Chapter 14 #2
She struggles to sit as she tucks the edge of her new blanket under her arms to keep it from slipping. A gift from Roan, delivered yesterday among the supplies. Taking Lydia’s dress from my hold, she winces, glancing between the dress and my stained fingertips. “It’s all smudged.”
“It is an entirely inconvenient way of leaving a missive,” I reply through clenched teeth. “It was not my fault.”
“Well, I don’t think she had any other way of writing one. I need some thinking time.”
“Why?” I demand. “You cannot read it? Are these squiggles not words?”
“No, Killan. That’s what the note says.” Harlee points to each smudge in turn. “I need some thinking time, so I’ve gone, er, ‘cave’ I think that word is”—she squints at the mess of my fingerprints—“exploring. Back in five days. No need to worry. I’ve taken lots of food. Lydia.”
“That is it?” Pressing my lower hand to the mattress, I lean over as far as possible, as if staring at the squiggles for long enough will turn them into readable words.
“Umm?” Harlee flips the dress over, searching for more writing on the back. “Yep, that’s it. God, I hope she’s okay. She was pretty angry last night about Chloe leaving, but I didn’t think she’d wander off by herself.” She looks up at me. “Did she say anything about leaving to you?”
“No.” Yes. I just never thought she really would.
“No?” Harlee sounds unconvinced.
“We argued.” I force the words out, hating that they are the truth.
“Fighting as usual,” scoffs Roan.
My temper, already at the edge of my control, latches onto a physical target, and I point a finger at his chest. “Do not start with me. I will snap your—”
“He didn’t mean anything by it, Killan.” Harlee grabs Roan’s arm, keeping my youngest brother from leaping off their bed and getting into a full-blown fistfight with me. Which I absolutely would have won, no regrets.
“The last few months have been tough for everyone,” she continues, keeping her voice soothing. “So much has changed in a short amount of time. It’s no wonder you and Lydia have been arguing a lot. You were forced together without any choice in the matter.”
So were she and Roan.
So were Briar and Sorin.
“Did Lydia say anything to you?” I ask Harlee her own question. “About leaving?”
“Er, no more than usual. Yesterday she was talking a bit about her mum and some guy called Lucas. And she was worried about the Freighter, but she wasn’t planning to sneak on board or anything. She knew you were worried about Atakis.” She gives Roan a pointed look. “There was one other thing.”
“What?”
She does not answer, just keeps staring at Roan.
He stares back at her. Then his eyes widen fractionally. “Akh…yes…”
Whatever silent conversation they are having, I do not have time for. I storm toward the door.
“There is something…” Roan calls, and I can hear the reluctance in his voice from across the room.
“What?” I demand.
“Something I must tell you about…your missing furniture.” He scratches the scales across his chest, uncharacteristically refusing to meet my gaze, which is the only reason I do not abandon this conversation entirely.
“My furniture?” I repeat.
“All the furniture John Smith had removed from your house to force you and Lydia together.”
“I know what furniture you mean.” I clench my hands into fists to keep from hitting something—presumably Roan. But the walls of his cottage are equally at risk and considerably closer to hand.
“It was me—”
“It was Roan who found it,” Harlee interrupts. “When we were searching for Chloe this afternoon. It’s in one of the caves near your house. Mr. Smith must have hidden it there right before filming started.”
I glance between them.
“We were going to tell you in the morning.” Harlee shows her teeth in a Human smile, possibly trying to be reassuring. In my mood, the sight of her teeth is nothing but aggressive, and I growl low in my throat.
There is something they are not telling me.
I point at my youngest brother. “You hid it.”
“No.” His denial is immediate.
“John Smith told you to.”
“No, he did not—”
“You have known where it is this entire time.”
“No—"
“But you were too scared to confess.”
“Not scared! I—He…” His spluttering is as good as a confusion.
“Fek this.” I turn to leave.
“My point is,” Harlee resolutely continues, “we could spend the next few days setting up a proper bedroom for Lydia. She could have her own space. Then maybe—”
I step through the doorway.
“You can’t go after her!” Harlee makes as if to follow, glances at herself under her new blanket and changes her mind.
“Of course I can.”
Lydia already has a head start. I do not know exactly when she left, but it could have been hours ago.
“She doesn’t want you to follow her. Her note said she needs space.”
I dismiss her words. “I am going.”
“No.” This time Harlee does stand, more securely wrapping the blanket around herself. She looks ready to follow me all the way back to my house.
While I could easily outpace her, if she decides to send Roan to follow me in her stead, I will be stuck with my brother and likely strangle the annoying shit.
“Lydia is not safe,” I argue.
“How?” Harlee sounds braver than I have ever heard her. “How isn’t Lydia safe?”
“She…she…” It is my turn to splutter. “She could get lost down there.”
“I’m pretty sure Lydia would’ve thought of that herself. She’ll have a plan. You can’t—and he’s gone.”
Her protests grow distant as I stride along the corridor leading back to my house. I listen for Roan’s footsteps, intending to fight my brother if need be, but he does not come after me, mayhaps because Harlee has finally accepted that I cannot be persuaded otherwise.
Lydia has left, and I fully intend to—what? I demand of myself. What am I going to do? Drag her back to my house?
My feet stumble. My resolve wanes.
I cannot do to her what John Smith did. If I were to drag her back, Lydia would spend the rest of her life fighting me, and I cannot bear the idea of causing her more hurt than I already have. She was brought to Ril II because of me. I will not be the one to force her to remain.
I can, however, follow at a discreet distance to ensure she remains safe. I was not lying when I said Lydia could become lost. There is a maze of caves below, and if smudged writing on cloth is her only means of recordkeeping, she is more than likely to lose her way.
I can keep her safe. Even if I cannot persuade her to stay with me.