35. Chapter 35
Isla walked beside Aurelia, trying and failing to pretend that she was a comfortable temperature as the late afternoon sun beat down on them.
Evric and Vaelin walked ahead of them, their broad shoulders blocking a bit of the wind.
Isla watched the muscles shift on Vaelin’s back through his tunic as he walked, longsword strapped across his back, forming a thick line of sweat where it lay nestled between his powerful shoulders.
She hadn’t told him about the hearing the voice again — how it had beckoned again, familiar and sweet, pulling her towards the widow’s lace, encouraging her to touch it, to run the tip of her finger over the deadly foliage.
It would only worry him, and ultimately no damage had been done.
Nonetheless, she was relieved to be free of the caves, and the strange voice that sang through its hollow chambers.
A gust of wind kicked up and Evric sighed. “Finally,” he said, voice laced with irritation.
Out of all of them, Evric seemed to be the most miserable, a fact that left Isla both pleased and perplexed.
She followed his stare to see that the winds had cleared the squall to reveal an enormous set of ruins.
Her jaw slackened. Structures lined what had clearly once been streets, sand and stone forming the skeletons of building after building.
Roofs were caved in, walls crumbling, but the bones of the settlement remained, as though long-dead ghosts fought to maintain their ancient home.
“It looks like an entire town,” Isla breathed as they continued walking, passing through what may have once been an ornate entryway.
“It is. It was,” Vaelin confirmed, having moved to her side.
“These are the ruins of Vathansa, once the second largest settlement in Dunovar,” Aurelia said, a wistfulness in her voice. “Home to some of the most celebrated artisans on the continent — glassblowers, fractal burners, stained glass painters. It was swallowed by the sands a hundred years ago.”
Vaelin added, “Dunovar used to have several inhabited settlements scattered throughout the desert. Over time, the climate became more and more hostile and the sands literally beat away at the infrastructure, crumbling it. Without reinforced perimeter walls like The City, the smaller towns crumbled.”
“You speak about it like you were there,” Isla said. Aurelia and Vaelin exchanged a glance, and Aurelia smiled at Isla. A strange look crossed Vaelin’s face as he tore his gaze from Isla’s, looking out across the ruins of Vathansa.
Isla blinked. “Oh, right,” was all she could think to say.
Of course they had been there. A hundred years within a fae’s lifespan was nothing.
She shook her head, but then something caught her eye as they moved farther into the town.
Etched into the side of a building was a shining black fissure, the sunlight glinting off of it.
She reached for it, then recoiled, pulled her hand back abruptly.
“She learns,” Vaelin said teasingly. She turned to see him smiling, and her heart seemed to miss a beat. “You can touch it,” he nodded.
“What is it?” she asked, running her fingers gingerly over the strange, shining imprint on the stone wall. It was impossibly smooth and looked almost like a gnarled branch, but flatter, hardened, and shiny.
“Uncut glass,” Vaelin told her, “It’s what happens when lightning strikes the sand.”
She laughed, glancing back at him, but his expression hadn’t changed.
“You’re serious?” she asked.
He watched her like a man starved, his chest warming at every moment of delight that crossed her face. He watched her run her fingers over the glass cut into the crumbling walls of Vathansa, a soft smile of wonderment playing on her lips.
Soon. So soon, they would be in The City. Safe, if only until they moved on to whatever was next. A welcome shiver ran down his spine in anticipation. Though it was tempered by the unwelcome reminder of their very different lifespans.
You speak about it like you were there.
He had been there. A lifetime ago, he’d walked these streets with Aurelia and Evric. Was it fair to her? To allow this thing between them to grow, to bloom, when she’d age and die before he ever bore streaks of silver in his hair? Something twisted in his chest and he winced.
She looked back to him again and he looked away, not wanting to dull her momentary happiness. Tamping down on the discomfort that bubbled low in his gut, he nodded to Evric, “Dusk isn’t far off. We’ll go survey the buildings, find the one most in-tact for us to spend the night in.”
He turned, Evric falling into step with him as they left the women standing in what once had been Vathansa’s celebrated Artist’s Row.
The wind had begun to pick up again, sending sheets of sand swirling in tiny funnel clouds throughout Vathansa.
Luckily, it hadn’t taken long for Vaelin and Evric to locate a suitable shelter for them.
Despite the minor collapse of the upper floor, it was the most structurally sound building on the street.
The main floor was in shockingly good condition, with four walls to fully shelter them from the sands, save for the odd crack in the sandstone.
A luxury compared to their last several nights.
Night was falling in earnest now, the temperature of the air falling at a speed that was still baffling to Isla.
Evric coaxed a roaring fire to life in each of the two hearths, the building filling with a welcome heat.
They set their belongings on the ground, passing around the last of their rations.
“Tomorrow, you think?” Evric asked Vaelin, the strain in his voice unmistakeable.
Vaelin nodded, “If the weather holds.”
As if it mocked him, the wind roared anew outside, the sound of the sands being hurled against the walls of the building cutting through the air as the sandstorm picked up even more. Evric laughed humourlessly.
“Fucking sands,” he muttered as he tore a chunk off of a piece of stale bread with his teeth.
“I thought the Fireborne ran hot,” Isla said.
