Chapter Twenty-Two

CHAPTER

TWENTY-TWO

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M Y LAUGHTER HAUNTS ME LIKE A GHOST, AND EVERYTHING around me feels as if it's stuck in syrup, moving slowly. In Aestilian, I felt stagnant. But right now, I feel trapped in my own mind, slowly watching the castle crumble and windows shatter as I try to hold myself together.

The pain in my chest isn't from the bond, it's from loss. The theft of time. The fear of failure. The wind flows through the creaky trees toward Imirath, but I remain here, miles away from the creatures I saw so vividly it was like they were in front of me.

I have the overwhelming feeling of wanting to go home but not knowing where home is. A blanket is wrapped around my shoulders, snapping me out of my thoughts. I glance behind me, not realizing Cayden moved from his place by the fire.

"You're trembling." He runs his hands down my arms, and I do my best to keep my emotions contained, hating that I feel I'm on the verge of crying in front of him again.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, not really sure what exactly I'm apologizing for. Not being okay? Being too emotional?

His lips turn down in displeasure. "You've never apologized to me before today, so don't start now. Especially not over what you're feeling."

"I'll be better the next time I see the dragons. I can hold myself together. I was just shocked and unprepared." The words rush out of me in defense, though I'm not defending myself from anything other than the perception of weakness only I'm perceiving.

"I know you will," he says, taking a seat beside me again. He stokes the fire, and my eyes dance over how it pronounces his features. "But you don't need to right now." He looks at me, and my stomach tumbles. "I want to know what's going on up here." He gently taps his fingers on my head.

I shake my head, turning back to the flames. "Too much."

"I'll be the judge of that." He stokes the fire again, and sparks rise into the night sky. "Talk to me." He pauses for a moment before adding, "Please."

It's a small word but it holds the power to blanket the forest in silence other than the distant howls and crashing waves. Yet something about being here, away from the castle and prying eyes and expectations, fa?ades and false laughter, has my lips feeling loose. I've often felt like I'm too intense for people, so keeping to myself has always been preferable. My thoughts are my own, but Cayden is looking at me as if they're made of air and he longs to fill his aching lungs.

"I've lived with guilt for so long I don't know who I am without it." I pull the blanket tighter around me. "When I was younger, I barely felt anything. I didn't even feel human. I had to tell myself to present an emotion so people didn't worry about me, and I just pretended I was fine so nobody would look too deeply and realize how much pain I was in. I felt like a statue someone carved, empty and smiling, because I could never have a moment of joy without thinking of how my dragons were suffering."

I feel like a kettle about to boil, and I press my lips together to stop myself from rambling. My fingers tug my pendant along the chain, and I try to dispel the tightness in my chest by breathing deeply.

"Keep talking, El," Cayden gently states, running a tentative hand down my back.

"I shouldn't be talking so much. I should be grateful for the life I have."

"Don't give me that bullshit." My eyes flash to his angry gaze. "Don't belittle all you've endured for a perception of yourself that someone made you believe you need to be."

I swallow the lump in my throat and dig my nails into my palms, nodding when his hand strokes my spine again. "I was always told I'd never see my dragons again, and I was expected to accept it. But I never could, and seeing them tonight ripped open a wound that has never fully healed." I wipe the damn tears off my cheeks and continue. "I pretend like I'm not scared of anything, but I'm terrified. I can't fail my dragons again. I fought Ailliard when he took me out of Imirath so I could go back to them. I was ten years old, and I didn't care that going back meant punishment or death, because my dragons have always been everything to me. They're part of me, and I miss them . . . so much," I choke out.

I could never talk to Ailliard about my dragons without him reminding me they killed his sister. Nor Finnian without him listing off the reasons it was impossible, not out of malice, but out of fear for me.

Cayden tugs me closer, resting my legs over his and pressing my head below his chin. He's rigid at first, like he has no idea what he's doing and moved before he thought this through, but eventually he relaxes. His fingers thread through my hair, and my mind and body are so exhausted that I don't even try to fight the comfort. He's warm against the night, and steady in a way I need right now.

"I'm—"

" Stop apologizing." He threads his fingers through my hair again. "Each tear that falls from your eyes is another enemy that dies."

"I don't want you to think the person you aligned yourself with is unstable."

"You have nothing to prove to me. I sought you out." When I pull my head away from his chest, his glare is pointed at Imirath. "You're fierce and determined. You're brave, resilient, and lethal. You're a survivor, have seen the worst parts of human nature, and yet somehow never forgot how far one act of kindness can go. You're sweet and soft, too, even though you try to hide it." I feign a glare even though his words are bringing on a fresh wave of emotion, and his intensity cracks when he chuckles at my expression. "Surviving is a burden some days. I know what it is to live with guilt, how it eats away at you."

"I didn't realize you paid such close attention to me."

"What makes you think I've ever looked away?"

My heart flips in my chest. "Is there anyone I can help you get back to?"

He flicks his gaze back to the forest as his eyes take on a faraway glaze. "You can help me win this damn war once we free your dragons. That's all the closure I crave."

"We will." I nod, unable to tear my eyes away from his profile. "What did Garrick do to you?"

A rueful smile turns his lips, and he leans back against the tree, his bitter laughter floating up to the moon. Several seconds tick by and turn into minutes. Just when I come up with something to say to cut the tension between us, he relents and states with zero emotion, "My mother was executed on his order."

My eyes dance over the scar on his face and the lash marks peeking above his leathers. The markings of a hard life. "How old were you?"

"Eleven."

I take his hand in mine, and he looks down at it like comfort perplexes him. "Would it help you to talk about it?"

"The only thing that helps me is stepping on the battlefield," he says.

