Episode 130 Never Let Go
Never Let Go
“Is he stable enough for you to put your trousers on?” Viala asks as she leans her arms and cheek against Tharios’s back. He’s so cold and growing pale. “If someone did hear me—”
“I know. I’m afraid to let up on my magic. Every time I try, he starts bleeding again.”
“You’re freezing, Tharios. You need clothes.”
“Just toss me a blanket, and keep doing what you’re doing. Actually, you should put your dress on first. As much as I like you in that.”
“I haven’t found it yet. It must have flown into the woods or got buried in rubble during that attack. I’ve looked as far as I can without dragging you with me. The cord isn’t very long right now. I’m all right, though. A little cold, but I’ll survive. I’m more worried about you.”
She spreads a blanket around his legs before lifting the tunic she’s still wearing and pressing her body against his back. He needs flesh contact if he’s going to survive this drain on his life magic.
“That’s not distracting,” he says with a chuckle.
“Are you asking me to stop, elf prince?”
“Never. Thank you. It’s helping. Why don’t you wrap the other blanket around your shoulders first, though. I don’t wish for you to grow too cold.”
She does as he suggests, wrapping the blanket around both of them as she presses her chest to his back again.
“What if my message didn’t get through?” she whispers.
“I don’t know. I suppose he dies, and we’re no worse off than we were before, except now we know there are two elves out there ready to stir up trouble.”
“Or an entire rebellion forming.”
“Possibly. I’m sorry our night together ended like this.”
“It was perfect, Tharios. And if we hadn’t been here—”
“I keep thinking the same thing. And if you hadn’t been at my side with that wild magic of yours I love so much.”
His words draw out her smile. “You were terrified. Don’t try to deny it, elf prince. Images of me catching the Wildthorne Woods on fire filled your head.”
“I’m not sure what you’re talking about, faerie.”
There’s a smile in his voice, and she rests her cheek against his back. “We make a good team, don’t we?”
“The best team.” His response is a little shaky, and she presses closer.
Hopefully, someone comes soon before Tharios has to choose between keeping this elf alive and himself.
If it comes to it, she’ll use her magic to stop him from giving everything.
Because knowing Tharios, that may be what it takes.
“High-born rebels?” Cerian asks.
“That’s what Mother said.” Elowyn looks ready to pass out as Rominy builds a mountain of pillows at her back. Apparently, putting on that sleeping gown was a feat in itself.
“That’s who Tharios is struggling to keep alive?” Cerian says. “Why couldn’t they just tell me that?”
“They probably didn’t wish to worry you,” Elowyn says.
“Because not telling me anything helped me not worry? I should be with them. If there are rebels nearby—”
“You can’t go anywhere alone,” Rominy says quietly. “Don’t forget that.”
Cerian glances at Arisanna sitting beside him on the end of the bed. He may have forgotten that part.
She looks apologetic, and he wraps his arm around her shoulders. The thought of putting her in danger turns his stomach.
“So, what do we do now?” Elowyn asks.
“You sit here and rest,” Rominy says, and Elowyn groans.
It’s not as if she could do much else. She wouldn’t even make it to the door.
Cerian keeps that thought to himself, though.
“Someone should tell Corivos,” Elowyn says. “Did Pera send anyone back to Darlei?”
“I don’t know,” Cerian says. “They refused to tell me anything.”
Elowyn meets Cerian’s eyes across the bed, and Arisanna shakes her head.
“Cerian, no. Your parents said to stay here.”
She’s clearly getting better at reading his mind.
“I’m not an elfling, and I’m not helpless.”
“I didn’t say you were. But—”
“I can’t just sit here doing nothing.”
She leans her head against him, and he sighs. It isn’t her fault.
“Forgive me,” he whispers. “This entire situation has me on edge.”
“I think we’re all on edge,” Rominy says. “I need to send a telegram to Father, but he’s still on the train. I’m not even sure what to tell him.”
Elowyn catches Cerian’s gaze again. She doesn’t need to tell him what she’s thinking. He reads it in her eyes.
“I have a bad feeling,” she eventually whispers. “Please, Cer.”
Like the feeling he had about her? It’s a good thing he trusted his instincts that day. It saved her life.
Perhaps he should trust hers now.
He takes a deep breath before exhaling slowly and nodding.
Let Mother douse him later.
“Cerian,” Arisanna says softly as she sends him a pleading look.
“I need to do this.” He leans near her ear so only she will hear. “You promised to follow me anywhere. Follow me now?”
