46. Sunder

forty-six

Sunder

There is something soothing about the rhythmic motion of the horse while the leather of the saddle squeaks beneath me. We're finally on our way to confront Yurghen, and despite the danger, being saddle sore, and moving too slow for my taste, I'm in a good mood for once.

My mind alternates between drifting endlessly through a tranquil abyss and being on high alert seeking danger. By day two, I'm getting restless as my thoughts drift back to Mira the night before our departure.

Once the Fourth had his moment with her upstairs, Bobble and I eventually found her near the empty kitchens in the darkest hours of the night packing some treats for us to take in saddle bags. I laughed when I pulled out a handful of jerky from mine; her delighted, impish grin.

We knew there'd be no sleep that night. Too many questions. Too much desperation not to be apart. As her hands busied themselves with preparing our food, I watched the curve of her hips sway gently. She was humming an old tune under her breath, a melody from her world that felt strangely comforting yet alien in Illuemera.

My mind wanders, imagining bending her over the counter where she worked by candlelight, lifting her dress slowly to reveal her lacy panties.

"We should be there tomorrow by nightfall," a gruff voice says to me. I cough, clearing my throat as I shift in my saddle, trying to hide the evidence of my daydream. I didn't hear Cor'than approach. Glancing over my shoulder, I meet Bobble and Callum's gaze and in unison they fall back, leaving us some space to speak in private.

Cor'than notices the space too and suddenly seems uncomfortable, shifting in his own saddle.

"Dan'thiel, listen—"

"Why do you call me alone by this name? The Third and Fourth are no less a part of your brother than me."

The question seems to confuse him, but only for a moment. "Those two are not my brother. At least not the parts I knew. Your body, your voice are different. But you are the only one I recognize as the male I knew."

I snort, a bitter laugh escaping me. "And yet I'm not him, am I?"

Cor'than says nothing for a while, the silence hovering between us as thick as the fog that has begun to descend on our path. We can see little ahead of us, and the wind carries the distant howl of a creature, unknown and eerie, that sends a chill down my spine. I force my eyes to remain ahead, focusing on the path.

"No, you're not him," Cor'than finally admits. His voice is low, filled with a strange mix of grief and acceptance. "But you're as close as it gets, and there are things that must be said."

I clench my jaw, imagination running wild with the list of admonishments he has in store for me.

"Go on then," I challenge, squaring my shoulders and gearing up for a verbal sparring session. The air between us crackles with tension as we wait beneath the ebony blanket of night. His gaze is hard, unyielding, but there's a flicker of something else there too.

He opens his mouth, then closes it again, uncertainty wrinkling his brow. The words seem to stick in his throat, caught between the reality of what I am and the memory of who I was.

"I…I," he stammers, words failing him as he slowly closes his mouth. My eyes cut to him, suspicions rising inside me. Cor'than takes a breath and says instead, "This is a dangerous situation, Sunder. We must trust each other."

Trust him? The idea is laughable. I can see the sincerity in his eyes, misguided as it is. It stirs something deep within me. An emotion I haven't felt in ages, one that belonged to a time when Cor'than and I had been youths locked in a harmless sibling rivalry.

"You don't betray someone and then ask them for their trust." Cor'than winces at my words, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his eyes.

"No, I suppose you don't."

After a moment, Cor'than steers his horse further from me, leaving me to my peace. Tomorrow night this will all be over with, and I'll never have to interact with Cor'than again.

The final confrontation with Yurghen will be tomorrow night. I just hope I survive to see the outcome.