Chapter 38 #2
Aziel opened his mouth, fully prepared to tell her that he, again, did not care.
None of it mattered—none of it would be worth anything to him without her.
She’d been the one he built this life for.
Without her, it meant nothing. He may as well have plunged the blade into his heart, himself.
But then someone spoke. A small voice that was barely audible, but loud enough to draw their attention.
His heart sank when he saw Raven standing in the threshold, his hair giving off a purple sheen in the light. “If you will not save her for him… then do it for me.” He said, louder this time. “I’ll offer my own Grace—”
“Raven, no—” Trio began, but one sharp look from the child had his mouth snapping shut.
“She’s my sister,” the boy continued. “And our father is old. When nature claims him, there will be no one left that I share blood with. I… I really don’t like the idea of being alone one day.”
Thousands of moments.
Thousands of memories.
Flowers. Darkness. Scarred hands digging through the black, trying and failing to latch on to her as she fell. A key, a lock, a gate, a garden. Silver hair in grey morning light. A sneer, a laugh—him turning his head to hide his smile. His eyes full of concern, his eyes full of desire.
“I love you.”
“This is yours.”
“My home.”
Home.
She wasn’t home, but it felt similar. It was so cold before.
She’d been surrounded by so much fear and confusion and grief.
There was so much guilt from that place, so much anger.
She remembered the weight of it all feeling so heavy.
She remembered the pain of having to bear that load day after day, the tears she shed into satin-covered pillow casings, the days spent looking in the mirror and hating the face that stared back at her.
She remembered praying—hoping that there was someone out there listening to her heartache, hearing her sorrow, and would eventually bring an end to it all.
She remembered digging her fingers into the dirt, scooping clumps and clumps of soil and clay out of the earth until her fingernails snapped and cracked.
She remembered dragging his body through the rain, kissing the cold and waxy skin that would have burned had she not saved him in time.
She remembered covering him in a blanket, tucking him into his grave.
And now… now he was pulling her out of water that didn’t feel much like water at all, but rather like warm, silk sheets.
He was pulling her out, wrapping her in a blanket and whispering her name.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he said, shaking his head back and forth.
His golden brown curls gleamed in the sunlight, his green eyes frantic as they looked over her.
“You don’t belong here, Nym—you shouldn’t be here.
” He was patting her dry and then dragging her towards the cabin by the river, shoving her inside.
The place felt familiar, but she couldn’t place it. Nymiria wondered, perhaps, if it was a distant memory or if it had merely been a story.
Yes.
It was a story.
Owen forced her to sit at the large wooden table that rested underneath the large window that overlooked the river.
Her eyes drifted to the markings etched into the surface—scratches and gashes in the wood from years of use, years of meals shared at this very table.
Her fingers traced over the letters carved into the edge, the names of the family that once filled the chairs.
When she turned and began to actually take in her surroundings, she saw the dried flowers hanging like garland along the mantle above the stone hearth.
She saw wooden figurines lining shelves—a mixture of animals, humans, and Mystic creatures, alike.
Sitting by the fire, was an upholstered chair with a worn, flannel blanket slung over the fraying armrest. Beside it, on a small round table, was a stack of books and melted candles, the wax from them having formed small puddles on the wooden floor below.
The hallway behind her gave way to two bedrooms, but only one of the doors was left open. Owen’s form appeared in the open doorway, his eyes focused on a stack of clothes held tight in his hands. When he turned towards the main room of the home and saw her staring at him, Owen paused.
“This is your home.” She said softly. “The one you lived in before your parents went to work for Dorid?”
Nymiria was not sure how death worked, but all of Owen’s mannerisms remained the same.
There was nothing that had changed about him at all.
Here, wherever they were, he looked as whole as he had the day she killed him.
He hesitated, nervously wetting his lips.
“Yes,” he began, awkwardly lifting the stack of clothes.
“I have something for you to change into. It’s nothing special, but I assume you wouldn’t want to be in that dress forever. ”
Forever?
She looked out of the window again, expecting to feel some sort of fear when she saw the large mountainous form looming over the landscape. “I died.” She said softly, her movements slow when she turned back to him. “Did I die?”