"Well, I'm here if you change your mind."

He looks at me again, and I feel if I were anyone else, he would snap at me. His eyes burn with anger, but it's not directed at me, and it doesn't scare me. He relents, nods. Even if he never takes me up on the offer, I'll never regret extending my friendship to someone who seems to understand loneliness and hopelessness as I do. Perhaps we're not only united in our capacity for anger and skill with blades, though the realization doesn't bring me any sense of comfort.

"Tell me something that makes you happy," I say. I don't want him to be lost in a past that is clearly painful.

"Happy?" The word is coated in disgust.

"Gods, I know you're a grump, but this is too much."

"Most people are infinitely irritating." He tosses a twig into the fire and sighs when he realizes I won't relent. "Money, whiskey, fighting."

I snicker and his eyes cut to mine, the anger slowly lessening. "I love reading. I stole books while I was living on the streets, but before that I used to reread the same three while growing up since they were all we had in the house. The words provided a refuge."

I understand him all too well. "May I borrow your favorite book?"

He nods, and his lips quirk. "You'll be disappointed in the lack of passionate romance, I'm afraid."

"Gods!" I cover my face with my hands. "Did Finnian tell you?"

"You're not the only one who likes to snoop, love."

"I had to make sure you weren't a murderer since we're living together," I huff. He blinks slowly and gestures to his weapons. "A murderer to me."

"And did you come to any conclusions from my soap tray and linens?"

"You smell nice and are very clean." I grin and prop my chin on my fists. He breaks into a fit of laughter and I can't help but join him.

"I like your smile . . . your laugh, too. You don't give me either easily." He runs a hand through his messy hair, and the waves flop back to where he brushed them off his forehead. They've curled more in the damp air. "Fess up, El."

"Baking." I nudge a rock with my boot. "Having something to do with my hands calms my mind. I love swimming in the summer and sunning myself on the rocks."

He taps his leg into mine. "Flour on your cheeks and blood under your nails, that's an endearing image."

I shove his arm, and he teeters to the side while chuckling, rubbing his shoulder when he rights himself. I furrow my brows. "Did I hurt you?"

"No." He drops his hand. "I broke my shoulder when I was a boy, and it still aches sometimes when I overuse it. Don't look at me like that. I'll carry you any damn day, it was the prisoner that did me in." I tuck my hair behind my ears and move to a kneeling position before him. "What are you doing?"

"I'm a healer. I can try to ease the pain."

He catches my wrists before I have the chance to touch him, and I realize just how close our faces are. The way the dim light of the fire turns his eyes into sprawling spring meadows. The way his hair looks unrelentingly black. The stubble dotting his jaw that somehow grows around his scar. And lastly . . . I notice his lips that the gods must have spent extra time crafting.

Lips I have no business thinking of.

Lips I can't think of.

"You should go to sleep," he states in a gravelly voice, bringing my eyes up to his searing gaze. He looks at me like he wishes he knew how to look away but remains frozen in time. My heart pounds in my chest, and my fingers itch to touch him in a way I know I can't.

I can't. I can't. I can't.

But the voice in my head grows fainter the longer I look at him.

"I'm not tired," I whisper.

"El." His throat bobs, and hands tighten around my wrists. "I need you to walk away from me."

"Why?"

"Because I won't walk away from you, and I need you to be stronger than me."

The way his words make my blood rush isn't right. I can't feel these things. He's my ally. He can't be anything more.

I remove my wrists from his hold and stand. I can do this for him after what he did for me today. The blanket has been warmed by the fire, and I lie on my back to stare up at the stars. My eyelids grow heavy in the wake of today's events, but before sleep pulls me under, I whisper, "Thank you."

"For?"

"You're the only person brave enough to help me free my dragons." I know he's not doing it out of the kindness of his heart. There are stipulations to our arrangement. But his courage still counts for something.

He shrugs. "Achieving the impossible will give me something to gloat about when I'm in hell."

***

By the time we make it back to the castle I'm practically dragging myself up the steps. All I want is a hot bath and a meal after riding through rain the past several hours. When I open the door to our chambers, I come face-to-face with Finnian, Ryder, and Saskia lounging on the couches in the sitting room. Cards are splayed out on the table like they've been waiting for quite some time.

Oh, sweet gods.

Cayden clasps my shoulders from behind and squeezes. "You're supposed to be at the border."

"I finished my assignment early, so I came back to give you my report, only to realize you weren't here," Ryder responds, throwing another card onto the table.

"My apologies for the sadness that must've caused you," Cayden responds.

"How was the assassin, Elowen?" Finnian asks.

"Great!" My voice is louder than usual.

He smirks. "Great?"

"He must've been a very charming corpse from the way you're smiling," Saskia says.

"Is anyone hungry? I'm hungry," I say, striding in the direction of my room.

"If the two of you want to spend time together, you don't have to lie," Ryder says, and I stumble over my feet, catching myself on the back of the couch.

Finnian laughs, placing another card on the table. "We all knew it was bound to happen eventually."

"Excuse me?"

Cayden glares at the whiskey bottle Ryder must've taken from his reserve. "How kind of you all to be so accepting over how we choose to spend our time."

"And where exactly did you spend your time?" Saskia asks. "The pair of you were gone before we even realized it."

"We rode to the coast," I say. It's not like we can lie and say we were in the city.

"The coast?" Saskia quirks a perfectly sculpted brow, and I sense I've said the wrong thing. "Interesting." Her eyes ping back and forth between Cayden and me, but Ryder and Finnian are too absorbed in their game to pick up on what's happening. "We'll have dinner after you bathe and catch up on treaty meetings."