Page 119 of Flame and Sparrow

So I moved myself, relocating to one of the sitting rooms down the hall. There was no shortage of squishy, comfortable furniture in this room, but I opted for the cool solidness of the marble floor, collapsing next to the fireplace and dragging myself over to the nearest wall so I had something to brace myself against.

Dravyn followed moments later, and, without a word, he kindled a fire with only a slight flex of his fingers.

He left me alone with the crackling blaze for at least an hour.

I was disassociating, slipping into some blissful realm outside of my mind, when I heard him moving by the hearth, tending to the flames that had nearly gone out by this point.

“The tonic Mai gave you for the pain…is it helping?” His voice was an odd combination of sharp and soft, hardened steel tempered by concern.

I lifted my splinted arm, testing it for myself, and couldn’t help wincing at the movement.

This was enough of an answer. He disappeared again, muttering about speaking to his servants—presumably about other remedies that might be more effective.

He returned to my side some time later and slumped down against the wall beside me. I didn’t resist his closeness; there was something oddly comforting in his choice to meet me there on the floor, rather than to pick me up and try to carry me away from my misery.

All of my fight and fire had gone out by this point. He sensed this, I think, and didn’t try to rekindle our argument. We sat silently in the wreckage of the day, like two equally lost souls, staring into the fire together.

At some point, I let myself fall more fully into the ruins with him, leaning my head onto his shoulder.

His arm moved, circling around me, gathering me carefully against his chest. I heard the same chorus of voices in my head as I had the last time we’d been so close.

Traitor, traitor, traitor.

Fainter now, but still clear, and now another insult joined it—

Coward, coward, coward.

I stayed in my traitorous, cowardly position because I felt too weak, too broken to move, to even hold my head up.

Another half hour passed. Dravyn and I still didn’t speak. I started to doze off, sliding down until my head rested on his thigh. It was too muscular to make for a very comfortable pillow, but I was so exhausted I didn’t care. I shut my eyes and sank into that exhaustion, concentrating not on the weight of all that had happened, but on the weight of his arm resting against my back.

At some point I was startled awake by the sound of ruffling feathers, scraping claws, and a sudden burst of heat that was soon followed by Dravyn’s low voice—

“Not now, Ramoth.”

I blinked my eyes open to the sight of him calming the flames around the ignited griffin with a wave of his hand.

“He really does have a bad habit of doing that at the worst moments, doesn’t he?” I mumbled.

Moth gave a high-pitched squawk before dropping and rolling dramatically around on the floor, putting out the last bits of fire clinging to him.

“He gets that flaw from me, I suppose.” Dravyn’s voice was soft, more to himself than me. “I nearly ignited myself earlier. It’s been a long time since I let emotions get the better of me, as they so often do for him, but…”

I sat up. The memory of my two worlds colliding, of his power rising in the courtyard of my home, threatening to engulf it, sent a fresh surge of fear and anger through me, making my next words come out sounding defensive and harsh. “Is that what happened with all the villages and people you allegedly destroyed after your ascension? Did your emotions get the better of you then, too?”

“Yes.”

My breath caught. All the angry words I’d planned to say became dust in my throat, turning it unbearably dry. I hadn’t expected him to admit to my accusations so readily. “So what I’ve read and heard about you is true. All the stories of the destruction and death you brought upon the mortal realm…”

He looked toward Moth as he quietly replied, “As I said, we are both flawed creatures.”

“So flawed that perhaps you aren’t in any place to pass judgment on any of the things my fellow elves have done, whether tonight or otherwise.”

His gaze took mine again. We stared at one another, deeply and unflinchingly, a thousand unspoken things passing between us in the span of only breaths.

“Perhaps not,” he said.

Mine was a flimsy argument—his offenses did not excuse Andrel’s offenses, and I knew it. We both knew it. I was simply grasping at broken pieces, trying to convince myself that something of my old world and beliefs was still salvageable. I was not ready to admit that there was a chance I’d been wrong about who the greatest villain in my story was, even though the thought had certainly made its way across my mind.

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