Chapter 23 Clara
Clara woke to find the spot next to her empty. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and scanned the area for Carver. She thought she would see him quickly, where would he go anyway? Panic set in when she couldn’t spot him.
“Carver?” She called softly as she pushed the blanket back and stood up. No response. “Carver?” She called a little louder. A bird tweeted a response, but nothing came from him. She stood, spinning in a circle to look throughout the clearing. No sign of him.
For a moment she wondered if he had abandoned her, decided he was better set to accomplish the mission without her, and slinked away.
But no, his stuff was still here. He couldn’t have left his bag, map, papers, clothes, and everything else behind, and still have a shot at completing the mission.
There was a minuscule amount of comfort in that.
So where was he? Did something happen to him?
Was he hurt? It was fitting, she supposed, that her initial assumption was he had abandoned her, not that he was hurt.
Her mind spun frantically, and she didn’t know what to do.
She couldn’t leave their stuff to go look for him, but she had to know what happened to him.
She started packing her stuff, less carefully than she had the day before. “Good morning, sunshine!” His voice was far too carefree for the stress she felt, and truly she wanted to punch him. She did spin to face him.
“Where were you?” He looked confused by the anger in her tone, but chose not to question it.
“Nature calls?” He raised an eyebrow as he took in her posture.
Feet spread as though bracing for impact, arms crossed over her chest. Even she could feel how prepared for a fight she was.
She exhaled, relief flooding her veins. She dropped her arms to her side, shaking her head at him before resuming her packing more calmly.
“Why, were you worried about me?” He teased.
Clara, however, was not in a teasing mood, not with the anxiety still working its way out of her veins from his disappearing stunt. “No.” She replied sharply as she took the blanket from her bag, folded it in a perfect square, and then returned it to her bag.
“I think you were concerned,” his singsong tone only frustrated her more.
“Like you said, we need to stick together. How do you think I felt when I woke up to see you were nowhere to be found?”
“Clara, you’re overreacting. I had to piss.”
She clenched her fists at her sides. “Don’t you dare tell me I’m overreacting.”
“But you are. You’re acting like I’ve committed some heinous crime. All I did was pee!”
She rolled her eyes, beyond frustrated. “Did I actually scare you that much?” Carver asked after a few minutes. She finished packing her bag, and glared at him as she waited for him to gather the last of his things.
“Yes,” she admitted. She couldn’t believe she had admitted that to him, but he was her partner.
It was her job to keep him alive. I only care because if you die we can’t complete the assignment.
She tried to convince herself that was the full truth, but as good as she was at lying to herself this one fell short.
“I’m sorry.” His tone was sincere, and she waited for the punchline or sarcasm that never came.
“Apology accepted.” They started walking, falling into step. “I may have overreacted.”
“May have?”
“Okay, okay,” she smiled slightly, a little lighter now than she felt moments before. “I overreacted. I’m sorry. I woke up, you were nowhere to be found, and I feared the worst.”
“You worried I was hurt or dead.”
Actually, I’m selfish enough the worst I feared was you leaving me. “Something like that.”
Clara tucked her hands into the sleeves of her jacket, enjoying the feel of the brisk morning air as they started to walk. “Technically, this should be day two of our walking journey. Hopefully, we find people to join today.”
He nodded. “I personally think we’ve made good time. We don’t have an exact way to measure distance, but we’ve kept a good pace.”
Clara chewed on the inside of her cheek.
In her opinion, everything mission oriented until this point was easy.
Sure, they had a lot of physical activity, but she was used to that.
It was this next part that truly terrified her–the part where she had to become someone else. She didn’t know how to do that.
“Um,” she inhaled deeply, not wanting to actually say the statement out loud. “Do we have our stories straight? For the, uh, the parts we’re playing? That’s what you called it right? The people we become and the characters we are.”
“Well, we’re both from Calyndor. What do you know about Calyndor?”
She scrambled to remember the history lessons she had been taught. She vaguely remembered information about the various kingdoms from basic training, but the unfortunate reality was she hadn’t used any of it over the last three years. It hadn’t been relevant, so she hadn’t retained it.
Carver stared at her as she tried to remember, and jumped in.
“Calyndor is an extremely small, but wealthy, nation. They’re regarded as frivolous people.
Far more concerned with food or events than politics.
They’ve never been a threat, and they don’t hold any resources that other kingdoms have found valuable enough to plunder.
Plus, the Calyndor typically squander their jewels in trades with other nations anyway. ”
Clara couldn’t quite imagine a life without the threat of war. “If they’re not training to fight or think about war, what are they doing on a day to day basis?”
