Chapter 12 #2
The smooth texture hits my tongue, and I moan, which makes Ryjax release a low chuckle. I instantly cover my mouth, embarrassed by the noise. Just like the beef from the other day, cake is also something I have never had, and now, I never want to go another day without it.
My mouth waters.
“Good, right?” he asks, and that devastating smile that I’ve only seen once before crosses his face. If only he’d show it more often, maybe I’d start being nicer to him. “Here.” He pulls a fork from his pocket, and I take it from him.
“I don’t think I’ve ever tasted anything this delicious.” I dig the fork into the cake and take a bite that’s far too big. “Do you eat this a lot?” I ask after swallowing.
“No,” he tells me, eyes now on my mouth.
He reaches a finger toward my face.
I stop moving.
He does, too, but not for long.
His finger brushes the corner of my lips, and I don’t think I’m breathing. He pulls it away, smirking at the brown that’s now smearing his thumb, he wipes it on his thin, black shirt.
“It’s a special treat reserved only for birthdays. I’m glad you like it.” His eyes find mine again, and I’m still not breathing.
“Like might be an understatement.” I clear my throat before shoving another bite into my mouth. “I’m sorry,” I say, “about before.”
He studies me, his forehead creasing. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”
I glare at him, not because I’m angry, but because he’s wrong. “That’s a lie and you know it.”
“Serafina,” he begins, his voice soft, his forehead still scrunched. “I can’t pretend to know the struggles you’ve—”
“Please, don’t,” I say, needing him to stop. “I don’t want to spend the rest of what’s left of my birthday arguing with you. I’m trying to apologize, so please, just let me. Believe it or not, apologies from me don’t come around very often.” I force myself to laugh, trying to lighten the mood.
“Oh, I believe it.” He tilts his head, and I resist the urge to snap at him. “How do you normally celebrate your birthday?”
“With Char,” I blurt out, the words beckoning a wave of sadness.
This is the first birthday in years I’ve spent without him. I frown at that realization.
“Char?” he questions, and I try to push the sadness away.
“My best friend,” I explain. Another bite of moist cake finds its way to my lips. “Every birthday we spend together. And every year he gives me a present. One year, it was a whole chicken.”
I smile fondly at the memory, and the goofy grin he had when he handed me the live bird. It squawked and tried to run, but my stomach nearly caved in on itself and the last thing I was going to allow was my dinner to get away.
“Another year, it was a knife.” I rub my leg, the spot where my blade had always been since the day he gave it to me. I silently curse myself for allowing Norin to become its new owner. “I still don’t know how he got it. He would never tell me.”
It was late when Char came to my door. His hair was a mess, and dirt was splattered across his sharp features.
He was panting, looking over his shoulder before pushing into my home.
I had a lot of questions, but he answered none of them.
Instead, he placed the blade in my hand and told me to never leave my house without it.
Up until a few days ago, I’d done exactly that.
“We take care of each other.” I pause because that’s not the truth. “He takes care of me,” I correct.
“You don’t strike me as someone who needs to be taken care of.”
My eyes lock on his, and he looks like he really means what he says.
“What makes you say that?” I ask, needing to know if there’s truth behind his words.
“Other than that fiery temper of yours?” He raises a brow, and my heart sinks.
My fucking temper.
Char never fails to remind me how much he hates it. How much it makes him worry about me, fear for me. And here Jax is…basically saying the same thing.
“Whatever you’re thinking, stop,” he demands, his lips tilting down, and I swear the shadow behind him moves.
“Your temper, Serafina, is not a fault. It’s not a flaw or a weakness.
That temper, that fierceness within you, the way you stand up for yourself, using that quick tongue of yours to fight your battles, even against me.
” He shakes his head on a laugh. It’s bitter, raw, and real.
“It’s what’ll keep you alive long after your third trial is over.
You’re more than what people see. Or at least, more than what you think they see. But that’s what you don’t understand—”
“Don’t understand…” My voice is hardly a whisper, my heart pounding so loudly I can barely hear myself speak. The room feels like it’s narrowing, closing in, and all of my focus, all of my attention, is on him.
“You don’t need to be taken care of. You’re more than capable of taking care of yourself, and I think it’s time you learn that. Don’t you?”