“They do,” Evric said around his full mouth. “Why?”
Isla shrugged. “I just didn’t expect you to be so… delicate.”
Aurelia choked on her rations and Vaelin dropped his eyes to the earth, though Isla did not miss the smile he tried to hide.
Evric glared at her, his lip curling. “I’m already hot. I get any hotter, I might need you to find me some little leaf to cure what ails me.”
Isla grinned. “Shoot. I’m pretty sure there aren’t any leaves in Dunovar.”
A muscle in his jaw twitched as he ground his teeth, but she saw the reluctant amusement there as well.
“Peace, Evric,” Vaelin said quietly, the ghost of a smile still on his lips. “The sands are particularly challenging for the Fireborne — more so than for nearly all other magic wielders. Except, of course, the Waterborne.”
Isla tilted her head, “Why’s that?”
“Have you ever thrown sand on a fire?” Evric asked flatly.
“The farther I trek into this Godsforesaken realm, the more it feels like something’s pressing down on me, smothering my power.
” He raised a hand before him, turning his palm upward.
A small, precarious flame hovered there before flickering into smoke.
“It’s like trying to reach for something buried beneath layers and layers of earth.
Like… like I’ve been running for days, with no breaks, no sleep. ”
Isla bit her lip, a pang of guilt ringing through her. “How have you been keeping the fires lit?” she asked, her eyes flicking to the lit hearth.
He chuckled darkly. “I have no idea, honestly. I’m as surprised as you are. Maybe I’m just that powerful.” He smirked at her, and she felt her own lips curve in answer.
As the room darkened around them, they fell into a companionable silence listening to the wind roar.
As it so often did, Isla found her gaze drawn to Vaelin.
He was looking at her, a strange, shadowed expression looming in his eyes that looked almost regretful.
She tilted her head questioningly and he looked away, rising to his feet suddenly.
“There are two hearths, in here and in the bedroom,” he said, pointing to a rotted wood doors with badly rusted hinges. “You two should take the bedroom — it will be warmest in the smaller space,” he said, motioning to Isla and Aurelia. “Evric and I will be fine out here. I’ll take first watch.”
He crossed the room, pulling the hood of his cloak up. A fresh wave of sand blew into the room as he pulled open the door, and Evric muttered a curse under his breath. Then Vaelin stepped out into the storm, pulling the door closed behind him with no small amount of effort.
For a beat, Isla just watched him go. Then she stood, hurrying after him before she could think better of it.
He stood just steps from the main door of the building, under a partially collapsed awning as he prepared to step into the storm in earnest. The wind sent waves of sands whipping around him, so thick that visibility was poor, but Vaelin barely noticed, his thoughts swirling even more wildly.
You speak about it like you were there.
That statement kept ringing in his head like a bell stuck over and over, clanging jarringly through his chest. How old was she, anyway? He had never even thought to ask. Twenty-five? And him, well over a hundred. He had seen decades she knew nothing of.
He scrubbed a hand over his face, then tugged his scarf up above his nose.
Even with the wind and sands accosting him, he could still feel every place she had ever touched him like a brand.
Her fingers intertwined with his own, the hand he’d closed around her wrist as he’d stopped her from touching the widow’s lace, his arm wrapped around her waist. He stepped into the storm, making it only a few steps before her voice cut through the wind as easily as a blade through silk, as though he had been listening for it..
“Vaelin.”
She stood beneath the awning, arms wrapped around herself. He moved towards her like a moth drawn to a flame, tugging down his scarf to speak, but she beat him to it.
“Don’t,” she said, almost pleadingly. “Please.”
He paused, hand still on the scarf that now hung around his neck. His brow creased. “Don’t what?”
“Don’t pull away again.”
For a moment it felt like he’d forgotten how to breathe. The words seemed to spill out of her, as though she’d hurried to say them before she could stop herself from doing so. She let her arms fall to her sides and he glanced down to see her spinning her mother’s ring nervously. He moved closer.
“After the bridge,” she said, the words tumbling out of her, “You wouldn’t even look at me. I thought you were mad. Again, I’d nearly cost you your life — twice in nearly as many days.”
He opened his mouth, an argument on his lips, but she ploughed on “But then the shadow wolf attacked and you looked at me and—” she swallowed.
“I know you feel it, too. Whatever this is,” her voice strained with what seemed oddly like nervousness, like fear — as though she doubted the undeniable pull he felt toward her, the irrefutable desire that flooded his veins, his eyes, his soul when he looked at her.
His own voice was low and measured, her words like a knife and balm to his chest all at once. “When you pulled away on that plateau, I thought—”
“I know,” she said, cutting him off.
He dragged in a shaky breath, his chest rising and falling with an ache. “I didn’t want to push you.”
“I know,” she said again, a small smile ghosting across her lips. They held each other’s gaze for a heartbeat. Two. Three.
Then she spoke, breaking the silence, “Just… don’t shut me out again.”
His eyes raked over her face, from that scar above her eyebrow, over the curve of her cheek and jaw, snagging on her lips.
He ached to close the distance between them, both his blood and his magic humming to a song he’d never heard.
He reached out a hand, gently brushing her cheek with the backs of his fingers.
“I won’t,” he promised, and turned back to the storm.