Carver grinned as though it was something he would have greatly enjoyed. “They’re living. They have adventures. They have fun. They visit different kingdoms and see the world.”
“That sounds so pointless.”
“You argue that this war has a point?”
Clara immediately stiffened at the implication. It felt like he was denigrating what so many people, including their fathers, had died for. “Survival?”
“Beyond survival though. If it was over, if we managed to end it, what then? Purpose shouldn’t be tied up in a war.”
“Isn’t yours?”
Carver didn’t respond immediately, and Clara knew he was taking her question seriously. Eventually he answered, “We’re getting off topic.” Blatantly ignoring her question he continued, “If you’re a Calyndor girl you’re going to have to smile.”
“This won’t work.” She replied entirely monotone.
“Oh c’mon. I know you’re capable of it.” She glared at him, but he only laughed. “Besides, you have a beautiful smile when you choose to use it. With that smile and your wit, you could rob a man blind and he’d thank you for it. That’s a skill we need on this assignment.”
She almost gave him a hard time about calling her smile beautiful, but she enjoyed the compliment too much to want to punish him for giving it. Instead, she laughed. “See?” He pointed at her mouth, “That smile, right there. A real smile. That’s what a Calyndor girl would have.”
She kept the smile pasted on her mouth, and after a couple minutes it did feel genuine. “Okay, so I need to smile. What else?”
“Promise not to be offended?”
“Uh uh. I don’t make promises like that. Spit it out.”
“You’re have to be…friendlier.”
Clara slipped a knife out from a hidden pocket on her leg. She carefully flipped the blade as they walked, smiling mischievously. “Friendlier? Prey tell, what about me isn’t friendly?”
Carver raised an eyebrow and shook his head. “Don’t do this to me.”
“Do what to you?”
“Act like you don’t know what I’m talking about so that I have to spell it out. Then once I spell it out, you can pretend like it’s all new information and get offended, even though you knew exactly what I was talking about from the beginning.”
She put her knife away, losing the smile as well. She didn’t like being called out so specifically. “Sounds like that’s something you think I do often.”
“Not often,” he shrugged, “But it’s been known to happen.
” It was a vague comment, one that hinted at their past. She hadn’t done it to him on this trip, so it had to be something he was still holding onto from previous years.
She started to think back, trying to recall any incidents like that.
Their past wasn’t something she wanted to ponder, so she quickly reigned in her thoughts.
Remembering when she was his didn’t benefit her. It was still too painful.
“Fine.” Clara groaned the word, and raising her right hand continued, “I won’t point knives at people. At least not people we’re trying to befriend. I’ll smile. I’ll use less sarcasm. I won’t glare at people. Anything I’m missing?”
Carver merely shook his head at her antics, but she saw the hint of a smile and felt satisfied. “You’re also supposed to be my wife.”
“Anything but that,” she groaned again.
“Thanks.” He responded shortly.
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
“I mean, technically, we just have the same last name. We could claim to be siblings instead. I know Command said husband and wife, but maybe we could take that as a suggestion instead of order.”
She held up her arm only an inch from his.
Her white skin now pink from the sun was dotted with freckles.
His skin had tanned, and darkened to several shades beyond where hers could ever get.
“Really. They’ll believe we’re siblings.
” Sarcasm dripped off every word, knowing that claiming to be siblings wouldn’t be believed.
“It’s either that or we’re married.”
She groaned again. “Fine. I guess we’re married. Wait actually, for us to be married and from Calyndor, what would that look like?”
He grimaced, and she reconsidered the sibling idea. “They’re known for their flirtation and PDA.”
“Ugh.” The sibling idea held even more appeal, but in her gut she knew it wouldn’t work. The mission came first.
“Yeah. Not ideal.”
“What if you were the adopted sibling?”
“Why do I have to be adopted?” He immediately shot back.
“Because, it was my idea?”
“I mean, I guess that could work,” he thought about it, head tilting back and forth as he considered the possibilities. “Well, actually, I don’t know that adoptions are big in Calyndor. It might raise suspicion.”
“So we have to be married?” She hated the idea. The last thing she wanted to do was pretend to be his wife. She would rather stick needles under her fingernails than pretend to be his wife.
“It is breaking a rule. But technically the assignment comes first is our first rule. So we’d be breaking a rule to follow a higher rule?”
“Interesting logic,” she muttered. It occurred to her how well he used logic to change the rules he had written. As much as it frustrated her, she didn’t have a good response to shut it down.
“Do you have a better idea?” She could hear the annoyance in his words, and she hated to admit it, he was right.
“No.” The mission comes first. You’re going to save Quorath, she reminded herself.
“It’s settled then. You’re my wife. My fake wife.” He quickly blurted, before mumbling, “But still.”