Chapter 13
Chapter
Thirteen
T hey don’t speak as they walk, which is all right by Ayc, though it doesn’t help the lingering doubt that Lora might actually murder him. Still, it gives him time to dig out a semi-squished muffin from his pack, which Lora insisted he grab before they left. He savors every bite as Lora leads him through the orchards in a southeast direction from the Pink Elk. If he’s going to die, there’s no sense in dying hungry.
She walks briskly a few feet in front of him, her cape snapping behind her. Occasionally, she glances back at him, locking onto the muffin in his hand.
“You know, if you want one, you can just say please,” Ayc says.
She looks away swiftly. Says nothing. Then a minute later, “Well, do you have more?”
“Yes.”
“Then I would take one.”
Ayc ducks carefully under a branch. The trees here have only begun budding leaves, not even close to their destinies of bearing fruit. “We really have to work on your pronunciation. That sounds nothing like please.”
She stops and turns toward him, her eyes narrowing into dark slits that makes his blood thrum a warning at the pulse point in his throat. “Please,” she growls.
He swings his pack off his shoulder, digs inside, and pulls out the muffin. “Savor it. It’s all unleavened breads after that.”
She snatches it from his hand and turns back around. He can’t see her face, but he can hear her soft ‘Mm’ of pleasure. Raspberry muffins with white chocolate morsels are a particular favorite of his, and he smiles in satisfaction.
She's still silent when they exit the lines of purposefully planted trees and enter a line of cedar and pines. The late morning sunlight forms lattice work on the forest floor as it passes through the evergreen leaves above. Old pine needles crunch softly beneath their feet, the only sound for several yards until it’s joined by the bubbling of running water.
The trees yield to riverbank. A steep, short rocky slope dives into the turquoise water of the Ever River. The sun gleams off the water and fractures into fragments of shimmering light, looking like an ever-spinning sapphire.
Lora pauses where grass turns to rock. He steps beside her. She’s finished her muffin, devoured it though he still has some of his own remaining. She shifts her weight once more, from her toes and back to her heels. She is nervous.
“Are you going to tell me why we’re at the river?” Ayc asks.
She stills but doesn’t look at him. She shakes her hands out at her sides, as though trying to be rid of the tension. “I need you to, uh, teach me to swim.”
Ayc blinks. “You don’t know how to swim. ”
“No, I do. Well, I did. My father taught me when I was a kid, but?—”
She stops. Lora rarely mentions her father. At some point, Ayc began assuming he doesn’t exist. That Lora is some kind of miracle conception, or that perhaps, Yris performed some mating ritual like a preying mantis and bit off the head of her lover during the deed. Ayc really doesn’t like to think about it. He knows only that Lora’s father is from Totus Omni. When Ayc first came to Everadyn, Lora used to leave Wyntra for a few weeks in the summer and always returned in a fouler mood than when she left. He guessed she was visiting her father, but he knew little else.
“But,” she says after a long pause, the word sounding almost painful. “I haven’t swam in… in eight years.”
Ayc’s last bite of muffin goes down like a stone. “Oh.”
He knows exactly what happened eight years ago. If he closes his eyes, he can see her blue lips.
“So, you’re afraid of being in the water?” Ayc asks.
“I’m not afr—” Lora starts, and then she abruptly stops. She glares at the earth at her feet. “Yes.”
Some dark part of him is tempted to tease her. She has shown a crack in her impenetrable armor, and he could so easily use it against her. But she’s swaying her weight once more, this time from side to side, still unable to look at him. This is what she looks like when she’s vulnerable, Ayc realizes. It’s disconcerting to see such an invincible force appear… uncertain. He doesn’t like it. At all.
So instead, he fills the silence with a question, “Tavish said that you met him because Adamant dropped you in the middle of the ocean on nothing but driftwood, right?”
She winces. “Yes. Adamant likes to find out the recruits’ greatest fears and try to break them of it through immersion therapy. Bronwen and I were also dropped down a pit of snakes. Bronwen is terrified of snakes.”
