Chapter 24
Chapter
Twenty-Four
When I wake up the next morning, I find myself still leaning against the tree in the exact spot I was in last night. I groan as I lean forward, my back aching beyond comprehension.
Rylan and I must have fallen asleep talking. We spoke for what felt like hours, contemplating Arizaya and the possibility of another continent. He told me about where he has travelled—which is much further than I have, having never gone past the borders of Tarragon.
He told me about Zorindale, or what he remembers of it from when he visited when he was a boy.
I liked listening to him talk. I remember thinking how smooth his voice was, how it could lull someone into sleep.
It seems that is exactly what occurred. Yet he’s not next to me anymore.
In fact, he’s nowhere under the cover of the tree.
I twist my head, my neck aching as I see his horse still tied next to Merlin. He couldn’t have gone far.
I can guarantee my bones creak as I push myself to my feet, and with the sudden movement, my stomach rumbles. Neglecting to eat my jerky last night has left me starved.
I walk over to Merlin and notice his saddle on the ground next to him and my cloak hanging on a tree branch just beside it. Perhaps I slept against that tree alone last night, because it seems Rylan was busy.
I crouch down, reaching into the saddlebag and pulling out the half-eaten loaf of bread. I plop down onto the ground and rip a chunk off before shoving it into my mouth. It’s far chewier than it’s meant to be, but anything will feel better than the bitter emptiness hollowing out my stomach.
As soon as I am certain my body is no longer going to devour itself, I decide to take a walk down to the river that Rylan mentioned yesterday. Hopefully, I can freshen up before we get back in the saddle for another day of travel.
I shuffle my way down the slope, using the trees to stop me so I don’t wind up sliding all the way down. But when I reach the edge of the forest, I stop.
Rylan stands in the water, his naked upper body glistening with water in the morning light that bounces off the river. A strangled noise nearly escapes my throat, but I swallow it.
He runs a hand through his wet hair, his eyes closed as he soaks in the sun, but as he reaches up, he exposes the hard lines leading from his carved stomach down to what is hidden below the flowing water.
I look away, my cheeks flushed with heat as I step behind the tree that has been supporting my weight as I stand here with wide eyes.
Holy tadpoles. A body like that makes you wonder if the gods have favourites.
“Sleep well, Rosie?”
My mouth falls open, and the back of my head hits the tree trunk. I roll my lips into my mouth as I decide whether to pretend I'm not here and convince him that he was imagining things, or whether to reply.
I clear my throat, but I don't move from behind the tree. “Very well,” I say loud enough that he can hear me. “Did you?” I shake my head as I say it.
What in the gods’ names am I doing right now?
“Well enough,” he chuckles.
“Wonderful.” Wonderful? Someone hit me over the head with a log, I beg.
I step out from behind the tree and find I wasn’t exaggerating. Rylan is dangerously beautiful. His skin looks golden, which makes me wonder if he lays out in the sun. If he finds moments of peace out in the fields, letting the sun bake his skin after a day of work.
His chest rises and dips with every muscle he’s honed over the years. I can’t say I ever saw Mr. Smithson's body, but I cannot imagine it looked anything like this.
My gaze catches on the light marks that speak of injuries long healed. There are more of them scattered across his torso than I can count, but they only add to the work of art that is his body.
“Feel free to join me,” Rylan purrs. “The water is warmer than you think.”
I clear the bubble from my throat. “I’ll wait,” I say. “It would be improper of me.”
His eyes shine as they work their way down my body. “Something makes me think you’ve never cared much about what is proper.”
I scoff, shaking my head. He’s right—I've never paid much mind to what is expected of a lady my age, or the proper way to handle myself. We don’t live in Zorindale after all. But finding myself in the water with Rylan feels like a precarious choice, one I’m not sure I should make.
“Come on, Rosie.” He smirks with a tip of his head. “I don’t bite.”
My tongue slips between my dry lips. I shouldn’t. But there's something about the way Rylan taunts me that I find so hard to resist. Like that day up in the tree. I couldn't help but climb up there, if only to prove him wrong.
“Turn around.”
His brows pull together. “For what reason?”
“So that I can take off my skirts.” I gesture towards my linen skirts and bodice.
“I don’t mind watching.”
I nearly throw the last chunk of bread in my grasp at his head. “Turn around.”
“Fine.” He holds his hands up in surrender as he ever so slowly spins to face the other side of the riverbank. “If you insist.”
I just shake my head as I begin to untie the laces behind my back, pulling on them until they release.
“You know, I could help you with that,” he says, still facing the other way.
“You know,” I mimic, pulling the bodice away from my torso and laying the delicate fabric on the grass, “I appreciate the offer, but I’ve been doing things by myself for a long time.” I try not to let my voice falter as I imagine him at my back, his fingers slowly toying with the ties.
He goes quiet as I step out of my skirts, making me wonder if he’s thinking about the same thing. It makes my heart pound in my chest the same way it did when he simply tugged on the string of my cloak last night.
I blink away the thought as I pull at the hem of my shift. I could leave it on, but then the wet linen will hug my figure for the rest of the day. A simple swallow gets stuck in my throat as I pull my last remaining piece of clothing over my head.
