20. Twenty
Twenty
Soft hands lulled me out of sleep and I awoke surrounded by darkness as Ata sat at the edge of my bed, dousing my wounds in a thick salve. Her eyes were swollen and bloodshot, heavy with worry. As I tried to reach for her, to tell her I was alright I slipped back into unconsciousness.
I drifted in and out of awareness throughout the night, sometimes seeing familiar faces tending to my wounds and other times to the moon casting shadows in the darkness. For a brief moment, I thought I saw a figure sitting at the edge of the bed. But before I could focus my vision, my eyes drifted closed and did not open as another day passed.
My eyes blinked in slow, tired movements as I sat up, stretching my arms over my head before inspecting the damage that had been left on my body. The injuries were open, packed with a thick remedy that smelled of marigold and honey. I ran my fingers across my wrist and no pain tore through my body. I smiled to myself as a knock at my door tore my eyes away from the healing wound.
“Come in,” I said quietly, my voice was hoarse. I lifted my fingers, lightly rubbing my neck as Andrues slipped through the door and shut it silently behind him. He sat down on the edge of my bed and smiled at me.
“How are you feeling?” His voice was sympathetic as he reached for my wrist, and I extended it in his direction.
“I feel good.” I nodded, sitting there while he inspected my sores as tears began to cling to the corner of my eyes.
“What’s wrong? Are you still in pain?” His eyes were wide as he turned back to my injuries, searching for any indication that residue had been left inside of me.
“No, it’s not that.” I pulled my limbs away from him, tucking them under my body and avoiding his eyes. “Did Landers . . .” I searched for the words to say, but he cut in.
“Yes,” he said in response to the question he knew was coming and exhaled a deep breath.
“Why?” The watery pearls released themselves thinking about the pain I had caused him.
My stomach twisted, knotting at the memory.
“The pain you were in . . .” Andrue’s jaw clenched. “I have never seen anything like it, even with this injury.” I wiped my tears, keeping my eyes as far from his as possible as shame rose like bile in my throat. “I can understand why he did it, but this conversation is one you need to have with him.”
I nodded, recoiling into myself.
Sleep, I wanted to go back to sleep.
“The paste should have your wounds dry in a few hours.” Andrues stood up from the bed and walked to my side, setting a hand on my shoulder and squeezing. “I will be back this afternoon to check on you and close them.” I finally looked into his rich blue eyes, the deep creases underneath telling me that sleep had been evading him.
“Thank you, Andrues,” I said with a soft smile. He nodded in return, leaving the room in a few swift movements. Sliding back into my hole of blankets, I pulled the covers over my head and let myself spiral back into that familiar darkness.
I stirred to the earthy aroma of nuts and spices wafting through the room and took in a deep breath, letting the comforting smell ensnare my senses as I opened my eyes. Landers stood at the window with a mug in hand, his fingers gripping the handle as he lifted the coffee to his lips. I watched in silence as he let out a long breath and ran a hand through his hair. His shoulders loosened as he looked toward me.
“Hyacinth, you’re awake.” Relief flowed through his features, smoothing the worried crevasses etched into his face as he smiled, and I wished I could dissolve into nothing as he approached me. I retreated across the bed, scurrying like a feral animal caught in the light.
I had no words.
There was no apology great enough to fix this.
I wished I could do it over again and take it all back, every ounce—every drop of pain. Landers face fell, stopping as he watched me move away from him. His brows pulled together as his eyes probed me in confusion.
“What is wrong?” he asked, worry braided into each word as I slipped off the other side of the bed, wrapping my arms around myself. “Hyacinth . . .” he said my name with such concern, such kindness and care that I did not deserve.
“I can’t.” The words were barely detectable as they left my lips with a sob.
I threw my hands to my mouth trying to trap the emotion inside. This man had seen me break over and over again in just a few short days. After the agony I gave him so willingly, I could not fathom how he could stand to look at me.
My body shook as I clawed at the pieces of the damn breaking inside me, trying to pull the branches back into place—trying to stop the rush of water.
I pushed myself as close to the wall as I possibly could in a desperate need to disappear.
What kind of person would do that? What kind of person would inflict that kind of pain?
You.
You would do that, you fragile coward.
You can’t even handle your own pain.
Gasping, I sucked air in through the gaps of my fingers. My head pounded along with my heart, ringing in unison between my ears as the floodgates opened.
“I am so sorry!” The words flew out in a wail as I clutched my chest and buckled over.
Landers sprang across the bed in one fluid motion, pulling me against his chest as I crumpled to the floor. He slid down the wall with me as I wept, clawing at his arms around me, trying to get free of him.
He did not let me go.
Landers pulled me tighter, rocking me back and forth as he pressed his nose to the top of my head, and let me expel this grief from my body.
The seconds passed to minutes—the minutes to hours as night fell around us. Every muscle in my body ached as he lifted me into his arms.
“We need to finish healing you,” he said, walking me to the bed and setting me down with gentle awareness of my wounds. “We can’t risk infection.” His tone was distant, hollow as he said the words.
“May I?” Landers gestured to my wrists. I dragged my knees to my chest, setting my chin on them, then lifted my wrists to his gaze. He inspected them as he waved his hand over the bed table where a rag and water-filled stone bowl appeared. He looked up at me, his eyes asking permission to continue, and I gave him a slight smile in response. Landers set the rag in the bowl, the water seeping into all its threads, then squeezed out the excess liquid. Working carefully to avoid my skin, he dabbed it against the salve packed in my wrists and cleared his throat.
“My father was not a good man.” His voice was low and rasped with each word he spoke. “A few years after my mother gave birth to me, they had another child, a baby girl my mother named Serah. I was three years her elder and she was beautiful.” He smiled at the memory of her.
