Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
By the time we get home, I’m carrying a very pleasant, fuzzy buzz.
Flint, the big sweetheart that he is, insisted we needed to walk Annemarie home first. Betsy intervened, insisting that she would get them both home safely.
I think Flint’s a little scared of her to be honest, since he backed down without much of a fight.
It’s not late and I’m hesitant to let the evening end.
It was so nice dancing with Flint. More than nice.
Maybe I’m more buzzed than I thought if “nice” is as good as I can do.
Plus, being pressed up against him with one of my favorite songs playing was a fantastic way to put the ugliness with Brett out of my mind.
I’m sure I’ll have to face that particular music eventually, but it has no place here. Not tonight.
As I make myself comfortable on the couch to get rid of my shoes, Flint comes back from the kitchen with two bottles of water, a glass of wine, and a beer.
“Aren’t you ready for bed yet?” he asks. “You spent all night dancing — with Anne, with me, with Betsy.”
True. Betsy is one hell of a dancer and all tonight proved is that I definitely want to be her when I grow up.
“It’s not too late. I don’t want the day to end, ya know? I had a great time.”
His smile just lights me up inside. Gah — what can a girl do?
“So did I.” He plops down next to me, our arms brushing. Going with the high I’m riding from the night and our ever growing closeness, I lean my head against his chest.
“Would you tell me about Goira?” I finally ask.
He’s quiet for a long while. I’m about to take the question back, to ask if I should put some music on and we can dance again, when he finally speaks.
“Do you remember how I told you that females, in Goira at least, are considered more powerful than their male counterparts? I meant it. No one is sure why, not even the scholars, but the popular theory is that because females have the gift of life, the magick flows fuller, deeper than that of the males. There’s also some that believe it is due to the difference in the perceived physical strength and others believe it became that way due to females’ unparalleled ability to be empathetic,” Flint shrugs.
“I don’t think the reason why matters — the fact remains: women are stronger, in almost every way. ”
“So it stands to reason that Goira and the realm it resides in would be a matriarchy then.”
He nods in agreement. “And we are. Women have ruled for as long as we can remember. Of course, like so many other societies, there are those who aren’t happy with leadership.
No matter how good things are in Goira, and they are, there have been groups of individuals in the past who have tried to rise up because of the injustices they believe they’ve been subjected to.
It’s often males who, for whatever reason, are unable to attract, bed or wed a female, who are most vocal in airing these grievances.
They believe they are owed,” he practically spits the word, “the privilege of a mate or of the marriage bed. The same type of man who would take what he believes he is owed by force. Males that would look at Brett and see a brother.”
I swallow thickly. Apparently, incels are universal. What a sad truth.
“The last uprising was the worst, by far. A covert group with a number of males and connections were able to blend their magicks with the technology from here. Using this, they began creating… creatures… unlike any we had ever seen before. Small and large, these creatures were being utilized to strip emotions from the Fae, but especially the females. Some of their rhetoric fell into the Royal hands. They believed and preached that, if emotions could be limited, drained, from the females, the males would then be able to take their rightful place as the powerful, as the leaders.”
He pauses. I can see this is hurting him, but I need to know.
“The battles were bloody, awful. The creatures they had spawned did not die as a regular beast would die. So many Fae were lost. You know, in many ways you have to turn off your emotions in battle, numb yourself to it, or risk going mad with the sights, the smells, the sounds. We quickly learned that, despite this self separation a warrior employs, your emotions aren’t really gone, of course.
Just quieted, ignored. Do you know what happens to warriors when their emotions are stripped away entirely? ”
I shake my head, my stomach in knots and my heart thudding dully in my chest.
“They stop fighting. Warriors, soldiers, generals — no matter the rank, no matter the… species, I guess… they’re fighting for something. Love, family, honor, pride… there’s an emotion, a reason.”
I can feel the horror on my face and I don’t know what to do with it. I can’t stop it now.
