Chapter 39 #2
After a brief awkward silence, Owen urged both of the women to sit and eat.
Nymiria sat at the far end of the table, watching with warm eyes as Owen slid into place between them.
Food and drink, Nymiria learned, was not so much of a necessity as it was a treat.
They did not need it in the Otherworld, but it was something to offer comfort to the wandering souls that hadn’t been ready to transition.
Many chose to stay in this place, finding it more comfortable than the idea of vast nothingness and endless rest.
They ate peacefully, none of them speaking until their plates were cleared and the tea had all but gone cold. Eevyan looked at Nymiria as if she wanted to ask her a thousand questions, but was far too shy.
Owen, seeing the look on the young woman’s face, placed his hand over hers and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Eevyan was a princess, too.” He explained joyously. “She was killed, used in a scheme to fake her cousin’s death.”
Nymiria’s throat felt as if it was swelling, as if she could have choked if there had been anything in her mouth to choke on. “That’s—good gods, that’s horrible.” She managed, meeting the young woman’s gaze. “How old were you?”
“I was twenty.” Eevyan’s voice was deep and soothing, but it was one of those voices that exuded authority and class.
She’d been coached, it seemed, to say and do all of the right things at the right time, to speak properly and enunciate, though her accent was quite thick.
Nymiria couldn’t quite place it. “My cousin was sold in secret by the man she believed to be her father. They needed a body in order to fake her death.” She said it as if it mattered very little, her face void of emotion as she lifted her tea to her lips. “It happens.”
Though it was horribly tragic, Nymiria could not stop herself from releasing a small and nervous chuckle. “Being born into royalty is often like that, I suppose.”
Eevyan smiled. “Burden of the crown.” A woman of few words, but with a biting sense of humor. Nymiria was delightfully pleased.
As time passed and the sun began to change positions in the sky, their conversation continued.
Nymiria learned of Eevyan’s life, how she was born in an underground kingdom, never allowed to leave until she became of age.
It was only then that she was able to convince her uncle, another king, to allow her into his kingdom to continue her education.
She’d wanted to become a historian, to work in the temples she’d only ever had the chance to read about in books.
She traveled the entire continent gathering stories and lessons—even began writing her own collection of legends and artifacts that she wanted to present to her tutors back at the temple.
“I was a smart woman.” Eevysan said sadly. “Far too smart for my own good. It was probably what landed me in so much trouble.” Nymiria nodded slowly, unsure of how to respond.
Even with such enriching company and conversation, the sense of unease that encompassed her was becoming too loud to ignore.
She half-listened to Eevyan telling the story of how Owen stumbled upon her in her cave, which was unfortunately the only place she felt at home in this realm.
It was to be expected, Nymiria supposed, that a woman who’d grown up in an underground kingdom would feel most at home nestled as close to the belly of the earth as she could get.
There was great unrest inside of her as Nymiria watched them speak to one another— from the gentleness of Owen’s hands as they cupped Eevyan’s, the softening of his eyes when she smiled at him. Nymiria’s thoughts turned to memories, a delicate dissection of moments she’d spent with Aziel.
She remembered how his hands flexed when he was overwhelmed with emotions.
She remembered how, even with all of his apparent confidence, there was always a flicker of worry that shadowed his eyes when he slipped his gloves off of his hands.
She remembered their first kiss and the boldness he exuded, the way he’d commanded her lips with such skill that it had awakened something inside of her that slumbered deep in her soul—how every moment, every touch, every look, and every breath had roused a passion in her that’d been just as terrifying as it had been a relief.
There was not a specific instance that she could think of that made her fall in love with him—it was just something that was.
An instinct. Like how a freshly born mammal, of any sort, imprinted upon the closest thing to them.
She’d never put much thought into the intricacies of their mating bond nor the notion that her feelings were a product of it, as she’d felt that deep longing for his presence even before she met him.
There had always been something missing in her core, but when she looked at him in the forest, her body still humming with the remnants of her release, looking terrified for her and not of, she realized that it’d always been love, after all.
Not just a mating bond. Not just a friendship. Nymiria was in love with him. And she’d been a fool to ever assume and force herself to believe that she hadn’t been.
If all of her attempts at fighting Fate failed and the only things she had to cling to were moments filled with self-consuming guilt and shattered hearts, it wouldn’t have been fair at all.
Nymiria wanted to show Aziel the love he deserved, she wanted to rebuild the foundation they started with a passion that didn’t leave a blistering wound in its wake.
She wanted to fortify a sanctuary that was theirs and theirs alone.
She wanted to mold each brick of that home with tenderness and care instead of impulse and anger.
She wanted to look at Aziel with the same sort of softness that Owen looked at Eevyan with.
She wanted to live.
She wanted to love.
If the purpose of her existence was reshaped and whittled down to but a figment of the promise it held before her death, she would suffice in knowing that she’d returned with a fierce vengeance, a determination to love those who had so thoroughly and stubbornly loved her.
And they had—not just when they believed she deserved it, and she certainly hadn’t done enough right in her life to have deserved very much at all, but they’d loved her nonetheless.
Eevyan carried their dishes off to the kitchen, humming as she pumped water into the tub beneath the spigot. Nymiria turned to Owen then, extending her hand just enough to lightly touch his arm. He looked at her tenderly, almost solemnly.
“Do you think that I will be a good goddess, Owen?” She asked. “If I go back and am allowed to fulfill this blessing that has been bestowed upon me, do you think that I would be just in the things I do?”
He surveyed her for a moment, a small smile forming on his face.
“Nymiria, I’ve always believed in you. I wouldn’t have worked so hard to keep you from harming yourself if I hadn’t.
I don’t think you realize just how many people you’ve saved just by being who you are.
” He covered her hand with his, squeezing it gently.
“Everything you invested yourself in came to life, even if it didn’t deserve it.
As horrible of a man as Dorid Yaarborough was, I don’t think I ever saw him look quite as happy as he did in your presence.
His eyes shone brighter, his skin had more color.
And when you left Yaar, everything in the kingdom began to crumble and wither.
You didn’t see it, but even the grass began to die. ”
Nymiria remembered thinking that the palace looked far more lackluster than it’d been before.
She remembered seeing how awful Dorid looked on his throne, how weak and pitiful he seemed.
She only assumed it’d been because of what Aziel did to him and the war, she never would have imagined the life leaving Yaar had been because of her—because she’d taken every ounce of it with her when she left.
“There are so many things that I need to do.” She said softly.
Owen had every intention of saying something supportive to lift her spirits, but the moment his mouth opened, the door to the cabin opened to reveal a dark, looming form that sent shivers down their spines.
Eevyan paused in her work, her eyes going wide when she saw the man.
His body was covered in silver markings, his dark hair braided back to reveal sharp and chiseled facial features.
His aura was saturated with power. Even though his form was not entirely life-like and he dwindled somewhere between the realm of Life and Death, his identity was unmistakable.
She would know that sort of power anywhere.
His dark eyes scanned the cabin, finally landing on Nymiria. She went still, her brow drawing together when he stepped towards her. “Come with me.” Teigh snarled.