“Fuck.” Ayc shudders. “I think most people would be, rightfully, terrified about being in a pit of snakes… or being dropped in the middle of the ocean, for that matter.”
“It… wasn’t pleasant," she admits, her voice tight. "And it did little to actually break our fears. Bronwen still hates snakes, and I still can’t fucking bring myself to get in the water. I know it’s ridiculous. I can sail on a ship, as long as there’s something between me and water, but as soon as I think about swimming in it—” She cuts off and shakes her head, baring her teeth. Her canines grow to points, but this time, Ayc knows her agitation is focused on herself.
“I wouldn’t call it ridiculous,” Ayc says. “I mean, this river nearly killed you once. I think most people fear things that can kill them.”
“That’s the point." She touches the chronicler on her wrist. "Face your worst fear.”
Ah, so she came to complete a quest.
“But why did you ask for my help?” Ayc asks. “Why not ask Bronwen? Or Peregrin?”
She looks at him at last, but her face remains as unreadable as a blank page. She studies him for so long, he’s tempted to scrub a hand over his face, concerned crumbs have lingered somewhere.
“Because I didn’t want them…” She curls her hands together at her sides, as though resisting the urge to flutter them again. “Seeing me so vulnerable.”
Ayc’s mind fills in what she didn’t say. She doesn’t want them seeing her vulnerable and thinking less of her. But not him . She doesn’t put enough value in his opinion to care.
“All right.” Ayc drops his pack onto the shore and begins to undo the ties of his leather armor. “I suggest we get to it then, if we want to make sure we’re back in time for Vidar’s lunch.”
He wrestles out of the leather armor and shirt and reaches for his pants. Lora utters a squawk like a startled bird.
“What are you doing? ” she demands.
“Obviously, I’m undressing, so I can get into the water.”
Her eyes widen so far he's quite concerned they might fall from their sockets. “And your pants , too?”
Ayc would not have taken Lora to be so modest. But she looks completely undone at the sight of just his chest. Yris has wrung her up tighter than Ayc thought.
“I’m wearing underpants,” he assures her. “Modest ones, thankfully.”
She yanks her gaze away from him and fixes it on the river. “Well, what do you normally wear when you swim in the Bellum at Wyntra?”
“Nothing.”
Her voice raises an entire octave. “You swim naked ?”
“For fuck’s sake, Lora! You didn’t tell me to pack swimming clothes, and I’m assuming you don’t have any either. Do you intend on swimming in your armor?”
She tightens her hands into fists, like she's grabbing hold of her control and yanking tight. “Well… no, that would be unpractical. I just didn’t think?—”
“You can turn around if it makes you more comfortable, but the water isn’t going to hide much.”
She peeks at him from the corner of her eye, but doesn’t turn. Ayc shrugs, undoes his belt, and lets it go. The weight of his sword drags his trousers to his ankles. She spins fully around, putting her back to him. Luckily, he’s chosen to wear dark underclothes that hug his hips but stretch almost to mid-thigh. He’s seen swimming clothes for males far more revealing than this.
“Your turn,” Ayc prompts.
“Get in the water first,” Lora commands. “And don’t turn around until I come in.”
Before Ayc can feel the pull of the order, he wades into the water. He bites back a yelp at the shock of cold. Soft silt parts beneath his toes. It’s less deep here than in the Forest of Elodie, and he wades several feet before the water reaches his shoulders. And it feels… good. It makes his teeth instantly chatter, but the chill washes over his muscles like a balm. Sometimes, the pain becomes so much a part of his existence he can almost forget it at times, until it ramps up to a point he can no longer ignore it. Or in times like this, times when he finds relief, and he’s reminded what it’s like to be without pain, or at least for the pain not to be so strong.
On the shore, he hears the rustle of metal, the soft thump of it hitting the ground. He remains turned toward the opposite bank. He hums, an obnoxious tune he knows she hates. It keeps him from thinking about the fact that Lora is undressing a few feet away.
