Chapter 7
SEVEN
Eirabella
I ride the whole day with Mathis, and Rylan doesn’t argue. He doesn’t really say much at all, and not a single word to me. It seems the regression to his natural state of grouchy and monosyllabic is total and irreversible.
Once we stop for the night and everyone else is asleep, my mind refuses to shut off, so I try to find the magic within me. But there’s nothing there. I keep trying until I’m damp with sweat, until there’s movement on the other side of the camp, and I watch through slitted eyes as Grellor and Rylan switch guards. Rolling away from the campfire, and from Rylan, who plops down on a log, taking the second watch, I squeeze my eyes shut and wiggle my fingers one last time, hoping for even the smallest trickle of water to appear. But there’s nothing. I sigh and pull the blanket over my shoulders. I shouldn’t have gotten my hopes up.
The next morning, I try to manipulate the water when I bathe in the freezing cold stream, but it simply moves as nature intended and cares nothing for my glares. My fingers wiggle at my sides at breakfast, trying to cause even the tiniest ripple in the water boiling in the pot for tea. But there’s nary the tiniest whisper of movement. If Mathis was right and my power is the strongest he’s seen, then where is it? Did I already use it up saving Janus and Kahlia? If so, then it was worth it. But I can’t help feeling disappointed that I didn’t get to experience it for longer.
Once camp is packed up, I mount Mathis’s horse without a glance at Rylan. Yosef and Grellor just shake their heads, sharing a snort as Mathis climbs on behind me with a sigh. Despite the scolding from Rylan the day before, we spend the day telling riddles and jokes, and it helps the time pass by. But by the time we stop for the night in a clearing in the woods, I’m exhausted, my body practically creaking as I slide off Mathis’s horse. What I would give for another hot bath like the one at the inn.
The other guards quickly scatter into the woods to their usual tasks, leaving Rylan alone with me at the campsite. We’ve both become quite adept at avoiding each other, somehow managing to go the whole day without making eye contact, to my chagrin, if I’m entirely honest with myself. I make myself useful, rolling out the bedrolls and extra blankets in preparation for the colder-than-usual night, giving Rylan a wide berth as he fiddles with the fire. Squatting by the flames, he prods the logs with a stick, clearly restless, the flames casting angry shadows over his face.
I’m paying an excruciating amount of needless attention to the straightness of my bedroll when I hear a sharp yell of pain, startling me out of my thoughts. My head whips around just in time to see Rylan jumping up and jerking back from the fire, his shirt sleeve ablaze. Flapping madly, he lets out another shout, the flames refusing to let him go. My heart jumps into my throat as I realise what’s happening—he’s on fire.
For a moment, I’m frozen, watching in shock as the furious flames crawl up his arm. But then instinct kicks in, and I’m on my feet, rushing toward him. “Rylan!” I shout, the panic in my voice undeniable. He doesn’t answer, his face screwed in concentration as he swats at the flames with his other hand to no avail. Without thinking, I grab one of the blankets laid out on the closest bedroll and throw it over his arm, trying to tamp down the flames, smothering them as quickly as I can. I’m sweating from both the effort and the fear.
The flames eventually extinguish, but when I pull the blanket off, it’s clear the damage is done—the skin of his hand is red and angry, the burn raw and already beginning to blister.
Rylan’s forehead is drenched with perspiration, his jaw clenched tight as he grits his teeth against the pain. I can see the effort it takes for him not to cry out again. “Let me get some ice for that,” I gasp, cradling his arm in my hands.
But he shakes his head. “No. Not ice. Ice is too cold; it can quickly cause frostbite and make the injury even worse. Cold water is better.”
The bottom of my stomach drops. The closest stream is too far from here. I can’t stand the thought of him in this much pain for the time it’ll take to get him there.
“Eirabella,” he rasps, his eyes locking onto mine, intense and desperate. His lips thin as if he’s fighting with himself before he says, “Your strength is water. You can create a stream of cold water over my burn.”
