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He was convinced Clea’s disposition, in addition to her blood, had something to do with it. She’d spoken casually of her time in Virday and had been more revealing than she knew. She talked about thieves and murderers in theory as if they were monsters under the bed, and yet acted as if she’d never met one. Several of her supposed acquaintances had been imprisoned for just that, but she didn’t quite seem to understand the contradiction between her speech and her behavior. She’d acted horrified about collaborating with smugglers, but that hadn’t stopped her from considering the journey with him. At this point, Ryson was convinced she’d said yes to the offer immediately and just hadn’t realized it yet.
He’d never seen anyone work so hard to maintain biases thatmost Veilin carried naturally. Maybe that’s why her parents kept her locked up. If he had to trust any of her six siblings to carry on the family name in the tradition of her people, it certainly wasn’t this one. She was a Veilin, sure, but a defective one by any standard.
Clea could likely recite to him a mental checklist of the type of people she would avoid at all costs, not realizing he checked every single one of those boxes. Instead, she wanted to get to know him better.
The fool.
Openness was foolish. Openness was a natural invitation, one he was certain the forest could sense. He was sure the forest could sense it because he could sense it. It was a bleeding heart in shark infested waters.
You might as well take a bite while you can. Maybe it will make having such an audience worth it.
“I miss being alone,” he said, but his mind hung on the suggestion. He wondered what taking a bite would look like, and was reminded of those fleeting moments where his curiosity had gotten the best of him. It truly had just been curiosity at first. His eyes flickered instinctively to every glimpse of her exposed skin, wondering why she covered herself with such determined persistence. He’d always had a voracious curiosity, and at the peak of his power, nothing had seemed truly hidden to him.
After several days, his curiosity morphed into fascination, and playfully, his mind started to tease him with ways to see more of her. It didn’t help that she seemed so at ease in his presence. Shedidn’t yet think him a monster, but it was odd she had no reservations when he was also a man. Maybe she thought her extensive clothing made her both invisible and invincible. He chuckled inwardly at the irony that it was accomplishing quite the opposite. Hiding something had always made him more inclined to uncover it.
His cien repeated its earlier temptations, and he shook it loose from his mind as if shaking it from a tree. One benefit of being so much weaker was that his human side had much more control over those impulses now.
You don’t miss being alone. You miss being yourself.It tried another angle now and the argument ensued.
“Losing my power, allowing the curse on my heart to fade, I finally knew how I wanted to die, what I needed to do before I died. Waking up at last, I wanted something for the first time in a long time.”
You can find your soul. You can track it down.His cien continued to persuade him.
“I’ve been given one last chance to pursue what I want, what I didn’t even know I wanted.”
You don’t want to die. You regret going on this journey.
“I don’t regret it.”
Oh yes, you do. Need I remind you that I am only able to materialize in times of doubt?
“I know. But that’s not what I’m doubting.”
Then what is it?
Ryson ran his hands through his hair. “I don’t know.”
Emotions are such a confusing nuisance, aren’t they? You should curse your heart again, or like I said, give it to me. I want it. Give it to me.
Ryson gritted his teeth.“I didn’t leave her so I could speak with you. I need silence.”
When you’re in the ansra of her presence, I can’t reach you. It’s dangerous to be out of touch with me, Ryson.
“I need silence,” Ryson said, used to his cien’s persuasion. It always acted out of self-preservation.
It’s dangerous. We have much to discuss.
“Quiet!” Ryson demanded, and his cien vanished, locked back in the depths of his mind.
He sighed, massaging his temples. Even the solace of solitude gave him no relief.
†††
Clea sat with the scythe in her lap. It was the closest she’d ever been to it. At first glance, it was ornate in its design. Upon closer inspection, it seemed to tell a story.
The scythe blade curved like a crescent moon and had large holes that shrank as they descended down the blade. Metal vines encased the base of the blade and crept around more holes up the length of the weapon until fusing into the monsterthat formed the hilt. The vines transformed into bones, a ribcage forming the shape of the grip. A wolfish creature with a dragon’s jaws and a horned mask bit the black orb that crowned the hilt. She’d thought the dark orb was decorative like the rest of the weapon, but when she placed her hand on it in an attempt to move it, she felt the cien inside. At the realization, she’d been struck with a familiar fear. The paranoid ideas she’d once thought foolish regarding Ryson’s identity now seemed plausible.
Clea looked up as Ryson emerged from the shadows. His eyes locked onto where her hand held the weapon. If he realized his mistake, he didn’t show it. He sat down before the fire, unbothered by her stare.