Finally, there’s two splashes behind him as feet enter the water. His head instinctively turns, but a stab of pain between his eyebrows stops him. Another splash, and then a long moment passes with nothing. He hums some more, counts to ten in his head, but still there's nothing.
“Lora?” he calls. “Are you coming in?”
“I-I’m…” Her teeth sound like they’re chattering too, but then she must grind them together because the next words are a growl. “I’m trying. ”
“You’re frozen in fear right now, aren’t you?”
“No,” she snaps. “I simply find myself… unable to go any further.”
“I’m turning around now.”
“No!”
Ayc throws up his hands. “Come on, Lora. This is ridiculous. Just let me turn around so I can help you.”
It takes what feels like a small eternity before she lets out the smallest sigh. “All right.”
He turns back to the bank and freezes.
My gods.
She stands, eyes closed, in ankle-deep water, dressed only in her undergarments. The dark fabric of the bustier slips over her shoulders and ends just below her ribcage, baring her soft, wide stomach. The underpants are modest like his own, extending down her thigh, and yet, there is more of her on display than he’s ever seen… ever dreamed he would see.
For one moment, all rational thought dumps from his head and into the river. His eyes trace her broad curves: the width of her shoulders, the rise of her chest, the hill of her stomach, the fullness of her hips, the honed muscles of her legs. Every part of her screams of warrior and strength and a feminity that isn’t soft like a violet, but fierce like a fire.
The impact on her body strikes like lightning, reminding him too much of when he stood on stage and she called him mine . It’s strong enough to shock him back into reality. And no. Absolutely not . He’s not allowed to feel desire for her. He is not a hormonal teenage boy anymore.
Get your shit together, Ayc.
He forces himself to think of anything unpleasant and unattractive—burned cakes, dead frogs, the smell of Xylie’s potions as they brew, Wylder’s twisted up face. Still, he’s entirely grateful he’s standing in cold water and briefly considers dunking his head underneath to banish the heat.
She snaps her eyes open. She lifts a foot, but instead of stepping forward, she slams it back into place. She growls in frustration. “This is so ridiculous. So illogical. I know that I can’t drown in this little water, and yet, my body refuses to acknowledge what my head knows. You’d think I was facing a fucking dragon.”
Ayc seizes control of himself at last and splashes toward her. “You can’t rationalize your way out of everything.” He stretches out a hand. “Come on.”
She stares at his hand like she’s never seen such a thing.
“I promise I don’t bite.” He grins cheekily and winks. “Unless someone asks me first, of course.”
Silver edges her dark pupils. Anger. That emotion is something he’s much more used to reading in her face.
She bares her teeth, canines flashing. “You’re vile.”
But she takes his hand.
He steps backward, and her hand tightens on his—lightly at first, but when he gently guides her forward, she clutches it so hard it hurts. He says nothing; he probably should at least tease her for it. He probably shouldn’t like the weight of her hand in his. But his head and his body have both betrayed him today.
She focuses hard on his face, not quite meeting his eyes but locked on. Intense. His chest feels too tight, but he forces himself not to look away.
Her body stiffens once more; she halts in place. “Please tell me you also have embarrassing fears.”
“Oh, I fear many things. Being buried alive. People who sneeze on me. Those hideous mole rats Wyntra was infested with one winter.”
She narrows her eyes but lets him pull her forward another step. “You mock me.”
“I would never . Also, I don’t like eating certain types of fish because I’m quite certain I'll choke on one of their little bones and die. Oh, and you . I’m terrified of you.”
Perhaps, he shouldn't admit it. Now that he has a little glimpse at her vulnerability, maybe he should hold onto the slight shift in power. But it doesn’t feel like much of a sacrifice. She needs it, and so he gives it, almost without meaning to.
I’m such a fucking fool.
Lora snorts. “Now, I know for sure you’re tormenting me.”
