Page 21 of Light Locked
Clea sighed. She often had to remind herself that he intended to be rude and disagreeable. No doubt, he did choose his words carefully.
“You couldn’t sleep?” she asked after a while.
He tossed the stick he was holding into the flames.
“Sleep is an additional form of gaining energy to me. It’s not a necessity,” he explained in the same monotone voice thatalways irked her. Nevertheless, his response was surprising.
“You never sleep? Not even simply to do so? Aren’t you bored?” Some Kalex were nocturnal, but she’d never met one who didn’t sleep.
He leaned back, resting his arms on his knees. “I would much rather be bored than visit the horrors that would welcome me otherwise.”
Clea assumed his dark and blunt response was meant to deter further inquisition. She recognized it as a defense mechanism of his when he wanted her to quit talking, which was always.
“I’m surprised we haven’t run into any forest beasts yet. Is that normal for you?” she asked.
“Would you like me to go find one?” he asked.
Her eyes locked onto him, a reflection of the intensity with which she mulled over his response. She’d backed down before, but she’d gotten to the point of wanting to prod further despite the nature of his replies.
As if sensing the focus of her gaze, Ryson met it with his own. He did nothing for a moment, like he was expecting her to look away. She knit her brows and pressed her lips firmly together in a focused, studious way.
“What?” he said with a heavy flatness despite how his flickering eyes displayed the dance of the fire. The way the light of his eyes contrasted the movement of the flames made it looked like his soul was burning.
She was convinced there was much more to him than what he showed her.
Veilin that focused on healing could often get a sense of people’s wounds, physical and otherwise. Sometimes someone’s suffering felt empty, sometimes full, sometimes silent, other times loud. With Ryson, the sense of his pain left her at a loss for descriptive words. It was entirely new to her and perplexing.
“Ryson, I would like to get to know you more,” she said at last, the summary of all her flurried thoughts.
He smirked and then lowered his head as if to hide it. He shook once and then laughed, surprising her. His laugh was almost musical, but dark.
She observed him with intrigue, amazed that he was capable of producing such a sound. She had no idea what amused him. His every characteristic had either heaviness, sharpness or darkness. There were no traces of those qualities that so often defined the light.
His laughing quieted, and he returned his gaze to the fire.
“No. You wouldn’t,” he replied, white teeth suggesting the coming presence of a smile.
“How would you know that?”
“Trust me. We had a deal. That deal involved that I transport you to Loda. I treat you with as much neutrality as I can muster, even though my own inclinations dictate differently. With that medallion dangling around your neck, I can already guess that your mind is subject to additional stress, and I can’t have you losing your mind, can I? The kindness I show you isforced, and therefore is not symbolic of a partnership. We aren’t allies, but temporary acquaintances. That’s all we can be.”
“Friends?” Clea replied.
Ryson broke his gaze from the fire, which he always seemed to find so fascinating. His brows rose incredulously, and his jaw went slack to form an expression that made her feel like a dumb lamb. She resented that feeling and didn’t think she deserved it, shoving it off her like a wet blanket.
“You’re serious?” he asked.
“Yes!” she said with impatience as she leaned toward him, grasping her hands in front of her like she were begging him. “I only need someone to talk with. I know little about you, and traveling with a silent guide is exhausting. Every time I try to start a conversation, you quit talking! You’re rude and sarcastic for no reason.”
“So, you want to use me to escape your boredom?” The more enthusiastic she seemed, the more emotionless he became.
“No, that’s not what I meant,” she snapped. “By cien, you would take it that way. Must you be such a cynic?”
“Yes.”
“Why?” She threw the word like a hook, hoping to draw him out into anything, a discussion, an argument, an explanation at least. She had nothing to talk to. The plants were fake. The animals were fake. She didn’t have anything to read. She’d replayed conversations in her head so many times that they’d started their own dialogues and she was losing track of whoactually said what in reality. She was driving herself mad and the only little piece of life in this entire forest to connect to was insistent on being left alone.
“It’s just who I am.”
