20. Sybil

Chapter 20

Sybil

S ybil." Aramis stands outside the infirmary tent with Nero and I have to take a double look because they look as if they've been rolling around in the dirt.

"What in all of Craeweth have you two been up to?" I ask in disbelief as I finish sorting out another medical bag for the journey. My back aches from spending the whole afternoon crushing herbs, seeping oils, and decanting balms to make sure the rebels are ready for any medical eventuality during their journey. Granted, it is not—by any means—a comprehensive selection, but it will help, should they need it. My eyes catch on the small patch of drying blood on Aramis' tunic and I raise my eyebrows. "What happened?"

"Nothing–" Aramis and Nero brush off their clothes and rake their hands through their hair, pouting like little children who know they've been caught. Aramis looks at me under his lashes and I can't help but laugh. The pure joy tastes sweet after so much worry and pain.

"What's so funny?" Marcelene peaks her head out of the tent, and for the first time since knowing him, I see Nero blush. Marcelene shakes her head in disappointment and slips back inside, but I can hear her snickering.

"So?" I ask again and cross my arms.

"We... just... talked," Aramis says unconvincingly with a toothy smile and I almost gasp. He has not smiled at me, not like this at least, since we reunited. His blue eyes shine again, like clear water reflecting the summer sunshine. His shoulders are relaxed and his chin is lifted as if he's allowing himself to take up space again in the world. As if he's no longer afraid of his monsters.

My stomach turns upside down. How can these feelings not be mine when all I do is burn when he lays his eyes on me?

"Hungry?" He asks when words fail me. I nod. Aramis extends his elbow, and I interlock my arm with his as we make our way to the food tent.

"How are things at the infirmary?" Aramis asks. Even his tone has changed. He sounds secure in his words, not riddled by doubts.

"They're almost ready. There's only three people who are critically wounded and need to be carried either on stretchers or wagons. Ever since what happened in the clearing, I am worried to use my powers." The admission slips out of me, despite being something I had still not even admitted to myself.

"Unicorn power is raw light magic. The witches told you themselves. The Book of Light must have information on how you can weaponize it in a safe way, without hurting yourself," Aramis says and pushes a strand of my unruly hair behind my ear, leaving shivers behind where his skin touches mine.

The food tent is located at the center of camp, close to where the Council building used to stand, an easy location everyone could meet throughout the day and exchange a word or two. The cooks change regularly since they are all volunteers, and with different cooks come different recipes, making every meal different. But one thing never changes apparently, and that is the baker. Oscar, an earth elemental, has been the designated bread maker at camp since he joined. Thanks to his gift, he grows his own special crops. From them, he makes the most divine golden rolls, crunchy on the outside and soft on the inside.

Before we join the line, Aramis leans close to me and whispers, "I'll be back in just a moment."

I take a deep breath and will my legs to steady and stop shaking. Aramis sneaks into the food tent from the back entrance—usually reserved for volunteers—and I see as he greets one of the ladies at the counter with a hug. Her name is Heather. She's a panther shifter although she rarely shifts anymore after losing her husband during an attack. She joined the camp with her two boys soon after to escape capture from the crown. Heather smiles at Aramis and rests her hand on his cheek in a motherly gesture. Aramis keeps talking to Heather, but I struggle to read her lips until the two turn in my direction and I look at my boots, heat rushing to my cheeks.

A second later, I attempt another glance, and this time, he is speaking to Oscar. His mustache gives him a stern look, but soon he too is laughing wholeheartedly and looks in my direction.

Damn it.

I turn around, hoping it'll avoid more embarrassment.

They like him, I think, and the thought almost makes me tear up. The man blinded by prejudice is gone. My hand goes to rest on my chest where my heart beats so fast I wonder how my bones can keep it contained. Real or not real?

Aramis returns and wraps his arm around my waist. He's carrying a cloth bag emanating the most delicious smell and I risk a peek.

"Ah—ah," Aramis chides. "I was wondering if you'd like to have a picnic, so we can talk."

Talk.

I swallow the knot in my throat. "That would be lovely."

We silently walk to the edge of camp and into the woods. The sun has set, and the sky is the most wondrous shade of blue, right before it darkens. Aramis takes me to a little clearing he's been using to chop wood for the fire. Most of the snow has melted, but the air is still cold, especially this time of day.

Aramis takes some of the logs and sets them together in a circle to light a fire. Memories of our days spent sleeping on the forest floor next to the fire, with Edmund and the others, come rushing back to me. How can so much have changed in so little time?

I sit on the trunk of a fallen tree not yet acquainted with the axe, and revel in the slowly growing fire. Rubbing my hands together, I close all the buttons of my wool jacket and watch Aramis almost awkwardly set up a makeshift buffet. Heather has wrapped some cheese in paper, there are some juniper berries and, of course, Oscar's rolls.

"How did you get all of this?" I ask, knowing there are strict rules about conviviality at camp and spending meals together to create a sense of community.

"Helping with the cooking has its advantages," he says with a wink and dives into the food.