I stare at him, disbelief and confusion washing over me. “What? No. You’re crazy, Rylan. I can’t just make water appear out of nowhere!” Even during the bandits’ attack, Mathis had pulled water from the stream, not out of thin air. I stare at the rapidly blistering skin of the hand I’m cradling in my own. Fuck. It must be killing him.
Unlike when I was bandaging his gash, the pain on Rylan’s face is palpable, cracking his usual velvety deep voice. “Please, Eirabella,” he pleads, his voice strained. “Just try. I know you can do it. You just have to focus. Find the magic inside you. It’s there. I-I’ll help you.”
I hesitate, uncertainty gnawing at me. I don’t know how to do this. But the look in his eyes, the desperation, pushes me to try. I take a deep breath, nodding slightly. “Okay,” I whisper, more to myself than to him. “Okay, I’ll try.”
I close my eyes, trying to block out the sight of Rylan’s burned skin, the sound of his laboured breathing. I focus inward, searching for any evidence of magic inside me. But there’s nothing. Anywhere.
“Rylan…” I say, trying not to let the disappointment seep into my voice.
“Look at me.” He grabs my chin with his uninjured hand and forces me to look at him. “You can do this. You’re capable of so much more than you believe. Find the reservoir inside you; it’s there. Deep down. Now close your eyes and search for it with your heart, not your mind.”
I take a deep breath and squeeze my eyes shut.
But in the darkness, all I can see is Samfer towering over me, words and whips lashing out at me in equal measure as he ordered my magic to appear.
No. Stop. Leave, I command the memories.
Instead, I force Rylan’s voice to echo in my mind, urging me to dig in, to imagine the need, to find the reservoir of power he insists is there.
But it’s damn near impossible—my thoughts are a chaotic swirl of doubt and fear. I try to push them away, to concentrate, but nothing happens. I can’t feel anything but the rising panic in my chest. “I’m sorry… I just can’t do it,” I whisper, frustration edging into my voice. “I want to help you, but I…”
“You can,” Rylan says firmly, though I can hear the pain in his voice. “You have to. Imagine the water, Eira. Picture it in your mind. It’s there, in the air around us. You just have to bring it to you.”
I squeeze my eyes shut tighter, trying to do what he says.
“Picture rain, if that helps. Raindrops falling from the sky,” he continues to guide me.
I imagine the water, droplets hanging in the air, just waiting to be called. I can almost see it, shimmering faintly in the darkness of my mind, but it’s just out of reach, slipping away whenever I try to grasp it.
“Concentrate. I know you’re close; I can feel it,” Rylan urges, his voice a low rasp. “Feel the need, the urgency. Let it guide you.”
I bite my lip, focusing harder than I’ve ever focused on anything in my life. I picture the water again, imagine the coolness of it, the way it moves and flows. I need this.
Rylan needs this. I can’t fail. I won’t.
Then, slowly, something shifts. It’s faint at first, just a flicker of awareness, like a distant echo. But it grows stronger, a ripple of energy deep within me, something cool and fluid stirring at the edges of my consciousness. I latch onto it, pulling it closer, willing it to come to the surface.
And then, suddenly, I feel it—a connection, like a thread pulling at the water in the air.
I open my eyes just as the first droplets begin to form, tiny beads of moisture gathering on Rylan’s burned skin. He lets out a sigh of relief as the water touches him, cooling the angry redness.
“Good, Eirabella. That’s helping,” he breathes, his voice strained but filled with a hint of hope. “More.”
Encouraged, I dig deeper, focusing all my will on drawing more water from the air. I imagine the droplets growing larger, merging together, forming a gentle stream. Slowly, the moisture increases, small drops coalescing into a steady trickle from my fingers that flows over his burned hand, soothing the pain.
The strain wears on me, the effort it takes to keep the water flowing, but I push through, determined to help him. The stream grows stronger, enough to cover his entire hand, the cool water washing over his burns. His breath slows, the tension in his body easing as the pain begins to fade.
