Chapter 3 #2
I learn that he’s traveled everywhere: the Ashlands in Sulnik, the vast deserts of Dasken, the free port cities of Sontaag, even the great painted palaces of Ursandor.
He describes modern wonders that defy my imagination: hot-air balloons and mechanical toys and aqueducts that span hundreds of miles.
He speaks three languages and had tutors in music, dance, mathematics, history, and literature.
The more I learn, the harder it is not to feel inadequate in comparison.
The adventures he’s lived are the same fantasies I’ve escaped to.
While Finn forged friendships across the Midlands, probably basking in the privilege of that exquisite upbringing, I was here.
Alone. I envy the complexity of his lived experience.
I envy his siblings. A chasm opens in my chest when he talks about his brothers and the mischief they got up to together.
I wonder what it would have been like to grow up with siblings—to share in the capers I’ve read about in books.
“Have you ever been to a party?” I ask, on the heels of one such anecdote about him and his brothers, while sitting at the kitchen table.
Finn bursts out laughing, then stops abruptly. “Oh. You’re serious. Uh, yes. I’ve been to a party. Many, actually.”
By this point, I’ve given up the attempt to conceal my curiosity. “Where?”
“Uh…” He rumples his hair. “I’d say everywhere, but that makes me sound like a heathen, doesn’t it?”
“What do you mean, everywhere?”
“Ballrooms, taverns, rich people’s houses, poor people’s houses…I don’t discriminate when it comes to having a good time.” He grins. “Why, are you jealous?”
“Very jealous,” I admit.
“Let me guess—your mother’s too protective to let you go to something like that.”
“To say the least.” I turn to go stoke the fire so that he doesn’t see my tightening mouth.
“It’s nice to know she cares, at least,” he offers.
“That’s a given, isn’t it? All mothers love their children.”
“Sure.”
His tone makes me pause, and I look back at him over my shoulder. “You think yours doesn’t?”
“I don’t think she’s a particularly maternal person. She loves me as well as she can.” He swallows. “I think she would rather have had another Sebastian, if you catch my drift.”
“No.” I blink.
Finn looks like he’s struggling for words. “I just mean, my mother cares more about what I am than who I am. Does that make sense?”
“Sort of.” A memory of Mother flashes across my mind—one where she’s staring down at me with pure, unadulterated horror. I squeeze my eyes shut to banish it and turn away.
Finn is uncharacteristically quiet as I pick up a log and shove it into the coals. We watch as the flames consume it. Then I retake my seat.
“My mother’s not the most nurturing, either,” I finally offer. “Truth be told, I’m not really sure she ever wanted to have children. Sometimes, I wonder if she regrets it.”
We lock into another one of those staring contests that seem to go on forever. Finn looks empathetic, and for the first time, I notice a flicker of pain behind his eyes, like a crack in a mask. I wonder how much of his joviality is a front. Could he be hurting as much as I am?
“Nobody deserves to feel like that,” Finn says softly.
I do.
An old wound burns in my chest, reminding me of all that I’ve done. All that I am.
But those truths stay unspoken.
When the sun rises the next morning, I watch it through my attic window, just as I did on the morning Mother left. I’m filled with resolve once again, but it’s not the hopeful kind. It’s cold and heavy.
It’s time to send Finn away. I’ve probably been selfish by waiting this long to call it. His wounds are little more than scars now, and his limp is almost imperceptible. I’m certain I have to let him go.
What I don’t know is how to find the strength to do it.
I creep downstairs to start breakfast before he wakes.
I tell myself he shouldn’t leave on an empty stomach, but really I’m stalling for time.
Maybe something of Mother possesses me, because I find myself cooking the same meal she always leaves me with.
The eggs are sizzling when I notice the change in Finn’s breathing that tells me he’s awake.
He stays quiet for a while, but I can feel his eyes tracking me.
I pretend not to notice. It’s an unexpectedly pleasant feeling.
Finally, he cuts the silence.
“What do you think your mother will say? When you tell her about me, I mean.” His voice is lower than usual, still rough from sleep.