“I did not know her well, but the memories I have of her are among the dearest I hold.” His brows furrowed as he pulled a segment of salve from my wrist and continued. “My father’s first love was the drink, and when he could not find the currency to acquire it, he whored my mother out to fund his habit. He would leave us both at home with her as he allowed men to come in and abuse her. I saw things no child should ever witness.” My heart ached at the pain in his voice.
“After one of these encounters, my mother became pregnant.” He set my wrist down, reaching for my other, and removing the unguent. “For nine moons he beat her—beat her until she danced with death. Only giving her enough respite to regain her strength before once again bringing down his iron fist. I was eight years old, and each time I tried to intervene his fist became heavier against her bones.” I felt his fingers flex around my skin, sucking in a sharp breath as he recalled the image.
“When she gave birth and the child did not resemble him, he did not allow her, nor the baby, to live past that night. He left us alone in that house, with their lifeless bodies for days. When he did return, we had one day of peace. One day, to send their souls to the Gods. Sunrise, the following day, that fist turned to my sister. She was only five years old,” he growled the words through gritted teeth before releasing a deep breath to center himself.
“The next morning, he woke to empty bottles. I had poured them out in the night while he slept, thinking that it would stop his anger. But it only fanned the flame under it.”
He set my second wrist on the bed beside me and lifted my leg into his lap, gently running his fingers over my wounds.
“He was a trained soldier when his Choice Day arrived, and when he left The Silliands, he was able to conceal an Uthrens under his cloaks. His way of punishing me for wasting his precious drink was using that Uthrens on my sister.”
I gasped in horror as Landers blanched at the flashback.
“He knew what it would do to her—knew the pain they inflicted—but his anger blinded him. We did not have the wealth to return to The Silliands to heal her. So the burn slowly crept over her body, day after day and he did nothing to help her. The pain of it became too heavy for her little body to withstand. I can still hear her screams haunting my dreams as her tiny limbs thrashed in my arms. She died against my chest—her beautiful face was the only place the burns did not reach before she succumbed to the wounds.”
Landers closed his eyes, taking a long breath, his face twisting into a web of pain and heartbreak. “Alone, in that house of death, I sent her to my mother—to the Gods. Then I sat in wait until my father came back through our door. He didn’t even notice the screams that had been silenced.” His jaw was taut as he looked at me with cold and hollow eyes.
“I waited until he slept, then slipped his own knife under his chin and dragged it across his throat—watching as his life and blood drained from his body.” He ran the back of his hand across his forehead before turning away from me and dropping his head into his hands, his elbows resting on his knees as he sighed.
I slid my body next to him, weaving my arm through his as I watched this man—this violent, gentle man—struggle to keep tears from falling.
“I am so sorry, Landers.” There were no words, no sympathies that could mend the damage his father had created. “You were just a child,” I whispered.
Landers turned to face me, lifting my chin toward him.
“I tell you this because I need you to understand something. I did not take your pain because you were incapable of bearing it.” He studied my eyes as warmth flowed back into his. “I shouldered your pain, not as a testament to your weakness, but because my own strength crumbled in the face of your suffering. I could not stand idle while I listened to screams of agony come from another woman I care for. It was not my place to take that from you, yet I would do it again, for a thousand more hours, if that meant you did not have to suffer even a second longer.” Something within me shattered as his thumb delicately traced the furrows on my brow. This man, who had navigated the depths of hell, managed to stay so kind, so full of compassion.
“In four hundred years of life, I have encountered neither man nor woman who could endure such unyielding pain without surrendering. Yet, you—you endured it without faltering. I have never met a spirit as indomitable as yours.” He leaned his forehead to mine and we sat there for a long moment, breathing each other in.
“Thank you for sharing your story with me. I will not forget it,” I said, my voice hushed. “I can’t tell you that I understand the weight of the loss and heartbreak you carry with you, but I can tell you that I see you. I see your pain and see that you didn’t let it consume you. You aren’t the monster you claim to be, no matter how hard you try to convince yourself that you are.” I met his eyes watching as the color flared ever so slightly before the dark veil fell back into place. Landers slid his hand along my jaw, his fingers lingering only for a second against the curve of my ear and smiled a melancholy smile.
“I should let you sleep. Tomorrow, if you are feeling up to it, we can resume our training,” he said as he started to stand. I grabbed his hand as he turned to leave.
“Stay with me?” My voice was quiet, unsure of how he would respond as his eyes slid from my hand to his. He met my gaze and leaned toward me, tucking an unbound curl behind my ear, and nodded his silent response.
The room was cloaked in a heavy silence, a palpable tension that heightened something unspoken between us. The dim glow of moonlight filtered over the pines through the window, casting shadows that danced along the corners of the ceiling. I could feel his gaze on me, a pull that seemed to draw us together and yet kept us at a delicate distance.
My thoughts swirled as Landers, with a gentleness that belied his strong exterior, reached out and pulled me closer. His touch was firm yet tender, a paradox that resonated with the complexities that were swimming in my head. It was as if, in that simple gesture, he was trying to bridge the gap between the strength he projected and the unguarded emotion he had laid in front of me not even an hour ago. I could feel the heat of his body through the fabric of our clothes, and I breathed in his scent.
His arm encircled me, drawing me against his chest. The hardness that usually shielded him seemed to melt away, showing a layer of vulnerability that surprised me. The warmth of his body against mine, the steady rise and fall of his chest, created a cocoon that felt both safe and intoxicating.
At that moment, I came to the conclusion that this man had so much more to him than he portrayed and I wanted to know it all.
As we lay there, the contours of our bodies aligning, his hand found mine.
I closed my eyes and surrendered to the comforting rhythm of his touch, the confusion that had clouded my thoughts began to ebb, replaced by a growing certainty that this pull I felt toward him, was something bigger than both of us.