“Villainess, you’re the most fearsome creature I know.” He tugs her hand. She steps again, almost too focused on him to notice. “And look at that. You’ve taken three steps.”
She glances down at the water, now up above her knees. Her grip tightens on his hand even further, and she jumps a step forward, not to be deeper in the water, but to be closer to him. Her other hand seizes his shoulder like it’s a lifeline. Instinctively, his other arm wants to come forward, to wrap around her waist and draw her in, but he halts himself.
“This isn’t working.” He considers his options and comes up with a horribly bad idea. “Fuck it. Don’t stab me for this.”
“Wha—” she begins, but the word cuts off into a cry, as in one swift movement, he releases her hand, sweeps her legs out from beneath her and pulls her into his arms. One arm rests behind her back, the other beneath her knees, and before she can manage much more than “Fuck you!” , he carries her into deeper water.
“You fucking asshole,” she snarls. The cold water rises over her body, and she yelps. He tells himself it’s only pure survival instinct that sends her arms around his neck. When she buries her face into his neck, he tells himself that, too, is only an instinct.
Ayc doesn’t go as deep into the water this time, stopping where he’s sure she’ll be able to comfortably touch the bottom.
“If you ever tell anyone about this,” she hisses, her warm breath teasing the skin of his neck, “I’ll murder you. I’ll take every curse and damn my own soul, but I swear to fuck, I’ll murder you.”
He tells himself it’s instinct that flares his body with heat; a survival mechanism against the numbing cold of the water. “I won’t say a word. Seventeen hungry dragons couldn’t torture it from me.”
“Good.”
She shivers in his arms, teeth chattering. He suspects it’s more than just the cold raking through her. He gathers her closer to the warmth of his body. The touch of her skin against his chest turns the embers beneath his skin to an inferno in an explosive burst. He almost drops her in surprise. If he could shut off his emotions right now, that would be fantastic.
“Can I set you down now?” Ayc asks.
She doesn’t say anything. She exhales slowly, her breath tingling the skin of his neck, making his pulse do erratic things. The effect on his entire body is difficult to ignore, but he closes his eyes and wills himself to think of other things. Naked mole rats. Dry cake. And Wren .
He pictures her flowing hair, the feel of her skin against him. Wren, Wren, Wren.
At last, Lora nods. He loosens his grip, and she stands. But her hands stay on his shoulders as she studies the lines of his chest. Her stony mask has been fitted back into place, and he can’t begin to guess the meaning behind her analysis.
“What’s that?” she asks, still staring at his chest.
“What?” Ayc looks down his front, and she brushes her fingers on the hand-sized tooth hanging on a leather cord around his neck.
“A leviathan tooth.” Before Ayc left, Irving sealed the fossil in a protective coating and wrapped a strong black cord around the top so Ayc could wear it. “Ember and I found it on Bellum shore. Legend says they were the most fearsome and most glorious creatures on sea or land. Ember wanted me to keep it. For good luck.”
“Ember is a sweet child,” she says, almost distractedly. Finally, she uncurls her other hand from Ayc’s shoulder and retreats a step. Ayc inhales, and it’s the first time in minutes he can fully breathe.
“I’m in the river,” Lora says.
“That you are.”
She inspects her chronicler. None of the gems have lit up. “I’m facing my greatest fear. Shouldn’t it be glowing?”
“Maybe you need to actually swim? Or go under the water?” Her eyes widen, and Ayc adds, “I won’t let you drown.”
“I know.” She says it without hesitation. “You’re the only one who came into the water that day. I never asked you why you saved me.” She looks up a him. “Why didn’t you just keep running? ”
Ayc’s eyes shutter closed, not sure what she will see reflected in his gaze. He has asked himself that question every day for years. Perhaps, if he ran, nothing that came after that day would have happened. But maybe it would have. Yris never intended to let him go. Despite the disappointment he’s proven to be, she still doesn’t intend to free him. It would be admitting defeat.
“Because you would have died,” he says at last. “And I couldn’t let you die.”