I look up, then back down at the frying pan. “I’m not sure I’m going to.”
“You’re not going to tell her? Why not?”
“Why should I?” I dish the eggs onto a plate and cross the room to deliver them.
“I dunno, it just seems like something that would come up.” Finn shrugs. “Hello, Mother. I hope you’ve had a nice trip! By the way, there’s been a very handsome young man sleeping in your bed—”
I jab his shoulder amiably with the dull end of a fork. “I’m thinking about it.”
He snatches it from my hand. “Are you scared of what she’ll say? Is that what’s happening here? Because I can personally vouch, you’ve been a very good warden. Kept it all aboveboard. Shared no damnable information. Major points for moral fiber. You’ve even managed to divest me of all my secrets.”
“I wasn’t divesting you of your secrets.”
“And why not? Again, a mystery. What an enigma you are.”
I cross back to the kitchen, returning with a plate in one hand and a large carving knife in the other. Finn eyes the blade as I approach. “Is that in case I make another comment about your cooking?”
“That’s for this.” I cut his ropes.
Incredulously, he massages his wrists. “What did I do to deserve such an honor?”
“My mother’s going to be back in three days. I’ve decided you should probably be gone by then.”
“You’re evicting me?” I must be imagining the disappointment in his voice.
“I think it’s time that you moved on,” I say, suddenly very focused on my eggs. “You can sleep here one more night, if you’d like, but you should leave first thing tomorrow.”
“Fair enough.” Finn sighs. “As much as I’ve enjoyed captivity, I assumed our arrangement couldn’t last forever.”
I search his expression. Have I offended him? That’s not my intention. Even as I send him away, my whole body aches for proximity. “Where will you go?”
“Back home to Crown City. I’ll tell them I didn’t have any luck retrieving Damien, and if he hasn’t turned up by then, I suppose I’ll organize a search party.”
“I hope you find him.”
“I’m sure we will.”
We tuck into our food. As we eat, I’m conscious of his body beside mine.
His arms, now free of their restraints, are coltish.
I focus on tucking my elbows to avoid brushing him accidentally.
I can’t tell if he’s preoccupied with the same concern.
After we finish, I check his bandages and try very hard not to think about his eyes on me as I work.
“You shouldn’t need more of this.” I finish applying the salve on his chest. “You’ll have some scarring, I think. But you’ll be back to full mobility.”
His eyebrows rise. “I’m all better?”
“It would appear so.”
Finn buttons his shirt back up. “Well then, how are we going to enjoy my newfound freedom before you kick me out of here for good?”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“We’ve been cooped up for weeks,” he says. “Don’t you want to get out?”
I can’t tell him that going out is something I wouldn’t be doing even if I hadn’t spent the last couple weeks watching him. “You’re feeling that much better?” I say instead.
“You’re the one who said I’m fine.”
“It…it could be dangerous,” I counter weakly.
Finn just rolls his eyes. “Come on, Lyria, live a little.”
I let the words wash over me, my chest twisting.
Isn’t that exactly what I’ve envied? That he was living a big, beautiful life while I was stuck here, in this pitiful existence?
I’ve been alive for eighteen years, but how much of that was living?
What does that even mean? Am I brave enough to find out?
If I am damned, it might as well be thoroughly.
“Finn,” I ask shyly, “do you know how to swim?”
The path winds north from the cottage, hugging the base of the mountain.
We follow a trail that clings to a rocky shelf, splitting the dark forest floor.
Evergreens sweep sky-high overhead. As we come around a bend, the path levels and then drops into a canyon.
We scramble together toward the base, where the waterfall spills off a cliff before plummeting into the pool below.
I scurry to the edge and shuck off my shoes and apron, but I keep my kerchief on.
Finn catches up to me as I tug off my left sock.
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” he screams over the roaring around us.
“GETTING IN!”
I peel my overdress off my shoulders, stripping down to an ivory slip.
Finn quickly looks away—his cheeks flaming—and words seem to hover over his soundless lips before he turns back to me.
His reaction sends sparks through me that have nothing to do with my Talent.