In between bites, I ask, "How do you feel about tomorrow?"

"I came to this camp and immediately became a prisoner." His brows furrow and I worry I have asked the wrong question. "But now," he continues. "It almost feels like a home, strangely. I've never been very lucky with homes. The castle felt like home for a while, when my mother was still alive. Now I'm not so certain anymore. My permanence at this camp did not start splendidly, but now, it feels like somewhere I belong. Probably the only place in Craeweth I have made a difference. So, I am sad to leave, and scared about what's going to happen to these people. But most of all, I am scared about the uncertainty of it all."

He focuses on the piece of bread in his hands. The warm light of the fire makes his hair look like strands of white-gold and I'm mesmerized.

"I know what you mean. I am scared too. But I've come to realize that people are right when they say that home is more about the people you're with than the place itself."

Barely a whisper, still looking down at his hands, Aramis says, "I think you're my home, Sybil."

Unable to stop myself, I reach for his chin and gently lift his head. Our eyes meet and it's like opening a well. Anger, love, disappointment, longing, desire, all come crushing on me and I can't hold any of it in any longer.

"How long have you known?" I whisper and let my hand fall. I watch as his brows furrow. "When were you going to tell me?"

"I–" he falters before his head drops again and he sighs. "Since the night in the dungeon. I suspected long before then but lied to myself."

"Why?" I ask, my voice cracking and throat tightening. "Why didn't you tell me? If not there, then at the springs."

He runs a hand through his hair. "There are a million reasons, but none of them are good enough. You were the manifestation of everything I grew up hating and wanting revenge for, Sybil. I thought the Goddess was playing with me. I thought it was a cruel twist of fate but how can it be, when you are the reason for everything?"

He takes my hand in his, his hand is rough but warm to the touch,

"You made me question everything I believed in. You made me want to become a better person. You are the reason I have a purpose, a reason to exist, to keep fighting instead of letting my guilt drown me in my own despair. How can this be a trick? All I see is a blessing." Aramis shakes his head and looks up at the sky now littered with stars. "Do you really want to know why I didn't tell you?" He asks and I nod.

"I was scared you'd reject me. I am terrified of it, but that is not your burden to carry. Whatever you decide, Sybil Vandeleur, know that loving you has been the greatest honor of my life."

He slumps forward, elbows resting on his knees as he stares contemplatively at the fire.

My heart beats erratically and I can't decide whether I want to kiss him, slap him, or both. So, I run.

"Sybil!" Aramis calls after me, but I run deeper into the woods. I run until the tears rushing down my eyes dry up, until my calves burn and my breathing gets ragged. Until I miss an exposed root and go tumbling down on the ground.

"Balderdash!" I push to my feet, a sharp pain shoots up my left ankle with each step but I keep going. I need to clear my head. Every inch of me aches from the hours crouched over makeshift cots tending the wounded, not to mention the beating I took fighting the basilisk. I hadn't had time or magic to tend to my own injuries. What I wouldn't give for a bathtub full of hot water and some soap.

Aramis comes running soon after, sweat beading his skin.

"Sybil, wait. You're limping," he says, although I know, truly, he likes to chide me for my lack of balance, as he used to remind me. "Here, let me help you," he says, offering me a hand.

"Yes, yes. And no, I can manage on my own. I just—" A sharp pain shoots up my left ankle as I attempt to stand. How wonderful, exactly what I need the night before a long journey. I bury my face in my hands and force myself not to scream.

"You're not fine," he says brushing the pad of his thumb across my wet cheek. "I know you're brave and strong, but you're also injured and tired. You don't have to put on a mask for me."

He lifts me into his arms and my head settles perfectly against his chest at the movement, as if we were made for each other. Is this fate intervening once again? Aramis carries me in silence until we reach the edge of a frozen stream surrounded by large, smooth rocks faintly dusted with freshly fallen snow. He gently eases me onto a boulder next to the water and steps back.

"Why did you run?" he asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I—" The words catch in my throat and I sigh, meeting his gaze. "I don't know, Aramis. I am confused, I don't know what to feel. And when I feel, I don't know if it's me." I point a finger at my heart and Aramis' expression softens.

The stream gurgles quietly beside us, clusters of spring flowers pushing up through melting patches of snow still clinging to the earth. A lone bee buzzes to each tiny snowdrop blossom.

"You're worried our feelings aren't genuine?"

"How can I be certain of it, when there's this feeling inside of me, stronger than anything I have ever felt before? How can I separate my feelings from this fated bond tying us together?" I rest my hand on my chest, where the bond feels like a ray of sunshine slicing through me.

"It all happened so quickly. I always thought love needed time, that I would have to know a person—truly know someone—to feel this way. Everything we've been through meant something to me, Aramis. The night at the springs was the sole thing spurring me onwards whilst trapped under that mountain. I have to stop myself from touching you, from thinking about you every second because I don't know if that is me or this... this?—"

He crouches in front of me and cups my face between his hands as I stare into his deep blue eyes. Sobs slowly rise through me, making my chest jump. Heat radiates off his strong, muscular thighs as they press firmly against the sides of my legs echoing the warmth blossoming in my core at his proximity.

