Page 41 of Light Locked
He grimaced. “All of that is incredibly optimistic.”
“You’re right.” Now she was rolling her eyes. “You are incredibly evil with your scary attitude and your scary eyes.”
“This isn’t a joke.” He leaned toward her.
“I know,” she shot back, mirroring him.
“I’m serious.”
“I know.”
He sighed, falling against the tree as he tilted his head back. “Fine. Do what you want, but quickly.”
She smirked.
“Stop it,” he snapped, staring up at the darkness above.
She bit down her smile as she retrieved the water and a cloth from her bag, and unwrapped the broken bandaging on his shoulder. The brief humor she’d enjoyed faded as she noticed the state of his skin. There was extensive scarring, and as she cleaned it, the bandages slid farther apart. Curiosity set in as she saw another series of scars. She nudged at the shoulder of the jacket to peek beneath the fabric.
Clea glanced at Ryson, who was looking off in the opposite direction. Feeling secure, she pinched the bandages and loosened those closer to his wound.
The only part of his body that was exposed was his face. Did that mean what skin he hid was as heavily marked as his shoulder?
“Princess,” he said, startling her. “What are you doing?”
She turned to see him watching her again.
She pulled her hands away, feeling like she’d been caught stealing.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “You might heal fast, but frankly, not…well.”
“Don’t act like you’ve never seen scars before. You Veilin might do without them, but I know you’ve seen plenty of regular humans and Kalex,” he replied, shifting where he sat. His movements only disturbed the bandaging further, loosening both of the strips on his neck and shoulder. “Are you done? I’m not an exhibit.”
“No, no, hold on, almost,” she said, still needing to rewrap thewound.
Clea helped herself to one of the daggers from his belt, causing him to raise an eyebrow before she cut a large piece of fabric from the cloth she’d used to clean the wound.
“You know, if I had to have a different eye color, it would be silver.” She sliced the fabric into strips, and purified it with a blessing before wrapping it around his shoulder.
“Why?” he asked, seemingly appalled, and she could already sense a follow up question before she shared her answer.
“I just said they were scary before because there has been so much mention of silver eyes being cursed, but I like them. Cien doesn’t own the color silver.” She replied resolutely as she smoothed out the fabric of the bandages with her fingertips. “If I want to like them, I will. I used to watch the moon almost every night from my windowsill. I thought it was beautiful even then. Cien doesn’t own the moon. Cien doesn’t own scars either. They’ve never bothered me.” She wrapped his shoulder in silence.
“Because you’re apparently mad.”
Despite the gruffness of his tone and the insult, she smiled. Being mad in a world like this one didn’t sound so awful either. His follow up question never came.
Clea snuck a curious glance at his face, expecting to catch a glimpse of his condescension or derision, emotions she suddenly found humorous on him, especially when directed at her. Instead, she was surprised to find him oddly transfixed on a strand of hair loosened from her braid.
She realized her braid was a complete mess as she hadn’t rebraided it well enough. Self-consciously, she tucked the strand away, seeing him almost flinch at the abrupt motion.
“It’s a mess,” she said, justifying her nervous reaction, but he didn’t reply.
She finished smoothing out the resulting bandaging with her fingers and tied it. Before she had time to pull away from him, she noticed small welts of scar tissue that formed a pale crescent along his neck.
She remained silent for a moment, and Ryson turned to see her expression as the silence continued. His eyes found hers, and as if he understood her shock, his hand moved to pull the bandages back over his throat.
“Wait,” she said, stopping him. “May I see it?”