For a moment, we stay like that—me, kneeling beside him, concentrating with everything I have on keeping the stream of water steady, and him, finally allowing himself to relax as the healing coolness works its magic. The firelight dances around us, casting flickering shadows, and the night air is filled with the sound of the gentle stream I’ve created.
Finally, when I feel the energy within me start to wane, I blink, and it’s like something shuts down in my brain, and the water disappears. The last of the droplets fall onto his hand, and I collapse onto the forest floor, exhausted, gasping for breath.
Rylan looks at me, gratitude and something else—something deeper—glimmering in his eyes. “Thank you, Eirabella,” he whispers, the words heavy with meaning. He flexes his hand, testing it, and I can see the redness has faded, the burns already looking less severe.
I’m too tired to respond, but I manage a small nod, my heart still pounding from the effort. As I sit there, catching my breath, the realisation hits me like a punch to the gut: I did it. I found the power within me, and I used it to help someone. It wasn’t perfect, and it took everything I had, but it happened.
When the thumping in my head abates, I steal a look at Rylan to see he’s already looking at me. Neither of us looks away. I have no idea what he’s thinking; I only know that I don’t want to be the first to break the gaze.
Before I can say anything, the sound of hurried footsteps approaches. The other guards come running back, their expressions worried as they scan the area, clearly alert to something being wrong.
“What happened?” Grellor demands, his hand hovering near his weapon.
Rylan, composed despite the earlier pain, shakes his head and says calmly, “Nothing. Everything’s fine.”
But I can’t let it go that easily. Ignoring the warning look Rylan throws me, I explain, “His arm caught fire. He was hurt, got burned.”
Grellor huffs, crossing his arms over his chest as he eyes Rylan critically. “Since when can’t you control one of your own Strengths?”
I freeze. “ What did you say?” I ask.
Grellor shrugs and kicks some leaves over the puddle that my water, my Strength, created on the forest floor. “One of his Strengths is fire. He hasn’t been burned by it since—”
“Er, Grellor?” Mathis’s voice interrupts. “Come help me find something for dinner. Yosef keeps scaring everything away with his incessant humming.” The giant guard murmurs something under his breath and shuffles back into the darkness with Mathis, who throws Rylan a questioning look.
The truth dawns on me with a sickening clarity.
Rylan didn’t lose control—he did this on purpose , forcing me to use my power. His Strength is fire, and he set his own arm alight. He could’ve stopped that fire from spreading, even catching, at any time.
“Rylan, is that true?” I ask, the question clear in my voice. Why?
He grimaces, fighting something within himself. Then he takes a deep, deep breath and says, “You wanted to know if you could have use of your magic again. Now you know.” He squats back down by the fire. Then, as Rylan watches it with intense eyes, it unfurls into a raging inferno, the flames reaching so high into the night that I can't even see him on the other side of it.
And then, just like that, it dies back down again.
But when my eyes search for him, he’s gone.
A combination of feelings and thoughts crowd my head, making it pound again, and I press against my temples. It’s not just the manipulation that unsettles me. I saw his skin burn . I saw the raw, angry red flesh beneath the flames. The injury was real. He let himself burn, enduring the agony just to push me to my limits. Incredulity ripples through me as I grasp the extent of his determination. He was willing to suffer—to hurt himself—just to prove a point, just to make me tap into the power he’s convinced I have.
We eat dinner in silence, and the three guards are snoring on the bedrolls even before I’ve finished my tea.
Wandering over to Mathis’s horse to retrieve the wound kit, I feel Rylan’s eyes on me. An eyebrow lifts as I make my way over, kneel on the bedroll next to him, and reach for his hand. He resists at first, but then lets me take it, a silent question in his eyes. The worst of the blistering stops below his bronze cuff so I don’t feel the need to ask him to remove it, but the rest of his skin on his wrist and hand is still angry, red, and raw.
Tipping the remnants of the teacup onto my hand, I squeeze the last of the liquid out of the tea leaves and gently lay them onto his wound.
