Chapter 43 #2
A small fire dances within a freshly carved pit of sand at the center of their group’s circle.
The moon hangs overhead, bright and deeply silver.
It seems to swallow the night sky, casting the sands of the Wastelands in an eerie glow.
The air has plunged into a bone-chilling cold.
It is by far the coldest night they have yet to experience here, and the wariness sits heavy in the air.
They could only travel with so much strapped to their backs, and seeing as their days are spent walking in boiling weather, they didn’t think to make space for blankets.
Rhea leans toward the fire, her arms wrapped around her torso. “I wish Kiran was here.” Her teeth chatter, the clacking noise a reminder of the cruel chill.
Draven studies her. “Rhea, your lips are turning blue.”
“I’m fine,” she says, waving him off.
Only, she doesn’t seem fine. Her body shivers so forcefully, she almost appears to be vibrating, and her chin quivers without a sliver of control.
“The fire isn’t big enough,” Finlay says, his words sounding stiff. “She needs to be able to sit in front of a larger fire with more heat.”
“I know that, Finlay,” Draven replies. “But where do you expect the materials for that fire to suddenly appear from? We’re lucky enough to have scavenged what we did.”
Finlay doesn’t answer, instead turning his gaze onto Rhea. His eyes fall with concern, his lips thinning into a tight line.
Gray glances between the two of them, an idea coming to mind.
Maybe one that could kill two birds with one stone.
“If you’re comfortable, Rhea, I think you need to share your bedroll with someone so their body heat can help keep you warm.
I think at this point, it’s the only viable option to make it through the night. ”
Finlay stiffens at the words.
“P-pass,” she says, voice shaking from the cold.
“Rhea,” Draven admonishes. “Gray is right. You need more heat, and the only way to get that right now is through a body.”
She wrinkles her nose at him. “I am not cuddling on a bedroll with your brooding ass.”
“How about his brooding ass?” Gray offers with a tinge of humor, pointing at Finlay.
Rhea only spares Finlay a glance before looking sharply back at Gray. “You’re joking, right? I’d sooner freeze to death than share a bedroll with that asshole.”
Though he hides it well, Gray does not miss the way Finlay deflates at the words. Though he rebounds quickly, lifting his chin and rebutting, “Thank the gods for that.”
“Well,” Draven muses, “that just leaves you, Nightenjoy.”
Rhea studies Gray, then sighs. “Fine. I guess you’re okay.”
Gray merely blinks. This…is not how he saw it going. Still…
Though he failed at his attempts to play matchmaker, the point he made remains valid—she needs more body heat. So Gray rises from his place across the fire and repositions himself behind Rhea, wrapping his arms around her and tucking her into his chest.
“Is this alright?” he asks, cautious. “Are you comfortable?”
“I’m fine.” It only takes a few minutes before her chin stops trembling and her teeth stop clacking together. She blows out a breath, nestling more comfortably into Gray. “This is…better,” she says like an admittance, her voice already steadier. “Thank you.”
Gray smiles. “Don’t mention it.” He glances up, and—
By the gods…
From his right, Draven watches him stern-faced and neutral, as if daring him to try anything funny. From his left…
Gods, on his left, Finlay looks as though his head might explode from all the hot air he is trying to contain.
Normally, Gray has to give it to the Fjolla Heir—he can be incredibly hard to read, always seeming to do an excellent job at masking his emotions and reactions.
Right now, however, he is failing miserably.
Finlay’s lips are pressed into a tight line as he watches them. A vein bulges near his temple, and his hands are clasped tightly together in front of him. He glares at Gray with such intensity, Gray isn’t entirely sure Finlay is actually seeing anything.
Gray shifts, moving his hand just slightly to be more comfortable, grazing across Rhea’s stomach.
“Watch where you put that hand,” Finlay snaps.
Against his chest, Gray feels Rhea stiffen just before she turns her chin over her shoulder to look at Finlay.
To his surprise, though, she doesn’t say anything.
Only watches him. Yet Finlay does not return her look, instead jerking his chin away from her to gaze out over the shadowed mounds of sand.
Gray opens his mouth to diffuse some of the tension, yet right as he does, a loud zapping noise sounds in the distance, and a flash of brilliant blue light has everyone snapping their heads to the east.
Across the way, tucked behind a few sand dunes, there appears to be a dome of sorts. It flickers in and out, in and out, the radiant blue light stark against the night sky. Then, it disappears altogether.
Draven scurries to a stand, and the rest of them are not far behind him.
“What the hell was that?” Rhea asks.
Finlay steps toward them, stopping when there is only a sliver of space between his and Rhea’s shoulders. He watches the sky through narrowed eyes. “Do you feel that?”
Draven nods. “I do.”
Gray feels small pricks of electricity in his veins himself, a small warning bell flaring beneath his skin. Though it isn’t very loud, and the connection he feels is not very strong, leaving him to wonder what exactly Finlay and Draven are capable of sensing in this moment.
Silently, they all watch the empty spot on the horizon where the dome had flashed.
Until, without warning, the blue light flares brightly once more, seeming to burn like a shooting star.
The dome merges together into a cohesive shape before disappearing altogether, not leaving so much as a trace in its wake.
There is a long, pressing silence after that. It’s as if words aren’t needed, because deep in all their bones, they know.
Draven stares at the blackened horizon. “We’re coming, Lyra.”