"I love you, Sybil. Not because of the mating bond, not destiny, not even the fucking Goddess. I, Aramis Adrostos, love you so much it scares me sometimes. I don't care that we're mates. It does not change anything, you hear me?" He leans forward and presses his forehead against mine. He takes my hand and presses it over his beating heart. "You know this, Sybil. You've known it better than I ever have from the moment we've met. That's why my heart is yours."

My senses are flooded by his familiar scent of bergamot, cedarwood and leather. My hands find the front of his tunic and tighten in the fabric.

"But I do care, Aramis. I understand why you did not tell me sooner but I don't want fate to be what pushes us together. I want to choose you." Lifting my face, I press my lips against his. I can no longer deny wanting his touch.

"Then, let me prove myself to you. Let me prove that what is between us is more than just fate," he whispers, pressing a kiss to my brow before reclaiming my lips. His kiss is urgent and exploratory, one hand weaving through my hair, the other roving across my back. "Goddess, I missed you."

He leans back, eyes roving appraisingly down my body before placing his hands possessively on my hips. My heart jumps in my chest, pulse pounding as heat pools in my core. He stands and pulls me flush to his body, our breath mingling in cloudy puffs in the cold winter air. My cheeks flush as I feel the thickness of him pressed between our bodies.

"A lifetime by your side would not be long enough for me," he whispers as he trails warm kisses down the length of my neck, the scruff of his beard scraping along the delicate flesh. "I want you. I want all of you. The bond be damned."

"Then, give me time," I whisper, taking his face between my hands and pulling back to look into his face. I rub my thumb along the stubble as I process my thoughts into words. "Let me spend time with you, let us get to know each other. Help me save our people, your kingdom."

"Sybil, I will wait until the end of time for you. I want nothing more than you by my side." He falls to the snow covered ground on his knees, pushing me gently, easing me back onto a large smooth boulder. "Not a moment has gone by that I haven't thought of you since that avalanche."

"I felt you," I whisper, lifting a hand to my chest.

"I didn't want to leave." His head drops, shoulders slumping. "I tried to reach you."

"I know, but it was meant to be. I had to do it alone, to prove to myself I could do it." My chest constricts as I remember the binding coils of the web around my body.

"And you did. You're a marvel, Sybil. But shall you ever need a sword, let me be—" His words cut off as emotions flicker across his face. "Reading."

"Parden?" I cock my head to the side, breath coming out in white puffs as I stare at the male at my feet.

"Reading. I like to read. Not many know. Nero teases me greatly for it. My mother, before she passed, was an avid reader and would read to the two of us late into the night when we were boys. My father thought it was a useless pastime and that we needed more time in the training yard, but she believed that stories helped us understand."

"I like to read too." I smile down at Aramis. "It was the one thing that kept me from feeling lonely. I could escape into a book."

"What else do you like, Sybil?" He asks.

"I like–" My breath catches as his warm hands slip under my skirts and slide along the back of my calves to my knees.

"Yes?" He grins, kneeling between my feet as fingers trace slow, lazy circles. Heat flushes across my body and up my neck, setting my magic singing through my veins. I glance down with hooded eyes, a lazy smile on my face.

"You're doing that on purpose," I say.

"Do you want me to stop?" His fingers pause and he stares up at me with stormy blue eyes.

Looking at me like that, I might lose my resolve. His touch feels so natural and comforting.

"No," I whisper, barely shaking my head. "I enjoy... planting. I know it's a menial task, but I love the feel of dirt between my fingers and reaping the rewards of harvest. If it wasn't for my knowledge of plants, Lemon and I would have starved those first few years before villagers started coming for simple remedies."

"I can't say I've enjoyed it. The only time I've had my hands buried in the dirt was when Nero kicked my ass in the training grounds. Don't tell him I said that; he will never let me live it down. Well—" His brows furrow and his fingers stop for a moment. "I suppose you can say I do have some experience with planting now. I have helped earth elementals cultivate some of the soil at the camp."

His gentle fingers continue tracing a path down my legs, skillfully unlacing my boots. As he slips them off, relief washes over me. With each stroke, the knots and tension in my muscles begin to unravel and a soothing sensation seeps into my weary body, a result of the battles fought against shadow beasts and long hours spent hunched over patients.

"We should not stay too long here in the dark," Aramis whispers, and reality comes crushing down on me. "We should also try to get some rest; tomorrow is going to be a long day."

I nod, sad to leave but feeling lighter. Aramis goes to take me into his arms, but I stop him.

"No need." I channel the smallest kernel of magic into my ankle and the pain disappears.

"I am all good again," I say, and jump off the boulder.

"You wicked little thing. You had me massaging your leg for nothing?" He shakes his head, a smirk on his face that makes me melt.

He takes my hand and we walk back to his tent, where I sleep for the first time with his arms wrapped around me, wondering what the morning will bring.