Chapter 22 #3
“I need to break the circle,” Lavellin admits after a long pause. “I just need to knock one of the stones over. Don’t ask why.”
Torver glares. “What do you mean, don’t ask why? Why can’t I ask why?”
He steps closer and to his surprise, Lavellin is the one that looks away. Lavellin is the one to step back. “Because I don’t want to talk about it.”
Torver’s hands clench, molars pinning together for a moment in the back of his mouth. He’s never seen it like this.
Lavellin has been brazenly upfront about everything. Lavellin doesn’t hide, Lavellin doesn’t lie. Lavellin can’t lie. Not without great effort. It’s like glamouring the truth, it had told him.
“What don’t you want to talk about?” He presses closer. He’s only a few feet away from it now, can see the twinkle of its opal eyes when they dart away from him. The silver lines of its scars almost shine.
“You’ll…think less of me.”
“Tell me what’s going on, Lavellin.”
It juts out a hip. “I will. If we can talk about the night at the tavern.”
He folds his arms in front of himself, and Lavellin returns the gesture.
“You’ve barely even looked at me since that tavern, Torver,” it pleads. “We used to talk! I like you—I miss you.”
“You’re trying to distract me!” Torver frowns. “What’s going on? Why are you trying to break the stone circle?”
It lets out a breath.“Look, you—you don’t want to know,” it grinds out.
“You know my dirtiest secret!”
The fae rolls its eyes. “Not having magic isn’t a dirty secret, Torver.”
“You wouldn’t know a thing about it,” Torver snaps. “You have all the magic you want and more. Your magic didn’t separate you from your mother.”
Lavellin’s jaw tenses and it pauses. Like it’s considering.
Like something was just the last straw.
“Do you still think that?” Its voice is tight. “That it was your fault and not hers?”
Torver blinks.
“Oh come on, Torver!” It throws its hands up.
Its fists clench so the veins of its hands stand out and Torver almost wants to run his fingers over them, to feel the shape of its anger.
“You’re not stupid! You know deep down that it was a choice she gladly made, an excuse to get rid of the child she never wanted.
Do you not think Bassen would tell me what she did to you?
She’s not a real mother to you, she’s an idea in your head!
Is punishing yourself over and over really easier than facing that? ”
Torver splutters.
An outraged sound that could have been the start of a retort if it didn’t choke him. The words hit him right in the sternum, right where they take his breath away.
Lavellin softens. “I’m sorry, I—” It looks to its feet. “I just need to knock over one of these stones—then I can come back to the tent and we can…”
It wilts under the sight of the searing tears dripping down Torver’s face. He wants to scream. Wants to scream, because it’s right. And Bassen was right too, when she told him the same thing. Shouted it into his delusional face.
His shoulders slump, his chest simmering, flamelike.
He wants suddenly to hit it, to be hit by it. Needs to do something with this—feeling. Wants his ring of string, wants to be taken by the throat. He presses his nails into the palms on his hands until they bend, his skin singing.
Drops of cold rain begin to fall and Torver feels each one that lands on him.
Lavellin’s jaw hardens. It looks away.
“I shouldn’t have said that.” It frowns. “I’m sorry. It’s just…frustrating. You don’t like yourself. You don’t think that you deserve nice things. That you don’t deserve to get what you want.”
Torver wipes his eyes, lets out a sardonic breath, the wind nearly stealing the sound away.
“And what do I want, Lavellin?” The words shudder out of him.
It leaves the stone it had stood by and strides towards him. It stands so close to him that he can feel its heat. It leans in, its hair falling onto Torver’s shoulder as it brings its face close to his. His heart races.
“I think you knew what you wanted that night at the tavern.”
Its eyes bore into his, digging a hole inside of him, a space where it might fit. It leans forward more and their lips are so close that he can feel its sweet breath dance over his skin.
“You can have what you want, Torver.”
His chest cleaves in two, or at least that’s the sensation.
Lavellin’s breath caresses his skin like a warm breeze, and he thinks of how easy it would be to reach his hand to the nape of its neck, to pull it closer.
To kiss it, finally.
For its lips to part for him. Its tongue to gently search his mouth, its hands on his waist, his body. But he is a coward so, breath trembling, he waits. Hoping over the pounding of his heart that it will kiss him first.
Instead, it makes a small noise. A hum.
Then it steps away and the disappointment is like a knife in Torver’s belly.
His eyes flicker open and he watches it return to the enormous stone.
It doesn’t look at him, just presses its two palms to the smooth rock and pushes.
It groans and Torver can see the straining of its muscles.
After several aching seconds, the monolith topples, making the ground shudder as if struck by lightning.