He silently begs that she doesn’t ask him why . It's not a question he’s ever wanted to answer, not even to himself.
She doesn’t ask him. Instead, there’s a soft splash. He opens his eyes to see her head under the water. She’s beneath for only seconds before she shoots upright. Water beads on top of her hair like morning dew on rose petals and slides down her rich brown skin.
She wipes the water from her eyes, gasping. “I really hated that.”
Nothing has changed on the chronicler, so they try a few more things. With Ayc close, she floats on her back and warms up to doing a few overhead strokes. Between every two, she stops to catch her breath and grab a strangle hold on her fear, but she makes it several yards. The gems on the chronicler remain dark.
Finally, she roars “Fuck!” and storms from the water. “Why isn’t it working? I don’t have time for it not to work.”
“Hey, it’s all right,” Ayc says, as he follows after her. “It’s only day one.”
On the shore, she plants her hands on her hips. Whatever modesty she felt before seems to have given way to rage, because she doesn’t scramble to put on her clothes. “ My mother won her Trials in three days. Three. ” Her teeth are chattering, and she doesn’t seem to notice.
Ayc kneels beside her pack. He undoes the blanket rolled at the top. “But that’s a rarity, right? Xylie told me that normally the Trials take weeks to months to complete. Your grandfather’s took a year, right?” He stands and unfurls the blanket. He hesitates, then closes the distance and drapes her blanket over her shoulders.
She nods, a grateful gesture, and pulls the blanket tighter around her. “That was prior to airships being invented. Travel across Everadyn is a lot swifter now.”
Her voice is calmer now, the chattering of her teeth slowing, but she continues to glare at the rocks beneath her feet. The instinct to comfort her remains, so he offers, “Maybe you’re wrong. Maybe the water isn’t your worst fear. None of those silly things I listed are my worst fear. Most of the things that truly frighten us are more… insidious than that. People’s worst fears are the things they don’t dare admit, sometimes even to themselves. Like losing the people they love.”
She searches him up and down, and he avoids the intensity of her scrutiny by stooping to grab his own blanket. “Is that your worst fear?”
He wraps the blanket around his own shoulders. Now that he’s out of the water, his body is reminding him of how cold he has become. He shivers. “No.”
“You don’t fear losing the people you love?”
“I already have.”
The truth tumbles from his mouth before he can stop it. A stricken look passes over her face, and though she schools her expression quickly, he knows he saw it. And somehow, that look makes the truth continue to pour out .
“Losing the people you love is the worst type of pain, but I’ve lost before, and as much as I have no desire to face it again—as much as I’d do anything to keep Xylie and Peregrin safe—I know how to survive it.”
Her breath hitches, but she swiftly exhales. “What is your worst fear then?”
No, he’s been transparent enough for one day. He isn’t telling her that.
“It’s silly,” he says, though it isn’t. Not to him.
“Come on. Tell me.”
There it is. A direct order. Ayc grits his teeth. Does she know? That he cannot refuse her? Surely, Yris told her.
He tries to resist, but this time the pain comes like a searing brand against his chest. It takes only a few seconds to want to make it stop.
“I’m afraid I’ll become a monster,” he admits, glaring at his feet. “That everything good in me will disappear, and I’ll become a villain.”
In the long silence that follows, the river is so loud it sounds like a wail. He drags his toe through the soft earth, not looking up.
“But… that’s ridiculous,” she says at last.
His teeth lock together. “Thank you very much.” He tosses his blanket aside and snatches his pants from the ground, nearly tumbling to the side in his rush to pull them on.
She holds up a hand. “No, that came out wrong. I only mean that could never happen. You don’t have it in you to be a monster. You’re a cinnamon roll. You’re far too kind and sweet and soft.”
Ayc isn’t quite sure whether or not she means it as a strange compliment, but there’s something about the way she’s looking at him that suggests it might be. Perhaps, cinnamon roll , for once, isn’t an insult.