31. Chapter 31 #3
He had sensed, more than heard, Evric emerge from the pines and step on to the plateau. The fae came to a halt next to Vaelin, arms folded across his chest.
“Don’t,” Vaelin pleaded.
His friend laughed, undeterred. He dropped to the rocky earth next to Vaelin, smirking as he rolled a pebble between his fingers. The seconds passed in silence, and Vaelin frowned.
“Gods have mercy, spit it out, Evric.”
Evric cast his gaze out over the mountain peaks where stars littered the open skies. He shifted subtly as though weighing his next words carefully.
“I’ve seen you lead the charge headlong into a horde of shifters, unflinching in the face of unmeasurable odds. I’ve seen you process trauma, loss, grief…” he trailed off, “But I’ve never seen you like that.”
Vaelin flinched as the memory of Isla on the bridge punched through him again like an arrow to a lung. Trembling, shaking her head, inches from stumbling, death yawning on either side of her. He shook his head in frustration.
“And?”
"Your vision," Evric said, and Vaelin met his eyes, "You said you came away from it certain Isla was the key to finding the cure to this illness… maybe to stopping this entire thing, whatever storm it is that’s barreling toward us."
After a moment of stillness, Vaelin nodded tightly.
"What if…" Evric trailed off, wincing as though struggling to finish his thought. “What if her role in all this is different than you think.”
Vaelin stared at him, silent as stone, waiting for the drop.
Evric met his eyes, expression grim and threaded with concern. “What if she dies?"
“I won't let that happen,” Vaelin said without hesitation.
“What if she has to die?” His voice was gentle, but Vaelin recoiled as if Evric had struck him.
“What if,” Evric continued gravely, “her death is the key to staving off this calamity?”
“She's a healer - a human healer,” Vaelin snarled, his words echoing Isla's own from what felt like weeks - months - earlier. “She has no magic, no secret power, or knowledge, or lineage. How could her death possibly be the key to quelling whatever this Godsforesaken storm is?”
“I don’t know,” Evric said earnestly. “But prophecies, visions… they are often misinterpreted. I don’t want you be blindsided.”
Vaelin ground his teeth, fingernails cutting into his palms as he tamped down an almost overwhelming urge to draw his weapon. It wasn’t Evric’s fault, and worse, he was right — prophecies were notoriously unpredictable and difficult to untangle.
Lopsided grin back in place, Evric clapped Vaelin on the shoulder, jostling his body enough to force some of the tension from it. “Let me take watch,” he said. “You could use the extra rest — you look like shit. Like someone punched you in the face. Twice.”
Vaelin had trudged back to the campsite, leaving Evric on the mountain’s edge and trying to quiet the irritability that burned beneath his skin in response to his friend’s caution.
Aurelia and Isla had laid out bedrolls for them all around the fire, the steady rise and fall of Aurelia’s chest indicating she’d already fallen asleep.
His brows pinched together, concern for her blooming once again.
His eyes slid to the empty bedroll that lay between the two women, and he sighed, suddenly noticing the fatigue in his muscles.
A slight movement caught his eye, and his eyes slid to Isla, his chest seeming to warm and cool simultaneously. She wasn’t quite asleep yet, he knew, but he moved quietly anyway.
Almost silently, he stretched out on the bedroll next to hers, an arm slung over his head as he closed his eyes, and listened to her steady breathing.
He hadn’t met her eyes since the bridge, since she’d pulled away on that plateau.
If he did, he might never look away again.
He was sure he would reach for her, the desire to touch her almost overwhelming — but he wouldn’t.
He would respect her boundaries. In Brackenford, she’d pulled him from the throes of a nightmare with a gentle touch that had felt like an inescapable summons.
He’d turned away from her then, too — even then, fearful of his growing affection for her.
Beside him, she rolled onto her side, and he felt her eyes trace the profile of his face like a brand. He didn’t open his eyes, or give any indication he was even aware of her stare, but somehow she seemed to know he was listening. “Thank you. Again,” she said softly.
A moment of silence passed, stretching between them. She didn’t clarify what she was thanking him for, but he knew. She would have died on that bridge had he not forced her across it with some combination of stubbornness and sheer willpower.
He didn’t speak, didn’t move. Just breathed. He felt her accept his silence, and risked a quick glance at her face, wincing at the depth of sadness and regret he saw pulling at her features, even with her eyes closed.
“Sleep, Isla,” he murmured into the night, and felt something in his chest glow as her lips curved up in a sleepy smile, before her breathing slowed to a steady rise and fall as sleep took her.