Page 46 of Nightingale

“And I, you. I’m only here for a moment. I’m leaving for a trip and thought I’d come to say goodbye.”

He didn’t tell her that it wasn’t the sort of goodbye that she thought it was, but a permanent one. It was the only reason he’d risked coming here at all. To bask in her radiant warmth that rivalled the summer one last time before heading into the depths of the darkest despair for the rest of his short life.

“When will I see you again?” Orla pulled away, tucking a lock behind her ear. She had no earrings, no rings, no necklaces. Just a pretty cream gown that brought the strawberry blush rising up to her skin. He memorised it all, looking at every inch of her to tuck away. An additional bit of light for when he was stuck in the darkest of places, the most shadowed of times.

“Not for quite a bit, I’m afraid. And Rian is gone as well, but he’ll be back before I will. Brioc promised to come see you soon enough, however, so you won’t be alone.”

She sat on her bed, tapping the spot next to her for him. He didn’t sit, but propped himself against the twisting bed frame that rose into the pink canopy. Golden lace adorned the sheer fabric, the curtains pinned back with matching cords of braidedstring. As if their father wanted to keep her a naive child that needed his influence for as long as possible.

“You’re so good to me.” Orla chittered, swishing her legs back and forth as her gown moved like the ocean waves. Small pearls were sewn onto the hem, staggering in an up-and-down pattern that climbed up the bodice. “No one else comes to see me as often as you do.”

“I wish I could do more, be better.” Castil regretfully sighed, dragging a section of his hair over his shoulder. It was competing for length with hers, but hers held more of an ochre glow whereas his held pearl. It was additional confidence that their father sired them both, since they both bore lighter hair as he did. Over the years, it darkened with his age. Now, it remained as a dirty blond. “I wish I could take you out of this room, let you roam the halls.”

“The fact that you come to see me at all isenough,” She assured him. “Brioc comes maybe once a month, and Rian comes even less. Twice is not nothing, you know. At least I get to see you, at least Father hasn’t caught any of you sneaking into my room yet. I can’t imagine how horrible it would be if he did.”

Castil didn’t need to imagine.

He hadn’t even doneanything, except exist which was apparently enough to warrant the most final of punishments, and yet he was being sent to the executioner’s block. Even with the revolting bargain he’d made for Vrea’s sake, apparently he failed in that portion of his duties as well. Though with everything inside of him that he’d used to push back, perhaps he’d stepped over the line one too many times for the King’s favour. Even in his younger years, the male had been cold towards him for no apparent reason.

Castil had formed a wall around it all, protecting his emotions because there was no point to letting them out in full force. Not when it could break him, get him killed. He’d learned the hardway that there was no place for emotions in a cold, cruel place like Carylim.

“Take care of yourself for me, Orla.” He said out of nowhere, pushing off the canopy side and adjusting the strap of his packed bag over his shoulder. “And when someone finally kills Father, make sure they don’t run you over. Make sure that you’re allowed out, the proper things you deserve. Make sure that you have a life, a love”.

“I refuse to die in this room.” She proudly declared, rising off the bed and coming to his side as he made for the door. Orla rose up on her toes to reach his cheek and he might have bent towards her to save her some trouble.

She placed a kiss on his right one and said, “You are good,” Then she moved to his left to add another one there, her fingers grazing his chin, “You are light.” He thought she might have been done but she tilted his chin down so that she could reach his forehead and placed a gentle kiss there, too. “You are the White Knight, even if you think it means the opposite.”

Her words stuck him deeper than a mighty lance, plunged directly through his heart. He knew she meant no harm by them, the exact opposite as she stated and yet they still hurt.

His sister saw it, the flash of anguish that paired with that title. “Don’t let him beat you into something you’re not, Cas.” She said tenderly, stroking his arm in comfort.

Castil offered her a weak smile as he pulled the handle towards him, revealing the empty hallway as he peered out, glancing left and right as he checked for passing sentries or servants. “I always find a way to fight back, don’t I?”

“No,” Orla blurted out with a sad frown that made her look too depressed, too bleak, “You don’t.”

It chilled him that the sibling that he saw less than the others saw straight through everything.

Twenty Three

The first week and a half flew by in a blur as they continued on. The weather was nice, with a couple autumn breezes that smelled like acorns and fading leaves, of colder times to come and snow on the horizon. It rustled past her mahogany hair, bristling her bangs and on occasions when it refused to let up, she’d tuck as much of it as possible behind her ears.

Which never lasted long considering how short it was. Vrea partially regretted cutting off a good seven inches, if only for the sake of having the braid to keep her hair out of her face.

But her hair was the least of their problems.

Because when they approached the middle section of the mountain range, trouble ensued in the form of a band of rogues, determined on stripping them of every single item that they carried.

Whether it was worth something or not.

Rian was ready for them, jumping off Kohl before the animal had the chance to come to a full stop. He rolled as he hit the ground to avoid breaking anything and withdrew his sword, pointing it towards the men that threatened them with their own.

Onyx reared in fright as three men approached her, yelling at Vrea to dismount. She gathered the reins in her hand, tugging harshly to stop the mare before she hurt them both. The horsenickered and stomped her hoof along the earth as she landed, flicking her head back and forth. Vrea steadied her with a swift kick to her haunches before slipping out of the stirrups and off her back.

Her daggers were in her grip within a second as she landed with a bolt of pain at the base of her feet, flipping the steel over her knuckles. She was itching for a fight, for something to take out her wrath on that had built up over the last three years.

Anger at the King, for locking her away.

Fury at Castil for his never-ending presence.

---