“Kellaroot. Makes for a good tea. And an even better salve,” I explain. Then, tearing a strip of fabric from my tunic, I wrap his hand in the leftover bandage. “Try to keep it dry for a day. I’ll change the bandage on both of your wounds tomorrow.” Then, just because, I gently lay my hand on his bandage, as if willing his wound to heal under my touch. I imagine it cooling under my touch.
He blinks and looks down at his hand, then back up to me, the lines of his forehead smoothing. Quickly, I yank my hand back. “Sorry, that probably makes it worse; my hands are always hot.”
He turns his wrapped hand as if examining it in the campfire light, but his eyes are on mine, and he shakes his head. “No, it didn’t make it worse.” The amber in his irises flares, red-hot like the flames. That fire, his Strength, it consumes him, from the inside out. And right now… it feels like I’m enveloped in the heat as well.
Clearing my throat as I push myself to my feet, I feel a gentle tug, but when I look down, my hand is empty. I must’ve imagined it. I’m halfway to my bedroll when I hear him say, “Get some sleep. We’ll arrive in Narathia in two days.”
Narathia. The kingdom’s capital.
I spin around to face him, a torrent of questions on my tongue, but the openness in his eyes has shut down again again, and I know anything I ask will go unanswered.
We’re going to the capital. At least now I have a destination.
I stretch out on my bedroll and dream of all the things that could be waiting for me there.
“You’re riding with me today,” Rylan announces as we all get ready to mount the next morning.
Mathis flicks his eyes to me as I frown, pulling myself up to my full height to meet Rylan’s gaze. “I don’t think that’s necessary. I’ll just ride with Mathis again. ”
Rylan shakes his head, his voice calm but firm. “It’s going to be two long days of riding if we’re to get to our destination on time, and my horse is the strongest. Mathis’s horse will get worn out carrying the both of you before we reach Narathia.”
I open my mouth to argue further, but the logic of his words stops me. Still, the idea of spending the next two days so close to him, especially after everything that happened last night, makes me uneasy. I begrudgingly nod and stare up at the gigantic mare, trying to figure out how I can mount her on my own when I feel his hands wrap around my waist and easily lift me into the saddle.
“Rylan, no! Your hand.”
He slides in behind me, settling into his seat, his arms coming around me to grab the reins. “I’m fine. Thanks to you, Eirabella,” he whispers, dark and deep against the shell of my ear.
I let the shiver spread through every blood vein as his scent envelops me. I could easily become intoxicated in it, dragging my face up his bare torso, just breathing him in. Shaking my head at the thought, I ask the question I’ve been longing to ask since the moment he uttered the name, “Who’s Valora?”
I crick my neck back to look at him as I feel him stiffen, but he does everything in his power to avoid my eyes. As if not even hearing my question, he lets out a loud whistle, and Grellor and Yosef trot out ahead of us, before his horse falls in line after them, Mathis waiting until we pass to follow behind.
I swallow, knowing I’m not going to get the answer I’m looking for. The next words are heavier on my tongue, and it’s a few minutes before I say them. “Your Strength is fire.” He doesn’t say anything, so I just continue. “Why did you let yourself burn last night? You could’ve controlled it.”
His voice is steady, almost detached, as he replies, “I told you. You needed to know if you could use your magic. I got you your answer.”
“But surely there were other ways to test me,” I press, unable to comprehend the lengths he went to.
“None as effective,” he says simply. “It’s not like you haven’t been trying since you left the village.”
He knew. Of course he knew.
“Thank you,” I finally say, my voice quieter than I intended.
Rylan’s response is just as subdued. “Don’t thank me. I just did what had to be done.”
The morning on the road drags on seemingly forever. Now that I know our destination, my thoughts are focused on why I’m expected there. The king’s courts are there. The king’s dungeons. Maybe this all really does have to do with Samfer and his, and my, crimes. But Rylan said I was going to be safe.
