Losing Ground #2
One turn of the moons. That was what Duskwood had given her. One turn of the moons to surrender herself, to build his obelisks, to hand him control of every scrap of magic in Ianorrah.
Her compliance in exchange for Rion’s freedom.
She would not do it. She would get Rion back herself, and Theron Duskwood could choke on his terms.
Noctis brushed against her leg, a warm presence in the cold. She dropped her hand to his head and scratched behind his ears, the motion automatic. He whined softly, a sound of shared distress.
“I know,” she murmured. “I know.”
Darian appeared beside her and held out a piece of bread. She took it without looking at him, without tasting it as she chewed. Food was fuel. Nothing more.
“For what it’s worth,” he said quietly, “I understand. More than you might think.”
“Do you?”
“I’ve lost people. Soldiers under my command. Friends.” He paused. “Not like this. Not to captivity. But I know what it’s like to lie awake calculating distances, wondering if you’re already too late, making bargains with moons you can’t even see.”
Lark said nothing. The bread was dry in her mouth.
“The guilt doesn’t go away,” Darian continued. “You can’t outrun it, you can’t reason with it, and you can’t drown it in action, no matter how hard you try. You just learn to carry it. To keep moving anyway, even when it feels like the weight will crush you.”
“And if he dies before we reach him? How do I carry that?”
The question came out before she could stop it. She heard Darian inhale, heard the impact of her words strike him.
“You carry it the same way you carry everything else,” he said.
“One step at a time. One day at a time. Until the weight becomes bearable, or it crushes you.” He turned to look at her, his eyes steady.
“But he’s not dead yet. We don’t even know that he’s hurt.
All we know is that they took him, and that we’re going to get him back. ”
“You sound very certain.”
“I’m not. But certainty doesn’t matter. Action matters. And right now, the best action we can take is to rest, recover our strength, and be ready to move fast when the opportunity presents itself.”
Lark wanted to argue. She wanted to scream that rest was a luxury they couldn’t afford, that every moment spent sheltering under this rock was a moment wasted.
But her body was tired, her mind was tired, and somewhere beneath the fear and the guilt, there was a small, quiet voice reminding her that Darian was right.
Recklessness would not save Rion. It would only ensure that she was too exhausted to help him when she finally had the chance.
“One hour,” she said again.
“One hour.”
She moved back under the overhang and sat down next to Pippa, who had wrapped herself in a blanket and was eating cheese with the methodical single-mindedness of someone who did not particularly want food but knew they needed it. Pippa looked up at her approach and offered a weary smile.
“Still friends?” Pippa asked.
“Still friends.”
“Good. Because I’m too tired to find new ones.”
Despite everything, Lark felt her mouth twitch towards a smile. “Get some rest. I’ll keep watch.”
“You should rest, too.”
“I will.” A lie, but a kind one. “Later.”
Pippa looked as though she wanted to argue, but exhaustion won out over concern. She leaned back against the rock and closed her eyes, her breathing slowing as sleep claimed her.
Darian settled nearby, close enough to reach his sword if needed, far enough to give Lark space. He didn't try to make conversation. He simply sat, an unwavering presence in the gloom, and let the silence exist.
Lark stared out at the rain and thought about Rion.
She thought about the first time she had seen him, sauntering through the snow outside Wintersorrow, seemingly without a care in the world.
About the nights they had spent traveling together and the conversations that had unspooled slowly as she learned to trust him.
About his laugh, rare and surprised, as if joy was something that still caught him off guard.
About his hands and his voice and the way he looked at her, like she was worth looking at.
She thought about the kiss. That first impulsive kiss in his doorway, with the smell of him all around her and the knowledge that he was leaving pressing down on her heart.
How she had sat at the window in his house the next morning, when he had turned and waved as if he had known exactly where to find her before marching away.
She had let him go. The council had forbidden her from joining the defense at the Narrows, and she had obeyed because there had been no way to argue.
The assault was coming, and she was too valuable to risk.
She had told herself that it was the right decision.
That Rion would be fine, that he would survive and come home to her when it was over.
She had been wrong.
The rain continued to fall. The hour passed. Lark did not sleep.
But when the time came to wake the others and resume their march, she set a pace they could all maintain.
And if her heart still screamed at her to run, to abandon caution and throw herself at the mountains until she found him or died trying, she kept that scream locked inside where no one else could hear it.
There would be time enough for screaming later. Right now, she had to keep moving.
One step at a time. One day at a time. Until she found him, or the weight finally crushed her.