There’s a different kind of power in learning I can make him blush.
Giving him a wicked grin, I run into the pool—the river is fed by glacier runoff; I scream as the icy water hits my burning skin. Half pain, half relief.
Finn composes himself and throws off his tunic to hurry in after me. We swim fast through the neck-high water. I lead him to a part of the rocks where you can scramble up and stand beneath the driving waterfall. I go first. Finn follows, panting by the time he finally catches up to me.
“YOU DO THIS A LOT?”
“YEAH!”
We bask there together for a moment, trembling under the onslaught. My smile is uncontrollable. Standing with him under the water, I can’t recall a time I’ve felt so happy, felt so free. Then—without warning—Finn reaches out and takes my hand.
His expression mirrors my joy. His grip feels familiar, like the handle of a favorite blade, or a familiar branch of a climbing tree.
I could stand here forever. The moment feels rare and miraculous, like a brief glimpse of sunlight through the clouds.
We wait under the torrent until I think my chest might explode.
I’m the first to break away, splashing into deeper water.
Better not get used to the feeling. There’s no sense in pining after what you can’t have.
I swim in some lazy circles, working to calm my pounding heart. Finn paddles up beside me and then seizes my ankle, tickling the bottom of my foot. I shriek and laugh, splashing away from him. We play until we’re both exhausted and my feet are numb. Then we collapse together on the grassy shore.
“I can’t believe you grew up like this,” Finn marvels. “This forest, it’s the type of place you read about in books.”
My skin crawls. And what a caveat that existence includes. “It’s nothing special,” I mumble.
“Looks pretty special to me.”
I can’t help but notice that while he is talking about the forest, his eyes are on me.
Finn reaches up and snags a fluffy dandelion puff caught in a breeze.
“I mostly grew up behind walls. My father always acted like he didn’t give a damn about me or my brothers, but that didn’t stop him from shrinking our world down to the size of a postage stamp.
I wasn’t allowed to go much farther than our front door until I was sixteen.
” Suddenly, he blows on the puff, sending the individual seeds scattering.
“Since then…I’ve tried to be anywhere but home. ”
I didn’t expect this confession, or how much it would resonate.
My chest feels hollow, hot and cold all at once.
“My mother’s the same. Before I was born, she experienced some pretty terrible violence.
I think those scars have never fully healed.
It’s like she doesn’t know when it’s all right to stop running. ”
He rolls over, bringing his face inches from mine, and my breath hitches. “Tell me something you haven’t told anyone before.”
I roll away, putting more distance between us. “Like what?”
“Like a secret.” Finn folds his arms over his chest.
I don’t know how to tell him that everything I’ve shared is a secret. “I don’t have any.”
“Everyone has secrets. I could go first, to get started.”
“Go ahead.”
“My secret is: I hate my father.”
I study him sidelong. Finn glares up at the clouds like they’re withholding answers.
“Everyone loves to tell me that I look just like him. My mother says my personality is the most like his, too.” His idle hand tousles his hair.
“You know how terrible that is? Getting told you’re just like the person you hate most in this world? ”
“What makes him so bad?” I ask. “I mean, besides the murdering innocent animals and saying you have dog shit for brains.”
“Everything,” Finn mumbles. “Just…everything.” He rolls his head to face me again. “Anyway, that’s my secret.”
We appraise each other for a long moment. I know he’s waiting for my answer. In the wake of what he just admitted, a half-truth feels insufficient. So I speak honestly. “I guess…I guess my secret is that I’ve never done this before.”
“Done what?”
“Showed someone this.” I gesture around us. “Due to my mother’s general paranoia, we usually keep to ourselves”—I gulp—“so I haven’t had a lot of chances to meet people like you. Boys, I mean.”
A little smile twitches on his lips. “I haven’t met anyone like you, either, Lyria.”
As we lie there sunning, with the waterfall roaring around us, something swells within me. It’s a revelation that makes me feel filled to the brim with golden light—weightless, like a dandelion seed drifting on the wind.
I daresay Finn is my very first friend.