Page 117 of A Rising Hope

Ileaned against the small alcove hidden in the darkness, watching the relentless rain pour outside the window well. A crackle of bright lightning illuminated the strip of young forest on the horizon. A flash of morbid memory sent a cold shiver down my body.

My fingers reached for the chain at my hip, running up and down the links. A terrible habit, yet one I couldn’t shake as my mind rattled in a cage.

When the war council ended, I was the first one to leave the room. Yet as I marched down the poorly lit corridor, I found myself with nowhere to go.

I had yet to face the Ten. I knew that sooner or later I would have to walk down those winded stairs to the cramped room where Cass lay alongside many others irrevocably wounded. I’d look at their broken faces and their battered bodies and face the truth that I had failed them in more ways than one.

And though I knew that it was imminent, somehow I couldn’t bring myself to do that yet.

I was the worst kind of coward.

One that knew just how deep the rot had gotten and yet I was too much of a weakling to face it.

Whatever bravery I managed to summon was reserved for the one person I had to face before anyone else.

I didn’t look back when I stormed out from the war council room, but I knew Orest had lingered near the door, his cold silver eyes looking for me. I knew that he had waited for me to come back. I knew that he had listened for every step and noise to fade before grimly marching away.

I knew where he stayed. Before the council meeting, I found myself knocking on his door, an indiscreet wooden panel leading to a small dugout closet that he had claimed, no bigger than the cell I had in the cellar, only wide enough to fit a narrow straw mattress. No lights. No windows. It was somber. Solitary. Dark.

Though fear was an emotion carved out of him, he was hesitant around tight spaces. He would never be willing to admit it, but I had engraved in my memories his attempt to hide his flinches as we descended deep into the caves a few years back. The way he nonchalantly walked and kept his voice calm even as his heart pounded against his chest.

And yet he chose the smallest space in the building to rest.

He wanted to suffer.

He wanted to feel the horror clawing at his mind each night. There was comfort to him in chaos. After all, terror was the only memory he kept. His faithful companion, his only family, and his saving grace. Terror. And wild rage.

A little streak of water ran down the wall, puddling by my boots. I stared at the muddied water.

A part of me wasn’t sure what I would say to Orest.

I knew words meant nothing, and yet words were all I had.

I was no one and I had nothing.

Broken beyond repair.

But as I waited by his room, hoping his door would open, I knew that even if he wouldn’t speak another word to me for the rest of my life, I would stay alive. I would fight the fucking battle every day. I would fight the odds that were stacked against me with every fucking breath. Because somewhere, wherever he would be, as terror would lull him to sleep, he would know that I would be alive.

And I would be alive because of him.

For him.

And though I knew there was no redemption for me, a part of me so selfishly yearned to feel his deep velvety voice against my ear just one more time, to feel his all-encompassing presence near me.

“Missing the darkness of the cellar already?” Orest’s low voice startled me. I turned to see him at the top of the staircase landing, his silhouette outlined by the shadows, his face hidden beyond.

“Orest . . . ” My voice broke and suddenly my thoughts drew up empty.

He moved, his steps stealthy and rapid.

“Shhh . . . ” He hushed me, his body prowling above mine, and I took a step back as he moved closer, my back pushed against the wall.

“I . . . ” I opened my mouth, looking for the right words. To tell him how sorry I was. How much I regretted everything. How I knew I deserved none of his forgiveness and I didn’t expect it. How I was grateful for him to exist, to know him. How I knew I fucked up in more ways than one. How I found myself caring for him and how I lied to myself that I didn’t. How I wasn’t sure exactly when it had happened that my feelings for him crossed the line from friendship into craving him in ways that were overwhelming and infatuating.

“Orest, I—” But his forefinger brushed my lips, making me go silent as he dragged it down slowly. His eyes were fixed on my lips as he watched his finger slide, savoring each moment, each touch. My belly ached and breaths turned jagged as he jerked my chin up until my eyes locked with his. His sharp silver gaze flickered with dangerous desire.

“Did you mean what you said to me, Zora?” he purred against my ear; his deep voice reached me far beyond my core. “In the battle, when you said you loved me, were your words true?” he asked again, meeting my amorous look.

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