Chapter 41 Ezra
Raf had looked through the window seven times in the last quarter-hour.
I knew because I had begun counting. The day started as any other.
We trained the girls, helped Margaret with handiwork around the manor, and surveyed the maps.
The longer Liv and Helena were gone however, the more he seemed to linger there.
“They have been gone hours,” he grumbled, as though it were a personal offense.
“I am aware. You have checked.”
He glanced at me. “Checked what?”
“The window.” I gestured toward it.
“I like the view.” That elicited a laugh. I looked outside. The leaves had fallen from the trees, leaving them completely bare. Winter rains had muddied the grounds. There was a lone chicken, feathers molting, pecking at the food left around the tables by the young ones.
“Remarkable. Truly.” He did not find my jest amusing.
His eyes returned to the window. He continued asking all manner of questions.
How long should the journey take? Would the motion of riding horseback upset Helena’s shoulder?
How cold would it be by evening, and should she have taken a heavier coat?
“You seem particularly concerned about Helena.” Raf's head whipped toward me.
“I am concerned about all of them.” His voice was louder than I am sure he realized. I raised a brow. “She is injured.”
“Of course.” I nodded.
“And reckless,” he continued.
“Naturally,” I agreed.
“And stubborn.” His jaw ticked.
“Now that is by far the most accurate statement you have made about her.”
He narrowed his eyes at me and I held my hands up in surrender. His frustration did not stop the smile that tugged at my lips. He repositioned himself in front of the other window, as though it would have a different view of the same grounds. I sighed and placed my hand on his shoulder.
“Rafael, they are two of the strongest people I have ever met.” His gaze remained fixed beyond the glass. “Not women,” I added. “People.”
His fists tightened. “That is what I am counting on.”
He said it softly, as though it were more a thought, meant only for himself.
I left him by the window and made my way to the dry store pantry.
I searched for only a moment before I found exactly what I was looking for, exactly where I had left it.
The small bottle squeaked as I wiggled it free from beneath a sack of flour and then returned to Raf.
I stuck the bottle beneath my arm and pulled a chair from the foyer. I positioned it next to his chair and went back for the small table. By the time I returned with two glasses, his attention was thoroughly fixed on me instead of that damned window. Just as I had intended.
“What is that?” He raised his brow.
“What, this?” I held up the bottle, and the thick liquid sloshed around, sticking to the sides and sliding down slowly.
His eyes darted from me to the bottle. I popped the cork from it and extended it out to him.
“Smell.” Rafael leaned in close and took a deep inhale, then promptly began coughing.
His eyes watered as he held the bridge of his nose.
“Gods! It burns!” He choked dramatically. “What in the seven hells is that?”
“This, my dear boy, is the finest Corianthan Cognac!”
I poured it into the glasses before us and the deep red-brown liquid swirled.
“Aged one hundred years, imported before the Great War.”
I held the nearly full bottle up. “The last remnants of the finer things my father so valued over all else. His prized possession one might say.” I laughed bitterly.
“And we are supposed to what? Drink it? Strip the paper from the walls with it?” He held the glass to his nose and cringed.
“Best if you throw it back without breathing it in.”
I tossed my drink to the back of my throat, savoring the way it warmed my body as it passed through.
“Down the gullet.” Raf nodded, then pressed it to his lips.
I pushed the glass from the bottom, forcing him to drink it quickly.
He swallowed slowly, and when it was down he gagged and hissed.
“Seven hells!” He slammed the glass down, and I poured him another two fingers before he could protest. Perhaps a drunken stupor would ease his mind of the worry. I pushed the glass closer, urging him to drink it.
“It helps with the worry.” I nodded at him, raised my own glass and threw another drink to the back of my throat.
After three or four glasses, the burn had settled to a warm embrace.
He had relaxed back into his chair, his posture more slouched than taut with fear.
Still his eyes remained fixed on the path beyond the property.
“Why are you so concerned? Do you not trust in her ability to protect herself?” I set my glass back on the table but did not pour another drink.
“It is nothing.” His voice was barely more than a whisper.
“Nothing seems to be all-consuming. You have hardly blinked in their absence.”
“She nearly went into the sea.” I looked at him. His thumb traced the rim of his glass. “I almost couldn't stop her.” He moved his head and let it fall into his hands. “It is all my fault.”
“It was not your fault. I understand feeling responsible…” His head shot up, and he cut me off with tears rimming his eyes.
“You do not understand! If she had been lost I would have been entirely to blame! For allowing it, for not stopping it!” His head fell back into his hands, covering his face.
“I understand all too well.” I placed my hand on his shoulder, to ensure he would listen to me.
“There are things we can control, things we cannot. We wield great magic, but in all of my life, I have never met a diviner, a witch, or any magic possessing being that can control the sea itself.”
He stayed silent for a moment before sniffling.
“How do you do it?” He did not raise his head when he spoke.
“Do what?” I tilted my head.
“How do you stand rooted to a spot, knowing the dangers that lurk just beyond your view, and allow your entire heart to walk freely away from you?” His words were choked.
“Trust.” I said simply. And when he did not respond, I explained.
“Liv and I are soul bound. Do you know what that means?”
He raised his head, sad eyes meeting mine with an eager nod.
“I can feel her in my soul. But more than that, the first time she willingly walked away from me, she asked me to trust her.” I smiled at the memory.
“She said I had to trust in my soul that she would always return to me, because she would always choose me, in this lifetime and the next.” He smiled despite himself and I offered a smile in return. “I am inclined to believe her.”