21. Cato
Cato
I sit on the edge of the chair with a dull throb thumping in my feet.
The ache takes on the same steady cadence as my heartbeat as I stare longingly at the bed.
An actual bed. As much as I’d love to lie down right now and pass the fuck out, a shower is equally tempting.
Plus, I’m filthy and don’t want to get the sheets dirty.
After Thulga left, Aryn and Ronan filled us in on everything that was discussed at dinner. All of us are cautiously growing more optimistic about this mission. Even though the land itself keeps trying to kill us, maybe its inhabitants aren’t.
Most of them, anyway.
Apparently there’s a group that calls themselves Viskari. It loosely translates to ‘The Pale Hands’ or some dramatic bullshit, though Thulga said the closer we get to the cities, the less likely we are to encounter them.
Ronan claimed it made sense that the people left in Elyra are mostly peaceful. The bloodthirsty ones were the military types and supporters of Zadeus, and they’re the ones who got trapped on our side all those years ago.
I suppose that could be true.
But as I absentmindedly run my fingers along the scars on my cheek, I remind myself that people can turn on you in an instant. We’d do well to remember that here.
We’ve been staggering through the showers in shifts, and I’m waiting for Aryn to get back so I can take my turn.
I stand and pace to the window again, peering through the darkness at the jagged silhouette of the mountains looming closer.
According to Aryn, the path to his home village is the most dangerous stretch of road we’ll face.
Once we’re past the mountains, travel should get easier.
The door opens behind me. “Took you long enough,” I gripe, even though I fully intend to drain the well dry myself.
Aryn steps in wearing a thin long-sleeved shirt and pants, his long hair damp and hanging over his shoulders. But instead of looking relaxed after bathing, his arms cross tight over his chest and his lips press into a thin line.
“Sorry,” he mumbles, keeping his eyes on the floor as he tries to slip past me toward his pack.
My instincts flare at the sudden distance, and I catch his arm to stop him. “Hey. What’s going on?”
His throat works in a hard swallow I can actually hear, and his gaze stays locked on my chest for a long moment. Finally, it lifts to mine. He’s guarded as hell, and I can’t read whatever storm is brewing behind his eyes.
“Go clean up, Cato.”
I bristle at the dismissal. “Not until you tell me what’s wrong.”
Some of his composure cracks, but Aryn isn’t one to lose control. His eyes narrow and he leans into my grip, inching closer. “Go shower. I’ll wait.”
I search his face, trying to crack through that hard exterior, but he gives me nothing. My defenses flare up on instinct, that old urge to fight rising even through the exhaustion, but something in the way he’s looking at me makes me pause. The anger drains away, and instead of pushing, I just nod.
“Okay. But you’re talking to me when I get back out here. If I find your ass trying to sleep, I’m waking you up.”
He doesn’t rise to the taunt, only gives a small nod. “I’ll be up.”
I release his arm, and his gaze drops to my hand at my side. He’s uncertain right now. Timid, almost, or maybe scared. Through all the shit we’ve encountered since we got here, he’s never once looked unsettled the way he does right now. I don’t like seeing him like this.
“You’re okay?” I ask, gentler than I usually manage.
He swallows hard, then nods toward the door. I can tell I’m not getting anything else out of him right now. He drops onto the bed as I gather my things, and I stare at his back once more from the doorway.
My mind races as I head into the bathroom, some of the excitement of getting clean dampened by whatever mood he’s in.
After spending a solid two minutes brushing my teeth, I step into the empty shower.
They’re separated by a thin wall and close with a thick curtain, so I shut myself in, turn on the water, and strip.
I cringe at my clothes as they come off, coated in enough grime and sweat that they could practically stand up on their own.
I toss everything into a pile, already dreading the scrubbing they’ll need, then flinch as the water pressure flares and shoots a stream right in my face.
Salt and sweat sting my eyes, so I squeeze them shut as I pull off the last of my clothes and step under the spray.
It’s not cold, but it’s far from the hot, endless showers back home.
Still, the lukewarm water feels like heaven.
For a few long minutes I just stand there, letting the filth run off my body.
Eventually I reach blindly for the bar of soap and washrag, then scrub every inch of my skin, from my scalp down to the soles of my feet, paying extra attention to my pits and groin.