Impending incarceration in the city dungeons doesn’t sound “safe,” especially considering King Halford’s legendary stance on no tolerance for criminals. My thoughts whirl like a tempest, circling around one simple, overwhelming truth. And before I know it, I whisper, “I’m scared.”
I don’t even realise I’ve said it out loud until Rylan shifts slightly behind me. “What about?” he asks, his voice low, but with an edge of genuine concern.
The question hangs in the air, and for a moment, I hesitate, unsure if I should even bother explaining. But the frustration, the fear, everything that’s been building inside me breaks free. “For just one moment,” I say, my voice trembling, “put yourself in my shoes.”
He doesn’t answer immediately, and I wonder if he’s actually considering what I’ve said. The seconds stretch, and finally, he speaks, his tone measured. “I meant it when I said you’ll be safe where we’re going.”
“Safe?” I echo, incredulous. “What does that even mean? That I won’t be killed? Great. But there are a thousand ways in which a person can be unsafe.” The words pour out of me, a cascade of fears I’ve been holding back over the last few days. “You can be safe from physical harm but still be unsafe in so many other ways—emotionally, mentally. Will I be isolated, locked away like some caged animal? Or maybe manipulated, lied to, controlled? What if I’m forced into a life I don’t want, with no choices, no freedom? What if I’m treated like an object, or worse, like a weapon?”
Tugging at the cuff at my wrist, I push down my memories of being Samfer’s ward. And all the ways someone can feel like they’re fighting for their life with their life never actually being in danger. My voice falters, but I push on, the fear driving me, my voice rising with each word. “What if I’m used for my powers and then discarded when I’m no longer needed? Or what if I’m kept alive, but my mind is broken, shattered by things I can’t even begin to imagine? You say I’ll be safe, but what is safe about all that?”
He stiffens behind me, like the truth of my words has landed harder than he expected. It’s as if he hadn’t considered the things I’ve said, as if his concept of safety was simpler, more straightforward. Or maybe he just wanted it to be.
I take a deep breath, forcing myself to ask the question that’s been gnawing at me. “And… once we get there… will I see you again? Any of you?”
The question lingers between us, and I’m surprised by the ache that accompanies it. Against my will, I’ve come to care for them—all of them. And maybe one more than the rest. The thought unsettles me, but I can’t deny it .
Rylan’s voice breaks through my thoughts, softer this time. “Do you want to?”
I’m caught off guard by his question, and for a moment, I don’t know how to answer. But then I find myself smiling despite everything. “Who else will give you such a hard time? I wouldn’t want you going soft on me.”
Rylan’s voice takes on a rare playful note. “I suppose I will miss being constantly irritated by you—it makes sleeping on the frozen ground with three snoring, smelly soldiers seem almost enjoyable by comparison.” Before I can elbow him in the ribs, he shifts back into his usual guarded tone. “I don’t know for sure if you’ll see any of us again,” he says quietly, the weight of his words settling over us like a dark cloud.
I nod, though he can’t see it, my heart heavy with the understanding that whatever bond we’ve formed may be fleeting, just like everything else in my life. “So I was just a mission?” My voice is sharper than I intend, tinged with bitterness. Why, I have no idea. A week ago we were complete strangers. What else would I be if not just any other mission?
He doesn’t reply, the silence that follows louder than any answer he could’ve given. The truth of it is too harsh to be spoken aloud, and the realisation dries my mouth.
“And you’re a King’s Guard, so… you’re taking me to the king? Why? What could he possibly want with me?” I press on, the anger bubbling up now, unchecked.
His entire demeanour changes in an instant. His posture stiffens, his jaw tightens, and when he finally speaks, there’s a warning edge to his voice. “That’s enough questions.”
But I can’t stop.
The anger, the helplessness, it all surges forward, demanding to be heard. “No! After you deliver me like a slaughtered pig to the capital, do you know what you’ll be doing tomorrow night? Next week? Next month? ”
He hesitates, and then his answer comes, clipped. “In some respects.”
