lets me drag him toward the stairs. “I’ll keep watch. The moment there’s even a sniff of a boat, I’ll come get you. There’s just been a delay, nothing more. They’re still coming for us.”
It turns out that I’m a liar. No one comes that night, or the next day. It’s hard to eat, or to take my medicine, because each time we’re faced with our dwindling supplies. When Nemeth goes to sit by the door again and it’s my turn to sleep, I head upstairs and pull out my knife instead. I cradle it in my grasp, terrified of the answer it’s going to give me, but knowing I have to ask anyhow.
“Is anyone coming?” I ask. “Anyone at all?”
The knife’s silence feels like betrayal.