Chapter Twenty-Four #3
My eyes move quickly past the half-sirens holding court by the spring.
The dense throng of admirers has only grown since I last looked their way.
I’d finally been introduced to Tethys a few hours before.
She is no less attractive than her twin, with the same voluptuous body and voluminous curls, but her temperament is somewhat softer.
Tethys has a tendency to fade into the shadows while Melité actively seeks the spotlight.
When she feels my gaze, her black eyes move to mine.
No whites are visible around the irises—they are two glossy pools of octopus ink that, like her smile, lack all warmth.
Her skin, though luminous, never loses that eerie blue sheen that brings to mind the scales of a fish.
She cants her head in greeting, exposing the long column of her neck, and I see a series of deep gouges on either side.
Gills.
I force a wan smile in return and keep moving.
My eyes continue to scan the crowd until I reach the far side of the gardens.
It’s less crowded here, but I hear the occasional love-laced sigh sounding from the foliage as I move onto the darkened path.
More than a few couples have snuck off for a bit of privacy—Bretiax and Jac among them, I realize as I round a bend and spot them pressed tight together by a large jasmine shrub, hands exploring each other’s bodies in a way that requires no shared language skills.
My cheeks heat as I avert my gaze. Hurrying my pace, I follow the mellow glow of lanterns to the aviary, praying I will not find it occupied by another groping pair.
I’m nearly there when I trip over something that sends me sprawling face-first onto the path.
I curse as I catch myself, palms planting on the mossy earth.
My oath is quickly overtaken by a series of deep chuckles. “That was elegant.”
Dusting dirt from my skirts, I turn toward the familiar voice.
My eyes track the long lengths of two booted legs—the source of my trip—up the wide planes of a chest in a dark teal tunic.
It’s Vaughn, his huge form slumped against the base of a palm, his back pressed to the trunk as he nurses a heavy goblet of what I’m guessing is Titan gin, judging by his red-rimmed eyes.
“Vaughn. Sorry, didn’t see you there.”
“Not me you’re looking for, though, is it?”
My nose scrunches in confusion. “Pardon?”
“He’s not here.”
“What? Who?”
“Soren. He’s not here.” He pauses to take a sip. “He’s who you’re looking for, isn’t he?”
I stare at him. “I was just getting some air.”
“Right. That’s what he said, too.” The ghost of a smile crosses his face. “If you feel like getting some air together, you could probably find him at the sea organ. It’ll be abandoned tonight with the celebrations raging in the center of the city.”
My mouth parts to retort, then closes again before a single sound escapes.
“Don’t tell him I sent you,” he orders gruffly, still grinning. “Unless it goes well. In which case, I expect full credit.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you don’t. Forget I said anything.”
His laughter rings in my ears as I start down the path again. I forgo the aviary altogether, abruptly too restless to stop moving. My pulse is pounding far too quickly for no reason at all. A panicky sort of energy sizzles through my veins. One I cannot account for.
I’m simply going to clear my head, as I told Cadogan. I want a quiet place to contemplate my correspondence. I have absolutely no intentions of tracking anyone down. Least of all someone who does not wish to be found.
Soren wants to be alone.
I should respect that.
I will respect that.
My thoughts are a tangle of contradictions as I walk aimlessly through the moonlit gardens, watching fyrewisps flash a rainbow of hues among the heavenly white florals.
I’m not paying much attention to my overall direction, sandled feet taking turns at random.
Before I know it, the gardens have fallen away and I’m passing through the lemon grove, then opening the warded gate that leads out onto the upper ramparts.
The night presses close as I make my way along the top of the walls, passing by several guard posts, where uniformed Hylians stare soberly out at the dark sea as sounds of distant celebration echo from the city below.
Otherwise, there’s hardly a soul around.
Like Vaughn mentioned, most everyone is gathered at the crux of the canals tonight.
My favorite bench by the Westerly Beacon is, unsurprisingly, unoccupied.
I settle onto it, thankful they’ve lit the torches atop the walls even if there’s no one else around to use them.
For a few moments, I stare out at the ebony ocean, listening to the crash of swells against stone, imploring my nerves to settle.
I still feel strangely jittery as I work one fingertip beneath the wax seal of the letter, prying it loose.