Owen’s face twitched with a kaleidoscope of emotions, his grip of the clothing growing tighter. “That would be the only reason you’re here.” He confirmed quietly. “But, I don’t understand—”
“I heard Dieve say something before I slipped away,” she confessed. “Aziel took Everand’s life and his name was not on Aziel’s toll. Dieve said that the price must be paid in double.”
The clothes were placed on the table and Owen’s strong arms were wrapping around her, lifting her to feet.
Nymiria could feel the strength of his arms, could smell the scent that had once comforted her tired heart.
Owen always smelled of cedar and unsmoked tobacco, with a small trace of yellowing book pages lingering on his fingers.
In the summer, he smelled like honey. There had always been a very thick, sweet smell that clung to him.
But the thing that frightened her most was that she could feel no warmth on his skin. It wasn’t cold—it just was.
He heaved a long sigh, hands smoothing over her back before he pulled away from her, putting a great amount of distance between them, as if he’d heard her terrified thoughts.
He took a seat in the old worn chair, his head falling into his hands.
“It wasn’t supposed to be this way. He was supposed to protect you. ”
“He was protecting me.” She snapped. “He did. It was all he ever did, Owen.”
Green eyes flickered up to meet hers, ignoring the bite in her tone. “But because he is a glutton for punishment and justice, you are here.”
“Is that such a bad thing? He killed a very bad man.”
“And endangered you in the process.”
Her eyes narrowed. “It was my idea. Everything that happened—it was a plan I’d come up with.”
“Killing Everand was your plan?”
“Well—no. But you don’t understand…” His jaw flexed at her confirmation, hands curling to fists on his thighs. “I have to go back.” She said more firmly. “I am going back. This cannot be it. This cannot be the way it ends.”
“A lot of souls feel that way when they first arrive here.” He stated blandly, shoving himself to his feet and walking towards the arched threshold that led into the kitchen.
Nymiria trailed along behind him, watching as he grabbed a cooking pan from the wooden rack that hung above the woodstove.
He must have assumed she’d followed him, because he kept talking.
“You can’t go back. You have no idea how many times I’ve watched souls try to swim back upstream—how many times I’d attempted it myself.
There is no way to get back.” He moved to the water pump on the far side of the kitchen, working the handle up and down until spurts of water began to fill the pan.
Once full, he walked it back to the already-lit woodstove.
“Owen, I can’t stay here!” She exclaimed, her frustration and fear gathering a lump in her throat. He gave no impression that he was listening, his eyes fixed solely on his task. Silence stretched between them as he took down a cloth satchel of dried herbs and plopped it into the water. “Owen!”
When he turned to her again, she saw the haggard look he wore, the confliction in his eyes. Her stomach sank. “The only way you can go back is if someone saves you.” His voice was quiet, but quivered. “The only way someone can save you is sacrifice, Nym.”
If Nymiria had the ability to breathe, she was sure her breath would have caught in her throat.
She forced herself to look away from him, not wanting him to see the tears forming in her eyes.
But Owen knew her. He knew her entirely, how much she hated for people to see her feeling sorry for herself.
The only time she ever allowed herself to feel much was when she was alone.
He didn’t pester her, nor did he follow her when she turned and walked out of the kitchen.
But Aziel…
She’d never been afraid to show him what that pain looked like.
Even though she tried to shy away from showing him the side of herself that felt so deeply, he always managed to see it anyway.
Eventually, she stopped caring if he saw her sad or angry.
She stopped feeling as if he would judge her for feeling things.
“I’m going back.” She whispered, almost to herself.
Gritting her teeth, Nymiria shucked the blanket from her shoulders and stomped towards the door of the cabin.
Aziel fought so hard for her. He’d done so many unspeakable things to keep her safe—he’d built a kingdom for her so that she could have a home.
Even if she swam against that current for all eternity, she could at least say that she fought for him, that she tried. “I’m going back.”
Bare feet gliding across the soft, green grass, she ran towards the river. Wind filled her ears, her eyes fixed upon the crystalline waters that flowed in the direction of the dark, ominous mountain range to the west of where she stood.
She paused, fear flooding her gut, before she screamed and dove into the waters down below.