I quietly slip into the river, hiding my shoulders under the water as soon as I step away from the edge. Rylan was right—the water is warmer than I expected, and I let out a small sigh as it hugs my skin.
Rylan turns around, his eyes locked on where I stand in the water, my head the only thing visible aside from the ends of my hair floating across the surface.
His warm, mossy eyes don’t tear from mine as I move further towards him. “Does that feel better?” he asks, his voice low.
My throat feels as if it is closing up. I nod. “Yes.”
This close to him, I can see every fine detail etched into his skin, and I don’t attempt to hide the fact that I am looking, because he is looking back.
My eyes trail along the bridge of his strong nose, dipping down into the soft hollow of his cupid’s bow. I expect his lips to be dry, chapped from the hot sun he works under so often, but they look soft, and they twitch as he holds back a smile.
He must notice the way my eyes move to see the light scar in the hollow between his neck and shoulder, because he rubs a hand over it. “My father,” he says, drawing my gaze back to his. “He had a temper.”
So few words create such vivid pictures in my mind. “Oh, Rylan,” I say. “I am—”
“Don’t be sorry for it.” He shakes his head, a small smile finding his lips, but it doesn’t look as effortless as usual. “It is not your doing.”
I don’t know what to say. Sorry seems like the only word that feels sufficient at all, and even then, it does not feel like enough.
“My mother,” he continues, “she tried to stop him, but it only made him come down harder on her.” He bites the inside of his cheek as he drops his gaze, as if he doesn’t want to look at me while he talks.
I don’t blame him, and I won’t if he wants to stop talking about it at all. But I can’t help but be curious. His mother is the only other person we know of from Arizaya, and I find myself wondering about her often.
“What was she like?”
He pulls his gaze back up, shaking his head slightly as his ears lift. “She was everything to me,” he says, a reminiscent smile gracing his lips. One I haven’t seen him wear before.
“She was a light. She could bring anyone up if they were down. She could always make me feel better—even when my father had hurt me, she brought me back up again. She was strong, though. She fought him, over and over. She never stopped hoping that maybe he would stop if she just said the right thing. But no words were ever the right ones, and he didn’t stop. Not until he killed her.”
I drop an inch in the water, my limbs failing to fight against the current when I hear those words fall off his tongue.
He shakes his head, as if trying to shake away the memories.
But I know the way that the thoughts of your parents can plague you, even long after they’ve passed.
Even in the moments when you are entirely distracted, the times when you find yourself wonderfully happy, those memories slam into you like a sharp reminder that happiness is fleeting.
“What was her name?” I ask.
He smiles now. “Aurora. Aurora Fairburn.”
“It’s beautiful,” I say, and he nods before he’s lost in his memories once again.
“I was young,” he breathes. “Only two and ten. Gods, it doesn’t feel like it was that long ago. Twelve years.”
“I recognise that feeling,” I breathe, finding myself pushing backwards in the water, using the movement to distract myself as I speak.
“It’s been more than five years now since my parents died, and only three since my brother disappeared.
Yet some days I half expect them all to walk through the door, as if they are still here. As if they were here only yesterday.”
“Your brother disappeared?” he asks. “Finnick?”
I blink away the surprise that he remembers his name from the one time I said it in passing. Back when we knew each other far less than we do now.
I nod. “Some people think he is dead, but I…” I shake my head.
“You don’t?” he asks, gliding through the water until he is in front of me once more.
“I can’t,” I say. “I have this feeling, like I would know, like I would feel it somehow.” It sounds ridiculous, but it's true.
He simply nods, as if he understands exactly what I mean. As if it makes sense to him, or even more concerning, as if I make sense to him. “So where do you think he’s gone?”
“I don’t know.” I move through the water once again, looking up at the pale sky above as I allow the secrets that very well could be a death sentence to spill out. “I found some things in my mother’s journals. Things that could be dangerous, but I’m not sure.” I meet Rylan’s gaze once more.
I realise that I’m nearing the edge, that I could be giving him information that could be used against me.
But a feeling tugs inside of me that I can trust him, that I could tell him everything, all of it, and he wouldn’t tell a soul.
Maybe if I did, he would trust me with whatever it is he is holding back.
But I think of Hazel, and Cedar, and Elara, and the promises we made to each other. So I stay on this side of the edge, toeing the line but never crossing it.
“I think maybe Finnick knew something that I don’t. I think maybe he was looking into things that he shouldn’t have been. I can’t help but wonder if he left in search of answers, or if the answers found him instead. But he’s not dead, I know it.”
He nods, his hand finding mine under the water. “I believe you.”
I feel my shoulders drop, like something just slipped off of them and into the water. I never realised how badly I needed to hear those words until he just uttered them.
“Thank you.”
“What is next then? Are you going to look for him?”
I’ve thought about it—about just getting on Merlin’s back and riding until I find my brother. But that would be a death wish. And the chances of finding him by that method are lower than the rocks at the bottom of this river.
“I think I need to find out more first,” I say. I need to talk to Thorley when I get back. I need to discern just how much he knew, and maybe then, I’ll have an idea of why he left—if he left.
“It feels like I’m on the outside. Like there was this whole life my family was living that I didn’t know about. I just want to understand, to see inside.”
Perhaps I will never truly know, never understand the extent of what they were involved in, but I have to try.