Allowing the parchment to furl open, my eyes drink in the fluid elegance of Carys’s words.
Dearest Rhya,
I have two favors to ask of you in this letter.
The first is that you forgive me for not writing back sooner. I assure you, your letters were not cast into the flames, as you feared, but savored, word by word, sentence by sentence.
I have loved reading of your new life in Hylios.
The shops you described sound amazing. I imagine I could learn a lot from Ll?r’s most talented craftsmen.
I hope I’ll get to visit someday. In the interim, maybe you can send a sample of the glyphed fabric you described so I can study it for my own designs?
I haven’t touched my needles in ages, but lately I’ve had the urge to pick them up again.
I confess, it’s been difficult to see through the fog of grief. I think it will always be difficult. That fog will never lift, not truly.
But my eyes are beginning to adapt.
When I looked around a fortnight ago and realized you were no longer in Caeldera, I was disappointed in myself. I cannot help feeling that I played some small part in your leaving. Or in your staying away.
In my sorrow, I withdrew from our friendship. I closed the door and kept it bolted against all chances at reconciliation. I cannot deny my actions or undo them. I can only attempt to explain my reasons, for they are not what you think.
I do not hold you responsible for what happened to Uther. Not for any of it, darling girl. The idea of you carrying the burden of his death breaks my heart. And, frankly, if Uther knew you were blaming yourself, he would be furious.
Twice now you’ve saved the lives of me and my son—the day he came into this world and the day his father fled it. Without you, neither Nevin nor I would still be here.
Our savior, twice over.
That is who you are to my family.
That is what you mean to me.
Please do not ever allow yourself to think otherwise.
I must also thank you for sending Lestyn into our lives.
At first, his unexpected appearances barely registered in my mind.
But over these past few weeks, I’ve made more of an effort to get to know the boy.
When I discovered he’d lost his parents on Fyremas, and learned he’d been sleeping at the infirmary most nights…
Well, I simply couldn’t allow that to go on. After some persuading, he’s agreed to take up the second bedroom in the apartments above my shop. Temporarily. (Or so he believes.)
I intend to keep him with us. He needs a guardian in his life besides Osain, that great curmudgeon. And, to be honest, I need a distraction from the grimness of my thoughts.
Thankfully, the nonstop prattling of a thirteen-year-old proves a perfect remedy.
These days, laughter fills rooms where, for months, there has only been quiet.
Already, he treats Nevin like a little brother.
We are, in this strange new reality, building a different sort of family.
Not the one I’d pictured for myself, perhaps, but one I need all the same.
Which brings me to the second favor I must ask you.
I know you’re likely bracing for me to beg you to return home to Caeldera, or to give our beloved, pigheaded Pendefyre a chance to explain why he’s been acting like the king of fools when it comes to you.
(I’ll save that for my next letter.)
For now, I simply want you to promise me something. Promise me you will not waste time. Not an hour of it. Not a minute. Promise me you will live, Rhya. Fully, freely. Regardless of what anyone else says, or thinks, or expects of you.
If losing Uther has taught me anything, it is that life is cruelly short, and unimaginably hard.
The losses never cease coming, no matter how intolerable.
We cannot stop them. All we can do is try to make them worthwhile while we are still here on this earth.
We can reap such immeasurable joy, it outweighs the inevitable pain.
I think of my husband, and though the agony has not dimmed, I would not wish it away. Even knowing I would lose him so soon, looking back at my life, I would not make any different choices.
How blessed was I to know a love so powerful, it is embedded in my very bones? How lucky to have shared a connection so deep, it remains even when my beloved does not?
That is my greatest wish for you, Rhya.
To live so authentically, and love so completely, no ending can erase your mark on this world.
Find a purpose that fills your soul, and people who patch the cracks in your heart. Find a joy that makes all this inevitable suffering worthwhile. Find a love that burns so bright, it lingers even when the world turns darkest.
Do it now.
While you still have time.
All my love,
Carys
My heart is thumping twice its typical tempo as I carefully fold the letter and tuck it into the pocket of my gown. Between my ears, a buzz of static erodes all rational thought as I rise slowly from the bench and start walking.
I cannot think.
More accurately, I do not let myself think. I am caught up in the urge to act upon my dear friend’s advice.
To live.
Live now.
Before my chance slips away with the dawn.