Faster Alone #2
“Hugged me. Grabbed me and pulled me close and held on like …” She stopped, searching for words that would capture what she had felt. “Like I mattered to him. Like he’d been wanting to do it for a long time and finally let himself.”
“Lark.” Pippa’s voice was soft. “That’s wonderful.”
“It was. For about ten seconds.” The bitterness crept into her voice despite her efforts to keep it out. “Then he pulled away and apologized. Said it was inappropriate. Said he wasn’t who he used to be, that he wouldn’t be ready until he figured out who he was now.”
“Ah.”
“I told him not to apologize, and that I wasn’t asking him to be ready, just asking him not to regret it. And I thought …” She shook her head. “I thought we’d worked through some things. You know, that we had reached an understanding. But then this morning he couldn’t get away from me fast enough.”
Pippa was quiet. Then she reached out and covered Lark’s hand with her own.
“Two steps forward, two steps back,” Lark said. “Every time I think we’re getting somewhere, he retreats. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong or how to reach him. I’ve never …” She stopped, frustrated by her own inability to articulate what she was feeling.
“You’ve never cared about someone like this before,” Pippa finished gently.
“No.”
“And you’ve never had to be patient with someone’s healing. You’re used to problems you can fight to the death or run from. This isn’t either of those things.”
“No. It isn’t.”
Pippa squeezed her hand. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think you’re doing anything wrong.
Rion is dealing with things none of us can fully understand.
The torture, losing his eye, his magic being locked away …
that’s a lot to process. And he’s never been good at asking for help, even before all this happened. ”
“So what am I supposed to do? Just wait? Keep showing up and hoping eventually he’ll let me in?”
“Maybe. Or maybe …” Pippa hesitated. “Maybe you need to give him space to figure things out. Not because you’re giving up, but because some things have to be worked through alone before they can be shared.”
“That’s what he said. That the work goes faster alone.”
“He might have meant more than the archive.”
Lark hadn't considered that. She turned the idea over in her mind, examining it from different angles. Was Rion’s rejection this morning about more than just research? Was he trying to create distance so he could sort through whatever was happening inside him?
It was possible. But it still hurt.
“You’re allowed to be frustrated, you know,” Pippa said, as though reading her thoughts. “You’re allowed to want more than crumbs. Just because he’s healing doesn’t mean your feelings don’t matter. It doesn’t mean you have to pretend you’re not hurting.”
“I don’t know what I’m feeling. That’s part of the problem.” Lark pulled her hand back and wrapped both hands around her cup of tea, drawing warmth from the clay. “I’ve spent most of my life not feeling things. Not letting myself get close to anyone. I don’t know how to do any of this.”
“None of us knows how to do it. That’s the secret nobody tells you.” Pippa smiled, small and rueful. “You think Darian and I have figured things out? We’re stumbling along just like everyone else. The only difference is we’re stumbling together.”
“That sounds terrifying.”
“It is. And also wonderful. Sometimes at the same time.” Pippa picked up her fork and pointed it at Lark. “Finish your pie. It’s getting cold, and we still have the hot springs to visit.”
They didn't make it to the hot springs. By the time they finished eating and wandered through a few more shops, the afternoon light was fading, and Lark found herself too tired for anything more ambitious than returning to the guesthouse.
The common room was empty when they arrived.
Darian had left a note saying he had gone to check on Barrett’s goats, which apparently required regular attention, and there was no sign of Rion.
But his door was closed, and when Lark paused in the corridor, she could see lamplight flickering in the gap beneath it.
He was back. Working, probably. Reading through what he had found in the archive, making notes, losing himself in the comfortable world of scholarship where emotions didn't complicate things.
She thought about knocking and asking about his day, whether he had found more of the founding scholar’s work, and how the research was progressing. But something held her back. Pride, maybe. Or weariness. Or that she didn’t think she could bear another polite dismissal.
Instead, she went to her own room and closed the door behind her.
She unwrapped her parcels and put everything away. The new cloak she hung on a hook by the window, the shirts and trousers she folded neatly on the chest at the foot of her bed. She draped the blue scarf over the chair.
Sane, normal actions. Nice things. Evidence that she was learning slowly, to let herself have what she wanted.
But the room still felt too quiet. The bed still felt too empty. And when she lay down and closed her eyes, all she could think about was the feeling of Rion’s arms around her, the sound of his voice speaking her name, and the cold distance that had replaced it.
Two steps forward. Two steps back.
She hoped Pippa was right. She hoped that giving him space would help, that time and patience would bring him back to her. But hope was a fragile thing, easily crushed, and tonight it felt more like a burden than a comfort.