When he gazes into her eyes again, indecision fills her face. But a resolute determination sweeps over her, and she nods. “Anywhere.”
And before he can talk himself out of it, he slides his hand along her jaw and kisses her.
“Hmm. Yeah. That will take some getting used to.” Rominy clears his throat, and Cerian pulls away.
Arisanna’s cheeks are flushed, but she doesn’t look horrified. “On one condition, Cerian. You need to eat breakfast first.”
He struggles not to smile as he nods. “Fair enough.”
A knot fills Arisanna’s stomach as they all force themselves to eat the food Chef sends. Elowyn offers her berries to Cerian, and the roiling in Arisanna’s stomach only increases when she realizes why.
His plant magic.
She quickly pushes her own berry preserves his way, and he doesn’t refuse.
Which makes her feel even sicker.
She’s strong. She’s always been strong. She’ll continue to be strong.
Cerian needs her.
“You should wear my elven clothes,” Elowyn murmurs to Arisanna. She looks like she can barely keep her eyes open. “So your skirt doesn’t get in the way.”
“Thanks, El.” Cerian funnels the remaining berries into his mouth, and Rominy makes his way to Elowyn’s trunk.
As he offers Arisanna the elven tunic and trousers, he gazes seriously into her eyes. “Be careful. I mean it. Whatever Cerian says, you do it without hesitating.”
She nods. “I’m pretty good at doing what I’m told.”
“I’m not.”
They all turn toward Elowyn, who seems to have reached that state of delirium that accompanies exhaustion.
“I think I’d better make her nap,” Rominy whispers. Then he wraps his arms around Arisanna.
“You be careful, too,” she says.
“I am the definition of careful.”
Arisanna laughs at that as he lets her go.
“Take care of my sister,” Cerian says quietly to Rominy, which is a far cry from the exchange they shared earlier. Stars above.
“Always. Take care of mine.”
Cerian nods, and as he and Arisanna make their way back to their honeymoon suite, he stares quietly ahead. The look in his eyes is reminiscent of his expression in the arena with his mother when he started fighting back.
It both terrifies Arisanna and makes her heart beat faster.
As she changes into trousers for the second time in her life, Cerian gathers their meager belongings, including the vial on the nightstand and what’s left of his apples, and shoves them in his satchel.
When he looks up at her, he does a double-take.
“Did I put it on right?” Arisanna smooths the split skirt. It looks right.
“You look like a Westaria now,” he whispers. “Just one more thing.” With deft fingers, he plaits her hair, tying it off with a vine. “There. Now you’re ready to ride.”
Hopefully, they’re doing the right thing.
Cerian grips Arisanna’s hand as they cross the street to the stables.
Father’s elite warriors are gone. Every one of them. He only brought a few to Feressa, and they’ve stayed quietly out of the way, but they’re nowhere to be seen now.
The thought goads Cerian, but he pushes it away.
Rominy’s guard unit remains. Cerian isn’t leaving them unprotected. Not completely.
“Your Highnesses,” the stable master says as they approach. “It’s been a busy morning. How may I help you?”
Cerian frowns as he counts the familiar horses that remain.
Three. And none of them is Stardust. Tharios must have taken Stardust last night.
“What’s wrong?” Arisanna whispers.
“Nothing.”
Tharios will understand. Probably. It’s not as if they have much choice.
“We need Nebula.” Cerian pushes out the words.
“The black stallion?” the stable master asks.
Cerian nods.
“Just the stallion?” The man glances at Arisanna, his eyes lingering on her skirt and trousers, but he says nothing else.
“Yes,” Cerian says.
Nebula can carry them both.
“Whose horse is that?” Arisanna asks while they wait.
“Tharios’s.”
“And he’ll carry us together?”
“He’s strong.”
Soon, a groom leads the imposing horse toward them, and Cerian eyes the beast as he takes the reins.
Nebula studies him in return, shuffling restlessly.
But Nebula doesn’t fuss when Cerian mounts. Not even when he pulls Arisanna up behind him.
She clings to Cerian, and he rubs her hand at his waist before whispering, “Hold on.” Then he nudges the horse forward, and Nebula takes off, clearly itching to run.
At least Nebula knows the way home.
“Don’t let go,” Cerian says over his shoulder, and Arisanna’s hold on him tightens as the Wildthorne Woods rapidly approach.
“I’ll never let go,” she whispers.
Nebula barely slows when they cross the border into Lostariel, and a shiver races down Cerian’s spine as he eyes the trees.
Something has changed. His beloved woods loom darker than they ever have before.