16. Things Left Unsaid
THINGS LEFT UNSAID
TALIA
It was fae custom to bind a bodyguard to their ward with liturgical Starscript inscribed on the skin, and physical intimacy was encouraged to ‘bind heart and flesh.’ The story does not distinguish between love freely given and Althen’s role as an oathsworn protector.
It is possible the lovers themselves didn’t either.
Talia was sitting at her desk in the dark, the glow of the street lamps from the window barely bright enough to write by.
The curfew bells had long since sounded, trapping her inside.
She tapped her pen against her notebook and looked over at Holloway.
He slept like a dead man, flat on his back.
Boots in a straight line next to the bed.
He wasn’t dead. If he was, he wouldn’t be breathing quite so loudly. She gave up on being productive and stood, slipped on her shawl and boots.
As soon as she lifted the window latch, cold air hit her face. Frost caught in her eyelashes, but the rainstorm had cleared. A drainpipe ran down beside her dormer window, and she gripped it for leverage as she climbed. She was breathing hard when she reached the flat part of the roof.
Gateway was beautiful from above. Streets glowed blue like little rivers. Wooden structures leaned against each other, covered in scaffolds. Cutters and galleys and smaller fishing boats rocked at anchor in the harbor. The gentle splashing reminded her of home.
She filled her lungs with cold air, held it, and let it go. Then she opened her notebook across her knees. The wind lifted the pages as she sketched the jagged line of Valta’s coast from memory.
“You don’t care for your desk?” Riven’s voice rumbled.
She spun, nearly slipping on the ledge. He stood near the back of the roof like a gargoyle, collar turned up against the wind.
She pressed a hand to her chest. “Gods, you scared me.”
“I apologize.” He stepped closer. “May I join you?”
She waved a hand at the space next to her. “What are you doing up here?”
“Rough night.”
A trace of gunpowder clung to him, faint but unmistakable. He’d been involved in something violent, then. None of her business.
He nodded toward her notebook. “Working on a map?”
“Trying to. A little hard, given what I have to work with.”
“A little hard from a rooftop in Gateway. It’s all out there.” He gestured at the dark hills in the distance.
His arms flexed, braced around his knees. Whatever altercation he’d gotten into, she imagined he came out on top. She looked away and listened to the boats, and quiet settled between them.
“How do you know Dawn?” she asked, finally. She hadn’t been able to figure that out. The two of them couldn’t be more different.
“We grew up together. Poor kids, big egos. Kept each other’s secrets. Hard to get rid of someone after that.”
She glanced at him sideways. “You have a big ego?”
“When I want something.”
Her eyes darted away from his face, to the sky, to the sea, back out at the city. “Is that how you ended up in Gateway?”
He didn’t answer right away. “You could say that.”
The quiet flowed back in like a tide as the damp roof and chilly wind worked its way through her shawl. Riven must have noticed because he rose and dropped his coat over her shoulders, quick and practical. The canvas was heavy, still warm from his body.
“Holloway.” Her friend’s name sounded foreign on Riven’s tongue. “He is a childhood friend, too, yes? Congratulations.”
“I’m not marrying Holloway.” The words rushed out. “I mean yes—technically we are engaged, but I didn’t—” She stopped. Why did words always fail her when they came out of her mouth? This was why she preferred writing. She tried again. “I didn’t want you to find out that way.”
“But it’s the truth.” His expression was unreadable in the moonlight.
“Not exactly.” Her throat was tight. “It’s…not a happy story.”
“You don’t have to tell it.”
She almost didn’t, but it came out anyway. Maybe she’d been holding it in for too long. “I was promised when I was fourteen. But it wasn’t—” She stopped and tried to slow her breathing. In and out. “Holloway and I were just friends. I was engaged to his brother.”
An image of the river flashed in her mind, lanterns floating across the surface. A mother’s wail echoing over the water. Her eyes stung, and she blinked hard.
“Cordon died ten years ago.” The words felt hollow. She couldn’t explain it, didn’t fully understand herself how it happened. Just that Cordon was gone, and it was her fault.
“I see,” Riven said quietly.
Her throat closed. Maybe someday she could say it better, when the truth didn’t feel like it was choking her.
Silence crept back in, and he didn’t even try to fill it. She focused on the distant sound of rigging ticking in the harbor below, the gentle crush of waves under the docks. The same sounds, the same sea, echoed in her grandmother’s study.
“A few months ago, our families announced that Holloway and I would be engaged.” She looked at the horizon, fighting not to watch his reaction. She’d give anything to read his emotions.
Riven finally spoke. “That’s why you came to Gateway.”
“I didn’t say no. I didn’t say yes. I just ran.
Took the fellowship and left.” She waited for him to call her a coward, but he didn’t say anything.
“I’ve been hiding here. Pretending the decision wasn’t waiting for me.
And then he showed up, and it was announced like that, and everyone was cheering, and I—” Her throat tightened. “I froze. Again.”
“You didn’t want to hurt your friend.”
“That’s not—” She stopped. “I never want to hurt anyone. But I always do.”
She looked over and Riven was watching her intently. Like he could see the shape of what she wasn’t saying, even if he couldn’t make out the details. She felt certain, without knowing why, that he’d lost people too.
The moonlight flattened shapes and colors to planes and shadows. He looked almost like a statue in profile when he nodded toward the horizon.
“This isn’t a faerie story, boss.” His voice was steady, but his hand tightened on his knee. “You don’t know what’s out there.”
“That sounds like something Holloway would say.” She pulled away and immediately noticed the cold. He frowned.
“I won’t stop you. Just—be careful. You can’t trust Lore.” The words came out sharp and a little rushed.
A little late for that. She was sick of vague warnings that came without evidence. She was meeting Lore tomorrow, and she couldn’t cancel based on nothing.
Riven was just telling her what to do, as if that was enough. How could she make up her own mind when nobody trusted her with information?
“Then explain it. Why should I trust you?”
He stilled. Then shook his head once, like she’d missed something obvious. “You should go in.”
It was not unkind, but it was final. She wanted to scream—the conversation was over. She didn’t even know what she’d wanted, just that she wasn’t satisfied.
“Goodnight, Riven.”
He locked eyes with her. “Goodnight, boss.”
The coat slipped down her arms as she turned, and he tucked it back over her shoulders. She made it back to the windowsill without slipping. When she looked back, he was still there, a dark outline against the stars.
Inside, Holloway stirred, but he never stopped snoring. She closed the window softly and returned to her desk. Her fingers shook as she picked up her pen.
I’m tired of being careful. I’m done waiting for someone else to give me permission, because no one is going to. I want to see what’s out there, and I’ll do it on purpose. Not because I ran away.
I wonder if he would go with me?
She stopped and stared at the last line. The ink bled into the page, and she blotted it quickly, folded the note, and locked it away with the journal and her notebook. The key made a small click.
She switched off the lamp, and the room plunged into darkness. Across the room, Holloway slept. Breathing loud and steady. Boots still in a line. Ever the soldier, even asleep.
She pulled Riven’s coat around her shoulders and let herself drift, the scent of cedar and gunpowder grounding her.