Page 26 of Light Locked
“Well,” she started in a strained whisper. Firmer, she added, “It seems you are just as angry at the world as I am afraid of it.”
Her eyes flitted down to the weapon as she picked it up.
She wondered what this weapon had done. It felt heavier with each second as it rested in the softness of her palms, the contrast of the materials merely a reflection of who they were. She turned it, leaning forward as she extended it toward him.
He drew it from her grasp as if it were an extension of his own body, easy and natural in his hands. They sat in the quiet musings of the crackling flames.
It had been a campfire much like this one that had drawn her to him in the first place. Now, it divided them, perhaps some clue that getting any closer to each other would be like walking on coals.
She didn’t ask any more questions that night, and did not object to his words. Instead, she said, “I made a commitment in Virday that I would see the world like it is, not just how I want it to be because I’m afraid. I’ll think about your words. I’m done being deceived and that includes deceiving myself.”
It was difficult to tell in the dark, but her last proclamation seemed to cause him to raise a skeptical brow. If so, the expression quickly vanished back into the evenness of his face.
He added nothing to the silence and despite her expressed convictions, she felt a renewed isolation in the wake of his words. The world felt stifling, the darkness closing in around her as if she were the last human being on earth; alone, even in the presence of the moon.
Chapter 9
The Sun
IN SLEEPY WORDLESSNESS, they embarked into colder climates. As Clea walked, she was re-acquainted with the pains of sleeping on the forest ground.
The morning woods were no longer enchanting, but felt empty and dreadful. After last night’s discussion, all that lingered was a painful sense of isolation. The forest was a vicious alien, the medallion around her neck, a poison, and then there was Ryson, who balanced precariously on the lines between ally, enemy, and enigma.
She’d provoked him, pushed and prodded until she’d gotten the clarity she’d thought she wanted. Yet, in the wake of all that, she was left feeling discouraged. What had she expected? She felt foolish, but she’d had her reasons for pushing like she had. Her life was in his hands. To trust him, she needed to know him, and despite still feeling like her statements last night had been true, she grappled for some sense of legitimate security.
She crossed her arms as they walked, her downward glances evolving into a focused glare on Ryson’s back.
In the past three years, she’d lost her mother to a horde of reaping shades, navigated Virday alone, stolen the Deadlock Medallion, and nearly died on multiple occasions. Now she was fretting over what? A Kalex?
She shook her head as her free hand drifted to the medallion.
It had to be related to the medallion. The darkness she’d felt had to be nothing more than an illusion, creating fears for her.
But what if it wasn’t? Ryson was involved in the dark world. He made no effort to hide that.
She gritted her teeth, arguing with herself.
Ryson was a Kalex, and not the kind she liked. He was the kind she’d always been warned about, the brutish, violent, cold, cien-following kind.
Clea, this isn’t a battle.The words pushed against the barricade of anger that justified her cynicism. She struggled with the thought until her conscience beat her, warranting a sigh of defeat.
She and Ryson were supposed to be allies. They had to be. Otherwise, she was doing all this alone, and something about that battle felt even more unbearable than a tedious alliance.
But he is so difficult, she reminded herself, scrambling to collect the remnants of her grudge before accepting she would have to make amends. Difficult or not, he was all she had for now. She could make this partnership work at least until reaching Loda. Their differences would teach her something new about the world. That’s how it had always been.
Her grip tightened on the straps of her bag.
Their situation didn’t warrant the luxury of a grudge, and she’d seen how petty disagreements could grow into fissures between people.
Uncomfortable with her own anger and fears, she walked herself through the standard mental reminders she reviewed to soften herself against someone: Ryson had come from a different world than she had. She didn’t know his struggles. She couldn’t judge him. Maybe he wasn’t as bad as he seemed. Perhaps she had been at fault to push him last night.
She continued listing off ideas that might rouse her sympathies, but her admission of guilt only angered her further.
He is really just wounded, she persisted.Behind his cold exterior is nothing more than a wounded m—
Clea gasped when Ryson released a branch and it smacked her in the face. She stumbled past it, but the end of it caught her hair and jerked her to a halt. She grabbed it and tried to pull it out to no avail. A few more embarrassing attempts at freedom invited a pent-up torrent of rage. She gripped the branch and wrestled with it, eventually snapping it off and whipping back toward Ryson, fuming. She stormed forward, fishing through her hair in an attempt to remove the rest of it as she held a thicker portion in her hand. Ryson watched the spectacle from a few paces ahead.
Monster, she thought, gritting her teeth at the innocence with which he beheld her struggle.
