Page 65 of Bound By Blood
She started toward the floating castle then, contemplating all that had happened. It was far easier to find her way there in daylight than it was at night, mostly because she could see the castle through the branches. Even when the foliage became too thick, a few steps farther and it came into view once more.
Her stomach tightened as she drew closer. Despite Ryul's assurances, she suspected Quinn still wouldn't be happy. And she needed Quinn to at least accept her presence for a little bit if she was going to make this work.
She stepped out into the clearing. The grass seemed shorter and crunchier now, the leaves on the surrounding trees more yellow and red. It was as if the season was changing faster here. It still smelled like stone and woodsmoke, though.
"Hello, Quinn," she said, setting her hands on her waist. "I need you to listen to me, and when you respond, I really need you to not yell or raise your voice, if you'd be so kind."
The stones creaked as if in response. The glossy doors seemed to glower at her from their great height.
Buttons barked up at it as well.
"Now, I know you care about Ryul, and I certainly don't blame you for that. He is one of the best people I have ever known of any race. And while he and I did not start off on the right foot, I assure you that now—if anything were about to happen to him—I would happily club the threat with a skillet."
More stones creaked. An odd sound huffed out. Was that a laugh?
She broadened her stance. "I'd do better than that, too, if I could, but I am just a human. So all my violence requires creativity. I don't have magic. And I know you might not like me, but you and I need to get to the bottom of this because I've made up my mind what I want, and I'd like to tell Ryul in person. So you're going to need to help me with that. Please?"
The wind stirred through the stones, sighing and whispering.
She remained where she was, listening. If it took all day, that was fine. She knew exactly what she needed to do.
RYUL
Ryul dragged himself up out of the narrow stone chamber, grimacing. It never hurt any less to be ripped apart like that and cast into darkness in whatever this dank place was. To his knowledge, the curse didn't throw him into a real part of the castle. Rather it was some place in between. Some sort of magical void.
"Are you all right, Ryul?" Quinn asked, their voice wavering with emotion. "You should rest. At least for a little bit."
"This is all your fault, you bloated ball of consciousness," he grumbled, glaring up at the ceiling, even though he wasn't sure if that was where Quinn was at the moment. "If you'd listened to me from the start, this never would have happened."
"Hmmm." Quinn did not sound convinced.
Ryul collapsed on the stone, rolled into a seated position, and held his head. He ached, and the cold here bit all the way through his bones. Here, loneliness and isolation were most vividly epitomized. His own breaths echoed as loudly as if there was someone else nearby. But there wasn't anyone else near.
There might never be anyone near here ever again.
He and Erryn still needed to talk. And he had to make sure he listened. This wasn't the time to bargain. Even though he desperately wanted to just ask her what it would take. He'd give her anything—anything at all—if she would just agree to stay with him—to be with him.
He closed his eyes, the aching intensifying. It had been worth it to get cast back down into that horrid place and have to make the long grinding crawl back up just to be near her and to feel the warmth of her body against his for those extra moments. Even now, the memory of her smiling at him, her brow slightly twisted with concern and hazel-brown eyes wide, was enough of a consolation. She never had to know how much it hurt to be ripped to shreds and then reformed. She never had to know because she would never understand how much comfort and joy she brought him and how all of that made this worth it.
He drew in a long ragged breath, filling his chest with the damp air.
Tonight though—tonight they would talk. He hoped she would take the prism. After all she had lost, could she possibly say yes to him otherwise?
He couldn't imagine being in her shoes.
The loss of his family had nearly destroyed him. How long had he wailed and attacked the walls and desperately searched for them before realizing there was precious little he could do? But he had never carried the burden of believing it was his fault that they had been separated from him.
Creator help him, he missed her already.
He made his way up the long cracked staircase to his own quarters. Or what had become his quarters. His old bedroom had been lost along with many other rooms that were quite valuable, including the kitchen and the sunroom and the training room. The magic in the castle hadn't adapted to creating new rooms or new items beyond the initial instructions poured into it at its creation. So it carried on as it always did, restocking the larder, eliminating dust, starting fires in the chosen fireplaces, filling pitchers and inkwells, and just generally struggling to function. Not even Quinn could reason with or alter the magic instilled in this place. More than once, it had gotten things wrong, but it did its best, and he appreciated it.
He'd turned the small cartography study into his bedroom. All the remaining rooms were far too large and made him feel tiny and alone. As a child, he had never gone in here, mostly because it had been locked up. None of his siblings or cousins went in either, but that also meant it wasn't drenched in memories that cut him through the heart. It smelled of old cedar, bitter ink, sifting ash, and nova musk. Dried leaves had been pressed between pieces of glass and hung on the wall between framed maps, little notations marked alongside each.
He'd shoved the desk to the far wall and made a bed of what was currently furs and a couple tablecloths topped with two blue blankets. Over the months, he'd tried out different things to make it more comfortable. He had enough to make a separate bed for Erryn if she wanted it, either in here or in one of the other small rooms. Though—admittedly—he hoped she'd be willing to share his if she agreed to stay. It would also be easier because the castle's magic hated change so much that it had taken weeks and weeks to keep it from disassembling his bed and putting the pieces back where they originally belonged.
The fire flared up in the hearth, bright yellow flames that soon dulled to orange. He picked up the cracked porcelain pitcher and poured the cool water into the basin.
However long it took, it didn't matter. As much as a part of him longed to hear her say she loved him—as much as he needed it—he would never force her to say that. It was enough to know that she felt it. He wished she didn't even feel like she needed to.
