Page 105 of Fear the Flames
“Sometimes, I truly love your mind,” he sings, swinging the key ring on his finger.
After resting for a few hours, we file out of our room to head into town. Since we’re on the most populated isle, we shouldn’t have to go far before reaching the boutiques. The cold air is like a slap in the face after our brief reprieve from it. I pull the hood of my cloak forward to cover my ears. The dock is so narrow that only two lines of people can fit. We walk in single file toward the town while others walk in single file from it. I resist the urge to hold my arms out to balance myself as we cross parts without any railings, at risk of looking like an off-balanced baby deer taking their first steps.
The dock ends and opens to a wider walkway now that we’ve made it onto the solid ground of the isle. I walk silently beside Cayden as shops loom into view. Fire pits appear every few feet, giving the townspeople a warm place to regroup on their shopping or eating endeavors. The scent of smoked fish and meats, mixed with something sweet, lingers in the air. A strange feeling settles in my chest as I take in the life around me.
In all my nightmares of Imirath, I never imagined there to be so much…life.
Every image conjured in my mind has been a dark, sinister place where only pain could blossom. I imagined faceless citizens suffering under the reign of my father. I didn’t imagine children laughing in the streets, bustling shops, or couples sharing food in restaurants. This isn’t the Imirath I know, but it’s here, and it exists. It feels like I’ve been lying to myself or that I’ve been lied to…I don’t know. Even if this is how people view Imirath, it’ll never be how I view it. My memory will forever be stained with evil, torture, a dark dungeon, and blood. It’s strange how two people can look at the same thing and perceive it entirely different.
My steps begin to slow, and Cayden looks back at me, eyes narrowing in assessment. He halts his steps, but the other three in our group stop a few steps ahead. They’re taking in the town before we enter the chaos. I’m sure it’ll be filled with elbow bumping and muttered apologies.
“What’s wrong?” Cayden asks, stepping closer and lowering his tone so only I can hear him.
I shake my head and plaster a smile on my face, “I’m just hungry. It’s been a while since I had a proper meal.”
“If I put a plate of food in front of you, you’d nibble on it like you’ve been nibbling on everything for days.” His narrowed eyes dance over my face and rigid posture. “Tell me.”
I clench my jaw, hating how he can read me. Nobody else questions or pushes me to the level he does. My eyes are drawn to the town again, and I breathe through the pressure in my chest. “I just—” I cut myself off, feeling stupid saying the words out loud. I turn back toward Cayden, meeting his gaze. It’s easier saying this while looking at him. “I didn’t expect there to be so much life here. I always imagined a place filled with suffering—not this,” I wave my hand toward the town before toying with the end of my braid. “I was ignorant to think everyone suffered here.”
“Don’t belittle yourself.” His hands twitch at his sides, but he restrains himself from reaching out to me. “The rich suffer last. They take the food from poor farmers suffering from famine. It’s the poor that Garrick uses as collateral damage in his army. The rich go to bed with full stomachs in warm houses, but the poor starve in the cold. This place is a facade. Rulers have the option of ignoring suffering in favor of comfort, and Garrick takes advantage of that. There is life here because the pain is kept tucked away, far from the eyes of the privileged. I will not listen to you question your intelligence, or believe you fall short in comparison to Garrick, or anyone else, in any way. You transcend him and any other ruler I’ve had the displeasure of encountering.”
The harsh look in his eyes contrasts his words. Cayden isn’t soft, he’s not the person someone would seek out for comfort or kindness, and yet he’s the person that knows exactly what to say to me. He’s the person who lulled me to sleep in the place that chases me from it, and now he’s the person reassuring me in the middle of enemy territory. The dragons were never mentioned in his statement; he only spoke of me. He believesI’mworthy.
He just said that I transcend his own king and queen, and he doesn’t show any signs of regretting his treasonous statement.
“Cayden,” I begin, but emotions constrict my throat. He balls his fists at his sides but stays rigid in place. The burn of his gaze is so fierce that I can feel it weighing me down. He has the power to transfix me. I’ve never given anyone power over me, least of all him, but I think he just took it without my knowledge and keeps some part of me under lock and key. I don’t know how he did it, but I can’t bring myself to care, not when he’s looking at me like I’m the only person that exists within a hundred-mile radius. There’s a chip carved in the shape of his name within the walls I’ve built around myself. My realization only makes it harder to think, harder to speak. I can see the group turning back toward us, and I know I need to pull myself together. “Thank you,” I whisper.
It’s a simple phrase, but I can’t find anything else to convey my feelings. I wrack my brain for every word I’ve ever read, heard, or spoke, but they all fall short in comparison to what I’m desperately trying to communicate. His eyes soften a fraction, and I pray to the gods I haven’t prayed to since I nearly bled out in the same kingdom we’re standing in that he understands me. I haven’t received much kindness in my life, and I don’t always know how to react when I receive it. I wish I was more eloquent in moments like these. Kindness is a language I can speak, but don’t know how to listen to it.
He nods his head in understanding, inching closer to me. His eyes trace the way my shoulders have loosened, the way my brows have relaxed, the way my braid rests against my chest now that I’m not anxiously twiddling the strands. I inhale a steadying breath, and his eyes fall to my parted lips. The sun beats down on us, its rays doing nothing to breach the icy chill in the air that makes me want to pull him against me, but the air between us is thick with unspoken words and restraint. The white scar that drags along his right cheek is illuminated by the light that reflects off the ice in the canal. Without thinking, I step forward and grab the hood of his cloak that rests against his shoulders. His breathing hitches, but he makes no move to touch me—the only thing that caresses me is his gaze.
“What are you doing?”
“It’ll help hide your scar when we head into town,” I answer in a soft voice, matching his tone.
“Right.” His eyes dart away from mine, and he presses his lips together.
“We’ll have to find a mask that covers it,” I add, pulling the hood over his head.
“I know,” he snaps, his intense eyes slamming into me. I drop my hands from the fabric and visibly flinch back; the harshness in his tone surprises me. It’s an old habit of mine to flinch when I’m vulnerable.
“I’m sorry,” I rush out, hating that I breached upon something that made him uncomfortable. Remorse fills his eyes, and the space between his brows creases in worry. His frown deepens when I take another step back.
“Elowen.” He reaches a hand out to me but drops it when I shake my head.
“It’s fine, don’t worry. I should have assumed you thought about it already.” I offer a tight-lipped smile that I know he can see through. Sometimes, I think he can see all the parts of myself I try to hide. He opens his mouth but snaps it shut when the group breaches our space. My heart twists when he pulls his hood farther up, sinking into the darkness. I clasp my hands behind my back, so nobody notices the slight tremor that travels through them.
Perhaps I was wrong when I thought he looks at his scar and sees a proud survivor.
ChapterForty-Three
“There’s three tasks we need to accomplish, so we’ll have to split up,” Saskia begins. “Elowen’s attire, Cayden’s attire, and forged invitations.”
“I can handle my attire,” I offer.
“I’ll come with you; you’ll need more things than Cayden.” Saskia smiles at me. “Plus, I just want to shop, and need a break from men.”
“I’ll handle my attire,” Cayden says. “I don’t need help.” That just leaves Finnian and Ryder to handle the invitations.