I nod my head, unable to respond to the words that just left his lips. Such a brutal contrast to what I’ve always thought of myself, what I’ve always been told.
“So this…Char. Where was he the night we met?”
You mean the night I almost died?
“They did something to him. I don’t know what. But it’s the only way those men were able to find me at that bridge. I’m worried about him. All the time, I’m worried.”
“Then, write to him,” he tells me, nodding at the parchment and quill that sit on the desk. “I’ll make sure the letter gets to him, and if he writes back, I’ll make sure that letter gets to you. Just instruct him to leave it at the mailing outpost on the outskirts of your village.”
My heart flutters at the thought. And then even more when I realize exactly what would have to happen in order for my letter to reach the outpost and then his letter to reach me before the third trial starts.
“You would deliver the letter to the outpost yourself? You would take the time to do that?”
“I would. I can move rather quickly, if you don’t recall.”
Oh, I recall.
He smirks at my expression, and without saying another word, I reach for the parchment and begin frantically penning a letter.
Ryjax moves to stand in front of the painting, staring at the ocean view.
Char,
I’m so sorry. So sorry for everything. Are you okay? Please tell me you’re okay and know that I do not blame you. Not even for a minute. I understand why you told them. I need you to know that, to believe that.
I know Char, and I know he’s been beating himself up over telling Norin where I was hiding. But what was he to do? They would have killed him if he didn’t. I continue my letter.
I hate that I can’t talk to you in person. Honestly, I hate everything that’s happened these last few days. Know that I’m all right. I’m safe. And I’ll be safe until we see each other again.
I jot down Ryjax’s instructions about where to leave his letter, and then I end the note by writing:
I miss you.
Fi.
I fold the paper in half and contemplate sending a letter to my parents as well. But I decide against it. I don’t want to give them false hope. I don’t want to tell them I’m alive, tell them I’m coming home, if I’m only coming home to die in the final trial.
My heart aches thinking about what they must be going through. I’ll reach out to them when I’m stronger. I’ll reach out to them when I’m sure I’m going to live.
I move to stand beside Ryjax.
“Thank you,” I say, and he holds out his hand. I give him the letter and join him in admiring the ocean view. “It reminds me of that place you took me to. The sand, the water, the birds.”
“Good. Means I painted it correctly.”
My eyes widen.
“You painted this?” I ask in awe because it truly is so beautiful.
He nods, and we’re both silent. So many minutes pass that I find myself unable to think of what to say next.
“Why did you stop fighting?”
His question, his tone, takes me by surprise. It’s pained, almost agonized.
“What do you me—”
“At the bridge. Why did you stop fighting?” he repeats.
I just stare at him, still taken aback by the sadness in his voice.
A muscle ticks in his cheek.
“I’m not sure if you noticed, but I was kind of outnumbered,” I mutter, not wishing to relive that night.
He turns to me then, the speed of it nearly knocking me off balance. He’s standing so close I can feel the heat coming from his body. I can smell the sage, and my insides feel like they’re on fire, but I don’t step away, something about the look in his eyes keeps me from moving.
“You were outnumbered when the fight began. And you still fought. You always need to fight, Serafina. But you stopped. You decided your life didn’t matter. You accepted death.” His words are harsh, and I grit my teeth because he has no idea what he’s talking about.
“Easy for someone who’s never been faced with it to say.” My nostrils flare, and he sucks in a shaky breath.
“It’s late.” His eyes leave mine as he clears his throat. “I should let you get some rest.”
I bite my tongue because I want to protest. I want to tell him to stay a bit longer, but I don’t.
I don’t because he’s arrogant.
I don’t because there’s a pit in my stomach that he put there.
I don’t because…he’s right. I did give up. I did stop fighting.
He makes his way to the door.
“Happy birthday, Nova,” he says.
His swirling eyes dance across my face, and I tilt my head. No one has ever called me that before, but I guess with my last name being Octonova, it makes sense as a nickname, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like the sound of it.
“Good night, Jax.” I can feel the muscles in my face relax as the anger fades. “And thank you for the cake,” I throw out because despite where our conversation went, I do want to leave things on good terms.
He looks at me, really looks at me, and I have no idea what he sees, but then he nods and slips through the slightly cracked door.