Whoever is in the shower beside mine pushes their curtain aside and shuffles out. I begrudgingly acknowledge I shouldn’t drain their well dry, so I pry my eyes open and reach for the valve.
I freeze.
Golden light shines from underneath my skin, wrapped around my right arm in a series of loops. It flickers against the scars there, casting fractured patterns through the water pouring down my body. Numb, I turn the water off and keep staring.
It hits me like a punch.
Aryn’s tail wrapped around my arm to yank me out of harm’s way.
My eyes drift to the wall like I could see him through the layers of wood and stone.
The last few days replay in my head—how drawn to him I’ve been, and how I haven’t wanted to let him out of my sight.
The protective way I hovered when he was injured, and the way we’ve woken up wrapped up in each other every morning since.
I thought something inside me was changing… thought that after a lifetime of pushing others away, maybe I was learning to let them in.
But I’m the same as I ever was, prickly and defensive and un-fucking-palatable, and that realization hurts more than it should.
This wasn’t me.
It was Fate.
I let my back slide down the shower wall until I’m sitting on the floor. My fingers trace the glow, hating how I can’t stop staring as nausea twists in my gut.
This isn’t what I asked for.
This isn’t fair.
My gaze lifts to the ceiling, wondering if the Fates are watching me right now. Wondering if Sovran knew—if he knew this would happen. Maybe he’s the one who planted the idea to come here. It’s in my nature to seek adventure, sure. I’ve never backed away from a fight.
But here? This?
Was any of this my choice?
Has it ever been?
I don’t know how long I sit, but the water eventually stops dripping off my body and leaves me cold. Shivers race up my spine and down my limbs, but I stay put, staring as the light dances across the empty bathroom.
Aryn knows, I realize.
The look on his face when he walked back into the room.
And gods, what if he wants this—what if he wants me—when I don’t have a single fucking thing to offer him?
Finally, mechanically, I stand and grab my towel.
There isn’t much left to dry, but I run the fabric over my hair and skin, anyway.
Clean clothes feel like a luxury as I pull on a t-shirt and shorts, then frown at the exposed mark on my arm.
It feels too revealing, like I’m baring pieces of myself no one has any right to see.
I glare at the filthy pile of clothes on the floor, not wanting to put them back on.
More minutes pass in indecision.
In the end, I settle for tossing my towel over my shoulders and flinging my dirty clothes onto the growing laundry pile to deal with in the morning. The hallway is empty when I peek out, and I tiptoe back to our room, hesitating once more at the door.
Grow some fucking balls, Cato.
I steel my spine and push through, finding Aryn in the same spot I left him. “Took you long enough,” he jokes quietly.
“Yeah,” I say, the word coming out rough before I clear my throat.
“I, uh… take it you…” He trails off, gesturing vaguely and refusing to look at me.
“Yeah.”
He nods, head falling into his palms with such defeat that I almost reach for him. My feet beg me to move—to comfort him, to tell him it’s alright, to do something other than stand here staring at the way his hair falls over his shoulders and catches the red from the moonlight.
But all I do is wait.
“I had a shaelin,” he says out of nowhere. “Once upon a time, as they say.”
“A… shaelin?”
“A wife.”
Something clenches tight in my gut—an unfair spike of jealousy mixed with the deep urge to take that hurt out of his voice. Instead, I ball my fists and force my tone to stay even.
“What happened?”
His head lifts from his palms, and I barely catch the outline of his profile before he turns away again.
“It was a lifetime ago. Maelithryne was the only home I’d ever known.
I traveled, sure. My people have always been curious.
It felt like we were constantly searching for answers to the universe.
But I always came home. I was always happy to be home. ”
He waves a hand vaguely in my direction, refusing to look at me.
“I’m not like you, Cato. You’re an adventurer and a fighter, full of all that fire, and I…
” He trails off for a moment, taking a deep breath.
“My life was never supposed to look like this. It was supposed to be quiet nights, reading my books and studying my research. You would find it so dull.”
A soft laugh escapes me as I swallow past the lump in my throat. “Sounds pretty boring,” I say quietly.
His shoulders bounce with a sad laugh as he nods. “Pranna came to Maelithryne to study. It was considered the birthplace of the Dreven, even if our roots started long before then.”
“Because of Kuu?” I ask as I step closer. I sit on the edge of the bed, forcing myself to stay as far from him as possible.