60
Returning
Rumi
Rumi stared at the dark waters surrounding them, feeling only ice in her veins and a void of grey in her heart.
Her eyes burned with salt, whether from the sea or her tears, she did not know.
They had been rocking and rowing on the little lifeboat for what might have been days or only hours.
It did not matter.
The familiar cloudy fingers of mist appeared on the horizon.
The tendrils parted, giving sight of her home, giving way to all she had fought through and all she had begged for.
In the space of what should have been unadulterated relief, she felt nothing.
Not when the giant trees came into view, their branches housing hundreds of her people, not the bridges drooping from the canopy like spider webs.
Not when the spiced scent of the curry she’d always loved cut through the fishy odor of the sea.
Not when the other survivors cheered at having reached her land.
There was simply nothing.
Nothing but a gaping hole screaming in the center of her chest.
Stars disappeared from Amuna’s cloak, the sky growing dark and ominous, with only Kephril’s spears to split the darkness.
Golden ribbons of sunset flared behind them, as if joining in her mourning, understanding the protest in her heart and the light she had left behind.
The gilded light behind them was quickly drowning in scarlet hues as she was lifted from the boat.
Dark clouds floated above, scattered wounds in the heavens.
Jameson pulled Rumi into his arms, following the stream of survivors, keeping her close.
The pounding of his heart was the only constant, tethering her to this moment—all else was muted and dull.
This was the moment she had wanted since Callum stole her from this place.
And now it was all wrong.
They headed for light and warmth.
She noted Jameson’s own tear-stained face and reddened eyes dutifully staring ahead.
She had not even thought to button her dress up amidst the chaos.
Her lip trembled thinking of him and the way he had held her, loved her—the way he looked at her when he disappeared.
Callum’s face burned into her mind as Jameson caressed her back, his wordless comfort sharing in her grief.
In no way did it numb the pain.
She was welcomed home in a tattered, blood-stained wedding dress with only her wedding band to remind herself that any of it had been real.
Without Callum by her side, none of it had any meaning.
Why had she fought so hard? Why had she fought him so hard? If she could have him back—even if it meant never returning home—she would have crested her life with him beneath their desert moon, together, the way it should have been.