“Then you’re enjoying a freedom that you’re not affording me,” I shoot back, my words laced with bitterness. I pull my arms tight around me, shifting forward in the saddle to separate my body as much as possible from his. “When you don’t have any control over your life, have no say in what is happening to you, come back and tell me just how ‘safe’ you feel.”
I can feel the sting of my words hanging in the air, but I don’t care. I’m done. I shut down, turning my attention away from him, refusing to engage any further. He might have his mission, but I have my own battle to fight—one where I have no idea who the real enemy is. The silence between us returns, but this time, it’s thick with the forthcoming farewell and with the things that will forever go left unsaid. And this time, I’m determined not to break it.
I can’t sleep on our last night on the road.
Sitting by the fire, I thread a needle through a torn pocket on Janus’s jacket, my hands moving on autopilot as the tear slowly closes with each stitch. The rhythmic motion is soothing, but it does little to quell the thoughts swirling in my head. The jacket smells like home—a mix of woodsmoke and fresh dirt, something uniquely Janus—and my chest tightens at the thought of the village and all my friends I left behind.
The soft crunch of footsteps pulls me from my thoughts, and I look up to find Mathis approaching, his easy smile brightening the dim light. “Can’t sleep?” he asks, plopping down beside me without waiting for an answer .
I shake my head, grinning. “Just trying to mend this jacket. Can’t have my friend thinking I can’t take care of his things.”
Mathis chuckles, watching me work. “Look at you being the dutiful housewife, Eira,” he teases, his tone playful. “I mean, if I had someone like you back home patching my clothes, I’d be coming up with excuses to tear them just to keep her attention.”
I laugh, nudging him with my elbow. “Please. Like you need a reason to tear your clothes off. And I’m no seamstress. My friend will probably get this jacket back with more holes than it started with.”
Mathis raises an eyebrow, leaning in just a bit closer. “Ah, but I bet you’ve got more to offer than just sewing skills. If I weren’t so dashing, I might be worried about the competition for you.”
I roll my eyes, trying to suppress a laugh. “But you’re not because your rugged charm is just so irresistible?”
“And yet you’ve been resisting just fine.” He winks, and I let out another laugh. It’s nice to have moments like this, where everything feels normal. Almost.
“I’m just trying not to have my poor weak heart broken, remember? Wouldn’t want you to be responsible for my death. What would Rylan do without his one and only friend? I don’t think he’d recover from it!” I expect him to laugh, but Mathis just stares into the fire for a moment, his eyes hazy with melancholy. It unnerves me, so I reach over with my foot and nudge him. “Hey. Everything okay?”
Mathis shakes his head, like he’s erasing a memory from his mind, and then, with a grin, reaches down and grabs my offending foot. “It’s a crime to assault a King’s Guard, you know!”
I laugh and try to shake him off, but he holds tight. “Mathis! Let go!”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t. This kind of rampant criminal behaviour is what is wrong with our kingdom!”
Before I can reply, I feel a shadow fall over me, and I glance up to see Rylan approaching us. His presence changes the air immediately, like a gust of cold wind, and his eyes flick between me and Mathis.
“It’s time for me to take over the watch,” Rylan says, his voice low and firm. “You should get some rest, Mathis.”
Mathis drops my foot but doesn’t move. “I’m good. I’m not tired. You should get some more sleep.”
Rylan stares at him, unspoken words flicking between them. After a moment, Mathis loses the nonverbal discussion, sighing dramatically as he stands. “Alright, alright. I know where I’m not wanted… unlike some people. I’ll leave you two to your cringingly awkward silence.” He bows to me. “Milady, please let me know if this miscreant causes you any trouble. And I guess I shall have to be happy with seeing your beautiful face in my dreams.” Ignoring Rylan’s narrowed eyes, he pats him on the shoulder, whistling as he wanders over to his bedroll.
Rylan stares at the spot Mathis just vacated, as if wondering whether or not to take his spot. “You’re not sleeping.”
