Page 89 of Scythe & Sparrow
And if you want to meet me, I’ll be waiting every day at Lookout Rock. I’ll stay at Covecrest Cottages but I’ll wait from dawn to dusk at the lookout for you.
I hope you come, so I can prove to you that every word, every letter, is true.
I love you. I’m not letting you go. I never will.
FK
I set the letter down and pick up the Star card. He drew this card from a deck and thought about me. He hoped these letters would knit some kind of connection between us, but he had nothing to go on but a feeling. And that’s the only thing he’s had to hold on to all these months.
I look out the window toward the fairgrounds, watching the Ferris wheel spin against the sky.
And I just keep watching, even after the lights go out.
THREE OF SWORDS
Fionn
The sun is setting behind me, scattering orange and pink flashes of light on the ocean waves. The contract with Leander might be finished, at least for now, but the memories of it haunt me like a film over the world. I’ve been looking at the sea from morning to night for the past five days, and in some ways, I’m not sure how much I’ve reallyseenit. I’ve seen wounds I’ve sewn over the last several months. I’ve made unexpected friendships, and I’ve seen the faces of those same people twisted with pain and suffering. I’ve seen broken bones and gunshots and torn flesh. I’ve seen death. But I’ve also seen Rose. No matter how deep the darkness dragged me, memories of Rose have been there to warm the night. I’ve seen her face as I’ve watched the sea. I’ve heard her laugh. I’ve felt her kiss on my lips, the give of her flesh beneath my hands.
But they’ve only been memories. And the hope of seeing her again feels like it’s drifting out to sea.
I look at my watch and my heart drops, scraping bone on its way to the cold stone beneath my boots. She should have gotten myletter three days ago. I came early, just in case. But Lookout Rock is thirty minutes away from Ellsworth, maybe forty-five if she’s driving Dorothy. It’s close enough that she could have taken her motorcycle and made it here even faster, if she wanted.
My head drops as I take a deep breath of ocean air and pick up the backpack lying at my feet. With one last look at the sea, I turn. The backpack drops from my hand as my eyes land on a person who could be an apparition.
Rose.
She’s so beautiful that the breath flees from my lungs. Her dark hair shifts in the breeze. It’s just like the last time I saw her—fringe that skims her brows, waves that caress her jaw. Her mahogany eyes drill right into me, tearing back layers as though she can see every sin I’ve stacked up around my soul. She’s wearing her leather jacket and a low-cut tank top beneath it. Black jeans and motorcycle boots. She looks tough as hell. But it’s not just her clothes or the way she stands with her hands buried in the pockets of her jacket. There’s a hard edge to her expression. No teasing spark in her gaze, no laugh at the ready. No smile or warmth in her eyes.
I know I did what I had to do to keep her safe. But this is the first time I’ve really seen how badly I’ve broken her to do it.
“I’m so …” I nearly choke on my words. Take a deep breath. Start again. “I’m so happy you’re here. It’s good to see you.”
I feel like I’m unraveling from the inside out. But Rose? She’s unreadable. The woman who has always lived wide open with her emotions on display. “You look different,” she says.
I glance down at my clothes, run a hand through my hair. It’s still short, but a little longer than the last time we saw each other, a bit less refined. There’s more stubble on my face, probably somedark circles beneath my eyes from the sleepless nights I’ve had worrying that she wouldn’t come. I don’t know about the rest of me, but she must see something.
“You look the same. Beautiful,” I say. I take a single step closer. Rose doesn’t move. “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”
“Me neither,” she replies, shifting her gaze away from me toward the sea. For a long moment, she stays silent, her expression hard. “I needed some time to think.”
Rose is not the type to sit and stew on things. She’s the type to jump in and deal with the consequences later.
“I’m glad you came,” I say, and she nods but keeps her eyes from mine. A swallow shifts in her throat. Though her expression doesn’t change, I can see how much she’s struggling beneath a mask of indifference. I feel like my heart is left behind on the stone, my chest hollow, scraped clean. “I have something for you.”
When I reach down for my bag, I dart a glance her way. It’s a little bit of a relief to catch her watching with more interest than she wants to admit, judging by the way she stiffens when our eyes connect. My lips twitch with a smile that she doesn’t see as I rummage in my bag. When I straighten, I hold an envelope in my hand, but I don’t offer it to her. I open it instead.
“The last card of the deck,” I say as I withdraw only the card and hold it out for her to take, the envelope and a folded letter clutched in my other hand. There’s a question in her furrowed brow, but she takes the card and looks at the image. She knows tarot. She knew this would be the last one left. “The Lovers.”
She doesn’t say anything, just looks down at the card, letting her hair obscure as much of her face as it can. I unfold the letter.
“Dear Rose,” I say. “It’s so good to be able to finally use your name. Because that means I’m home now.”
Rose’s nose twitches and she sniffs but still doesn’t look up from the card.
“I’m sorry for everything I’ve put you through. I couldn’t tell you where I was or what I was doing because it was just too dangerous. I couldn’t bear the thought of someone finding their way to you. Even writing you these notes was a risk. I’ve never written letters to anyone before, but there were days when it felt like knowing you might be holding the same paper and reading the same words kept me alive.”
When I glance up from the letter, she’s watching me, a shine in her eyes. My fingers tremble as adrenaline floods my veins, my gaze lingering for a moment on the end of the line of a tattoo that runs the length of my left forearm, one of her heart’s rhythms, traced with precision from a photo I took of her EKG as she slept in the hospital.