“Thousands were lost. They simply laid down their weapons, quieted their gifts, and stopped fighting. Wise women were working constantly to find a way, a spell, a rune, anything, that we could use to protect ourselves from their ability. Few males, depending on their magicks, were immune, but they were few and far between.”
Flint pauses, seeming lost in thought. I rub my hand along his back, doing what I can to soothe him.
After a long, quiet moment, he continues “The Princess was the one who finally figured it out.” Another deep breath, as though he's weighing his words.
“Anyway, she was able to save us. In the final battle, it was the princess that saved Goira and the rest of the realm.”
He looks up and meets my eyes. “She saved everyone. At great personal cost.” His voice is so gruff, so strained.
I allow him his silence as he struggles to collect himself. “You don’t really talk about this, do you?”
“Rarely.”
I lift my head and kiss his cheek. “Thank you for telling me. I know talking about some things can be hard.”
He gives me a small smile.
My heart breaks for what he’s endured and what he’s lost. He clearly cares about his princess, his people.
I know, without him saying it outright. Just like I know that he lost family, friends, people he had known for the whole of his life on those battlefields.
How horrifying must it be, I wonder, to watch those you love become completely emotionless and lay down to be slaughtered?
I fight off a shudder. While I’m glad he was able to talk to me, trust me with this, the images are terrible. In true people pleasing mode, I desperately want to make him feel better and take his mind off of his memories. Making him sad was not on my check list of how I wanted this night to go.
“Want to watch a movie?” I blurt.
He pulls back, his eyes searching my face and he seems relieved by whatever he finds. The look in his eyes tells me he knows what I’m trying to do and I think he’s grateful.
“Is that what you want to do?”
“Yep,” I say, with forced cheer. “And Chinese?”
He smiles. “You get the food and I’ll pick the movie.”
I try to focus on picking a movie, but my thoughts keep drifting back to Ash asking about being soul bound. There were so many things I wanted to say but I couldn’t. I can’t risk pushing her too far, too fast.
When I was a boy, it felt like gravity. Ember became the center of some invisible constellation that I didn’t know I was orbiting.
When she was happy, relaxed, it felt like sunshine on my skin.
When she cried, something wrapped around my ribs.
When she bled — gods, when she bled — my heart beat slower for hours, as if it were mourning.
It’s more than emotion, more than recognition. It’s a truth too immense to burden her with right now.
You are the answer I carry in my bones.
Even when she forgot, when her memories shattered and she became Casie, I could feel her. Distantly, dimmed, but there.
It might be easier, being fated. It would give me the confidence that this would resolve itself, somehow. That she will find her way back. Because we’re destined.
But soul bound doesn’t mean entitled.
It doesn’t mean owed.
It means chosen. Again and again. Every.
Day. It means choosing her every day, every time.
It means loving her when she can’t name why the sound of my voice is familiar.
It means stepping back when she flinches and staying close anyway.
It means waiting — for the moment she remembers that the rhythm of her power once matched the beat of my heart.
And if she never does?
I guess I’ll love her quietly. Because it isn’t about what I get from her or from us. It’s about who I am, who I get to be, when the other half of my soul walks the world beside me.
Even if she doesn’t remember it yet.
After eating, it’s getting late, but we’re laying together on the couch.
Flint’s long limbs make it difficult, but not impossible.
With some maneuvering, he assumed the big spoon position, his legs hanging off the arm of the couch, one arm tucked under my head.
He’s pulled me snug against him, my back pressed to his chest, his arm snug around my hips.
It’s nice to lay here and exist. Unfortunately, the movie he chose has plenty of sexy scenes and his body is making them harder to ignore. Or vice versa.
What I’m trying to say is I am acutely aware of the length and hardness of his body pressed against mine and watching steamy scenes is making my imagination run wild.
Usually, I find his warmth comforting, but tonight, it’s more than that.
It doesn’t help that the tank I changed into has come up, displaying a bare inch of my stomach, and Flint has been idly running his thumb over the exposed skin.