I shrug, threading another needle. “Hard to sleep when you’re not sure where you’ll be this time tomorrow.”
Rylan says nothing, just watches me with that intense, calculating look, before finally plopping down onto Mathis’s seat. Then, without a word, he reaches for a needle and gestures for the thread. His fingers brush mine as he takes it from me, and a jolt of warmth shoots up my arm, leaving me momentarily breathless. The firelight flickers between us, and for a second, the world narrows to the small space between our hands .
I pull my hand back quickly, feeling a heat rise in my cheeks. “You know how to darn?” I ask, trying to distract myself, as I watch him fold over the frayed hem of my skirt before pulling the needle through the worn fabric.
His lips quirk in an amused look. “Why does that surprise you?”
I raise an eyebrow, smirking. “You just seem more like the type to tear holes, not fix them. Or is that just with people?”
He chuckles softly, the sound low and rumbling. And it warms my heart. “Sometimes people need the holes fixed… so I can cut more later.”
I laugh, and the tension eases a little. “He jokes,” I point out, shaking my head in mock disbelief.
“In the right company,” he replies, his voice softer now, almost warm.
“And I’m that company?”
“It seems so.”
We fall into a comfortable silence again, heat emanating off his close proximity, his arm brushing mine occasionally as he works on my skirt, his fingers deftly stitching the fabric. My heart races for reasons I can’t quite explain, and I find myself glancing at him, stealing looks when I think he’s not paying attention. The firelight casts shadows across his face, highlighting the strong lines of his jaw, the curve of his lips, the sheen of the scar running down his neck.
After a few minutes, I break the silence, unable to stop myself from asking. “Tell me something about you.”
Rylan glances at me, then back at the fabric in his hands. “What do you want to know?”
I shrug. “It doesn’t have to be some grand secret. Just… something. So that when I say goodbye tomorrow, I can say, ‘That was Rylan. Other than being tall, dark, and emotionally constipated, he liked eating banana pudding.’ ”
He wrinkles his nose in mock disgust. “I absolutely do not like banana pudding.”
I laugh, watching him closely. “Alright then, tell me something else.”
He hesitates for a moment, his needle stilling as he thinks. “Hmm, I have two sisters.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Two sisters?”
“Yes. Younger ones.” He focuses on his stitching, his voice quieter now. “I love them both, but… one more than the other.”
I blink in surprise. “Oh my, playing favourites, Lord Grumpypants?”
He glares at the reminder of his nickname. “I know I shouldn’t, but I do. She’s easier to love. Which..is a terrible reason.”
“But I suppose they both utterly adore you?”
Rylan huffs. “Hardly. I’m not sure they like me much at all. One maybe slightly more than the other, but that’s not saying much.”
“Why?”
He exhales slowly. “I assume because they don’t understand me. And because of that, they don’t understand why I do the things I do.”
I tilt my head, watching him carefully. “I think that might not be entirely their fault.”
“It’s absolutely not their fault at all,” he admits, his voice introspective. “I’m not easy to… know. But I don’t know if I can ever change that. Maybe it’s better that way.”
I glance at him, feeling a strange tug in my chest. “Let me guess. You’re trying to protect them?”
Rylan looks up at me, his eyes melting a little as a ghost of a smile flickers over his lips. “Heard that from me before?”
“Just a lucky guess.”
He nods, his gaze distant now. “If anything ever happened to either of them, I don’t know if I could live with myself. So… I let them believe what they want to believe about me. And I love them from afar.”
He finishes the last stitch on my skirt and holds it up, admiring his own work. “Pretty good.”
I take the skirt from him. Our fingers brush again, and this time, the touch lingers. His eyes meet mine, and for a brief moment, there’s something different there. Softer. More open. It makes my heart skip, and I quickly look away, focusing on the fire instead.
“I’m sure they would love the chance to understand you, if you gave them the chance,” I say quietly. “But I wouldn’t know. I don’t have any siblings.”
