Page 92 of Angel in Absentia
“Princess,” he started.
“You cannot make this choice. I have to,” she pushed, searching his eyes. “We can maybe–” she shook her head, searching the space between them, “see each other sparingly. But you musn’t tempt me with the woods with any notion of freedom. It would be the end if I lost my purpose, lost my light. Don’t you see? I can’t risk anything that could lead me down the path of becoming a Venennin.”
Ryson paused, and they sat in silence for a long moment. She turned and took the glass from the floor, lifting herself up. “I’ll get you more water. We will need to figure out what to do, how to maintain this incredibly tedious balance, if that’s even possible.”
He was silent as she walked into the bathroom and poured another glass. She looked up into the mirror and paused when she noticed a subtle redness to the scar along her face. Inflammation was rare for a Veilin wound. She approached the mirror. Her hand drifted up almost unconsciously, fingers brushing the thin cut along her cheek—the one Alina’s claws had left behind.
It should have faded almost completely by now.
Frowning, Clea leaned closer to the mirror, inspecting the injury in the dimness. At first, it seemed to be nothing more than a shallow scratch.
Then she saw it. A glint. A thread of something silver.
Clea’s breath caught.
She stared, frozen, as she leaned even closer, her heart pounding painfully against her ribs.
Tiny filaments of metallic sheen were woven into the deep brown of her irises, threading corruption into her sight. Insednian silver. The infection that no Veilin had been able to remove. The curse that no Venennin could retract.
Alina had also worn cursed claws.
“Princess,” Ryson called quietly, questioningly from the other room. She returned to him, handing him the glass, hunkering down in front of him and facing away as she leaned against him.
They remained there for several minutes, Clea feeling his presence distinctly in the presence of the empty hallways.
“I’ve looked all my life for a place where I can exist. It’s here. With you,” she whispered, her eyes brimming with tears as she worked to keep any notable tremble from her voice. “I exist here.”
“You are all the same for me,” he whispered back. “Princess, I think you’ve won.”
“Won?” She asked, and wanted to laugh darkly.
“The illusion,” he whispered. “I was convinced that taking you into the woods, having you join us, become an Insednian was a solution. I tempted you toward that, but now as you’ve rejected it, I’ve realized what it would ultimately mean. You would be free, but just as you said, no longer grounded. I am sure, in time,you would lose yourself just as we all have. You were right. I will do everything I can to protect that in you, moving forward. I see it clearly now.”
She paused, lifting a dirtied hand to wipe her eyes and push some of her hair out of her face. They were both still ragged from the aftermath of yesterday, a reminder that today should perhaps have some modicum of celebration, but she couldn’t celebrate. Even now, she felt like she was in the middle of the battlefield.
“Could any of it ever have been undone?” She whispered, swallowing. “The Insednian curse, for instance.” She approached the topic with the slightest shaking in her hands, clenching her fists as she tried to compose herself.
“The curse is final, even beyond my own power,” Ryson admitted. “It is an extension of my very presence.”
A tear slipped down her cheek, and she lifted a hand carefully to wipe it away. She took a breath, this time unable to hide the tremble in it. He shifted behind her as if to look at her more clearly, but she looked away. She could almost feel the question of his concern in the air.
“What is it?” He asked at last, and she turned to look at him, knowing that the light of the morning hid any silver in her eyes. Unable to place her hands on his face, she rested them on his chest, tears streaming down her cheeks as she smiled sadly at him. “I’ve lost so many people,” she said, “and you–you have always been so honest. I am the liar. How did I become the liar?” She choked through the emotion. “You told me the real choices, and I made them over and over again while lying to myself about what I was choosing.”
He searched her eyes carefully as if trying to figure out what bothered her so deeply.
“Princess,” he whispered and pulled her close against his chest as she started to sob.
“You have been forthcoming in darkness, while my light is villainous as I insist on deceiving myself again. I have been convincing myself that I am the hero as I’ve made myself the villain.” She spoke hurriedly against his chest until her bout of crying calmed.
He kept her close in the silence, Clea staring blankly forward.
“Balance is nothing but the perfection of tension,” Ryson whispered, his voice measured and calm. “Sometimes getting there feels like being pulled violently back and forth.”
“I don’t feel back and forth, only one loss after the next.” She breathed and then swallowed hard as she wiped her face.
“You can see all change as loss, or all loss as change,” he replied easily.
“How does a warlord offer sage wisdom?” She whispered, exasperated.
