27. The Promise #2
He grimaced slightly, but he doused his frustration with a sigh. “Nothing. That was Petra’s gift, but she’d rather die than have anything to do with her family.” He grabbed a blanket from the edge of a chair and made his way toward her. “I’m sorry, Florabelle. I would if I could.”
Of course, she knew he was lying. Gingerly, he laid the blanket over her shoulders, careful not to touch her skin.
“Let me know if you ever change your mind,” he whispered. “I can make this so much easier on you. But I will not do it without your say.”
“Thank you,” she said, and in that moment, she meant it.
Flora stared up at the wooden beams of the bedroom, with strange and charming sculptures of woodland creatures hanging from hooks, wondering why exactly she wouldn’t accept Siren’s offer.
If her fate was inevitable, why would she choose to spend her final days drowned by dread and regret?
She was still holding onto the hope that she might make it out of Night Sky Forest, that she might open her eyes and hug her parents again, and that the pathetic little dream of growing old in Sanao Village wasn’t just a fantasy.
But, what if all those little hopes served no purpose other than to deepen her misery?
Wasn’t it already apparent that she was destined to be nothing more than another ghost to haunt Noec? As if he didn’t have enough already.
Flora unlocked the door. The stone floor was cold against her feet as she stepped out.
“Siren?” she called out into the main room. She could see a silhouette stir on the bed in the kitchen. She crept forward until she could finally make out his face, half swallowed by a pillow with frizzy strands in his eye.
“Florabelle?” he whispered, his dark figure sitting up. “What are you doing awake?”
“I couldn’t sleep,” she said, sitting at the edge of the bed. “And it’s left me thinking... about your offer.”
“I see,” he said, with a dreamy lethargy still in his voice as he unravelled himself from the blankets and came to sit at her side, his gray pants unevenly rolled to his calves.
“I think I’d like to let go—of the fear, and the guilt,” she said, gripping the sheets tightly beneath her hands. If these were her last days, why should she spend them in turmoil?
“Are you sure?” he whispered.
She turned to face him, the yellow of his eyes like a flame of their own. Flora nodded, a tear dripping from the corner of her eye.
Gently, he placed his hand against her cheek and closed his eyes. She felt the tightness in her lungs begin to ease, and the fear of tomorrow began to fade into emptiness.
He opened his fiery eyes, and suddenly she was overwhelmed. Pity, confusion, and even something like fondness.
Siren gasped and pulled his hand away, guilt in his eyes. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. That wasn’t supposed to?—”
“Thank you,” she said quietly. “I feel like I can breathe again.”
He sighed and nodded, looking up as though there was something he should say, his typically neat hair disheveled. “It’s only temporary,” he added. “But it will get you through tomorrow.”
She nodded and thanked him again as she rose to her feet, wondering if tomorrow was all she had.
Whatever pity Siren had inadvertently bestowed on Flora, it followed her into the morning.
She emerged from the bedroom and saw him sitting quietly by a window, sipping a cup of tea.
The sight of him alone brought some sort of sorrow, and as he set his cup down, she saw him swallow a thought, looking wistfully out at nothing at all.
Though, as soon as he heard her coming, his forlorn countenance shifted into a coy smirk.
“Morning, love,” he said. “Join me, if you’d like.” He gestured to the empty chair across from him. Flora eased into the faded floral patterns of the cushion, shuffling awkwardly as he looked her up and down.
He lifted his cup to take another sip, and Flora was taken aback.
“Made in China” said the words on the bottom of the ceramic mug.
Flora blinked.
“How long have you been out here?”
He cocked his head and answered, “Forever, I think. As long as I can remember.”
“You grew up here?”
“Yes. Me and my sister.” His fingertip swirled around the edge of his cup.
“Petra.”
“Correct,” he said, tugging at the black cord of his necklace. “And I’d be lying if I said you don’t remind me of her.”
“And you rarely interact with anyone else on the outside?”
His smirk deepened as he replied, “I’ve been known to dip my toes in Emyrian frivolities, though I find my place in this world to be here, in these woods.”
“Because your mother is here.”
“I... yes, I suppose.”
“And your father, your father was Azura, the mage with eyes of fire?”
He raised a curious brow. “You’ve deduced quite a bit in your short time here. Consider me impressed.”
“So that leaves your mother, who you’re sacrificing me to today.”
He paused, his smirk wiped clean off. “I wouldn’t say that’s what we’re doing today.”
“But she is the last Sleepwalker, isn’t she?”
He set his mug back down on the table, his gaze rolling lazily between the window and her. “What makes you say that?”
Flora pointed to his hands. “When you saw Noec, your fingertips shifted, but the rest of you didn’t.” Sparks burst from Flora’s fingers as she waved bladed claws before her face. “Claws with no talons, just like mine. Whatever is different about me is different about you, too.”
“Quite a catch,” he muttered, unimpressed, resuming his absent gazing out into darkness.
“So yes, then,” she said, leaning back in her chair. He offered her another bored look, but didn’t reply. She began to feel that she was walking on thin ice, so she poured herself her own cup and looked out at nothing alongside him.
Confusion, that was the other thing she felt.
“Humane” he had called his intentions for her, as though he had found a humane way to put down a wild animal.
But he was clearly disturbed by the sight of her discomfort.
Even on the day they met, he had carried her to safety, apologizing for the wounds he had played some role in inflicting.
And since the day she let Noec go, he had insisted that she abuse his powers to ease her suffering.
The fear she had felt yesterday had shifted into curiosity, and she saw a flush wash over his face as he noticed her watching him. The glare of his eye caught her.
“Yes?” he asked, gripping the mug with two hands that she knew to be empty.
“So people wander into your Forest, and you just... snatch them up?”
He laughed. “Snatch them up? Goodness, you really do think so little of me.”
“Wouldn’t you?”
“I suppose if I was lied to my whole life, sure.” He bit down on his laugh. “I told you, I’m not some reaper running around harvesting souls. People come into these woods, lost or otherwise, and I offer them options.”
“Join me or die?”
Siren smiled and huffed at that. He replied, “Option one: leave. Most people take that one. Option two: join me, and be free of all your earthly sufferings. Option three: keep walking until my mother finds you.”
“And your mother is the “or die” part of things?”
“... more often than not, yes.”
“Maybe I should’ve made cookies or something. Get on her good side.”
He burst into laughter, a hint of genuineness that surprised her enough to smile.