The silence between us stretches on, but it’s not uncomfortable. There’s something about being this close to him, in the stillness of the night, that feels… different. I’m not sure what it is, but it’s unsettling and comforting all at once.
After a while, Rylan speaks again, his voice more casual now. “Your turn to tell me something. I’d like to be able to say something more than ‘That’s Eirabella Kaye, she never shuts up and smells like wet horse.’”
My jaw drops open, and I grab a handful of snow and throw it at him. “You try going a week with only one bath and the occasional wash in a freezing cold stream!”
He ducks the snowball with a twitch of his lips but doesn’t respond.
With a huff, I resume my darning and say, “Well, first off… I love banana pudding.”
Rylan gasps in mock horror. “Say it isn’t so!”
I laugh with a shrug. “Beggars can’t be choosers. But ice cream is actually my favourite thing to eat. Ever. Ever want me to forgive you for something? Just bring me a giant ice cream sundae. ”
He waits until my chuckles fade before he turns serious, his eyes flickering with curiosity. “You said you wanted to write a letter once we get to the capital. Who’s it for?”
Instinctively, I hug Janus’s jacket tighter to my chest. “Um, just want to get word to a… good friend,” I say softly. “He’s probably worried about me. I just want to let him know I’m okay. Or that I will be. We, uh, we’re very… close.”
Rylan’s eyes harden slightly, and he nods, his jaw tightening. “Well, I’ll make sure you get that letter to whoever you need to. It must be nice to have someone worried about where you are.”
“I’m not really sure life would be worth living if one didn’t. I can’t think of anything worse. Even when I had nothing else, I had that.”
Suddenly, I feel his eyes on me. Really on me. I chance a look up from my sewing, and his gaze locks with mine, and for a moment, it feels like everything else fades away.
He holds my stare, the firelight reflecting in his dark eyes. Then, almost out of nowhere, he says softly, “Did anyone ever tell you that you have a resilience about you? Something that seems innately... unshakable.”
The words catch me off guard, and for a second, I don’t know how to respond. No one’s ever said anything like that to me. My throat tightens slightly, and I look away, focusing on the stitch I’m working on. “No... not really,” I mumble, feeling oddly vulnerable under his gaze.
Rylan watches me for a moment longer, his voice dropping to a more intimate tone. “I suspect you’re the kind of person who doesn’t let the world crush you, no matter how much it tries.”
“Something you noticed about me when I was trying to run away from you?” I say, my voice shaky but trying to sound casual .
“I notice more than you think.” Then he moves, as if to leave.
Inexplicably, I touch his arm to stop him. “Rylan?” He stops, turning to look at me. “If you actually let them, I bet you’d be surprised how many people would wonder where you are if you went missing,” I say quietly.
He smiles, a small, sad smile, and shrugs. “Maybe. Or maybe it’s just too late for me.”
My heart breaks for him. No one should ever feel like it’s too late, and it’s all I can do not to hug him. Instead, I just squeeze his arm. Heat burns where we touch, and the log feels wobbly beneath me. But I don’t let go. He stares at me, the campfire reflecting in his eyes.
“Eirabella…” he starts. But then he stops and just lays his hand on top of mine, returning the squeeze. And so we sit for a perfect moment in time. Until the sound of Grellor snorting in his sleep across the camp yanks us out of our locked gaze. Rylan jumps to his feet, brushing the bark from his pants. “Um, I’m just going to go for a walk around the camp perimeter. Don’t go wondering where I am now.”
I poke my tongue out at him. “Oh, I didn’t mean I would wonder about your whereabouts,” I add, grinning. “I already know exactly where I’d bury your body.”
For the first time since I met him, he throws his head back and laughs. Really laughs. And the way his face looks, lit up in smiles, utterly takes my breath away. Then, shaking his head, he walks off, disappearing into the shadows of the dark woods.
I watch him go, the warmth of his laughter lingering in the cool night air, and for a second, I wonder who I would need to pray to so that I could stay in this moment forever.