Page 93 of A City of Flames

Never have I seen such darkness in those green eyes. It’s as if worries cloud them. I don’t back away from him and mutter, “You said it yourself once; I’m adventurous.” I cock my head, clearing my throat. “Will that be all, deputy? Or must I give a reason for that too?”

I’m aware of how cold I’m acting, and his sharp chuckle tells me he notices. “Always so defensive, Nara.”

I don’t provide an answer because it’s true. The same way he puts his walls up, so do I. No matter how regretful I feel afterward, especially with him.

“I do have another question, though,” he says, and it’s so quiet, but every pulse of mine with him standing this close beats in my ear, my throat, my chest. “Where did you get that vial of blood?”

My veins freeze, and I picture the shifter curled up on the floor in agony. “I—” A deep pause. “I took it from a trapper I used to work for, he had a thing for collecting various things, and I suppose faerie blood was one of them.” It’s hard to imagine the blood I took from Ivarron could have reacted that way upon the touch of the shifter’s skin. “I forgot I still had it with me,” I say, and Lorcan’s slow, cautious nod prompts me to add, “Is the shifter—”

“He’s weak but alive,” he answers bluntly before I can finish. I wish to ask further, but it’ll only raise suspicion. I don’t want to see that shifter again, and he didn’t care whether I freed him or not, but the blood reaction...

I refrain from saying another word and cross my arms over my chest, waiting for him to leave. It’s minimal, but a flash of struggle crosses his eyes. Struggle and torment with himself.

He walks to the door, and shame fills my chest; I fear it will burst. By the time he raises his hand to unlock the door, he stills for what feels like many contemplative seconds. “Nara,” he sighs my name before turning around, his head hung low. “The carving of the moon... tell me about it.”

I look at him with caution, not understanding why he is bringing that up now. His eyes lift at my silence. He reminds me of a child getting reprimanded. “Please?”

His pleading voice has my heart stop. I start softly, like I’m still not sure if I should be answering him. “When I was young, I used to carry around a carving of the sun.” My throat moves as Lorcan’s gaze stays put. “One day, I bumped into someone in a rush who dropped the crescent. We ended up picking each other’s, and from then on, I’ve always carried that crescent as a form of good luck.”

“So, this...” He brings forward his fisted hand, the one he kept holding behind his back. “Must belong to you then.” Peeling his fingers away, shock grips at my throat. White oak carved into the shape of the sun.

My carving...

“It was you?” I breathe, rushing to grasp the carving. Tears well in my eyes as I touch the wooded rays with my index finger, recollecting the memories of my mother. it’s the first carving I’d ever done with her help. “You kept it all these years?”

“I always wondered why it was so special.” Lorcan looks at it then his eyes are on me, purposeful and fierce. “Now I know.”

Because I’d carved it.

I’m at a loss, nothing... yet everything comes at once. It’s odd, strange, peculiar. I still remember the words my mother told me when I’d tried to yell after the person who’d dropped the crescent. That it was a sign from Solaris and Crello, two souls crossing paths. Iker always made fun of that idea, but I believe.

With my fingers on the carving, I look towards my bed and the crescent. My brows narrow in deep thought as I glance at Lorcan. “What does the R stand for?” A question I’ve wanted to know the answer to for so long.

“My father’s name,” he says, and his stare twists pensively down at the sun. “Rayth... he is the one who carved it.”

My heart tumbles, and my eyes widen as I retract my fingers from the carving. “I didn’t know your father was a carver.”

He laughs, but it sounds sad, distant. “There’s a lot you don’t know.”

He’s right. There is a lot I don’t know yet from the start; he’s found something that tethers us together. So many thoughts race through my mind; why was he in such a rush that day? Did he keep it for the same reasons I did?

He sighs as if he’s about to apologize when I’m the one who’s constantly lying to him. “Nara, I—”

“No.” I shake my head. “I’m sorry for the way I’ve been acting lately it’s just—there is so much going on, I’m not used to talking to people about my problems I—”

“You know you can trust me, Nara,” His words take on a sweet melody, enough to make me believe. Except despite everything, part of me still finds it hard to when he is who he is.

I give him a weak nod then Link bursts through the doors, nervously apologizing when he sees Lorcan is here with me.

Lorcan’s smile doesn’t quite touch his eyes. “It’s best I leave.”

I don’t reply. My hands simply clutch onto the carving.

He leans in. His lips press onto my cheek, but I can barely feel the kiss against my skin as he withdraws from me and walks past Link.

“Wait,” I blurt out with a sigh. Lorcan turns halfway at the door as I walk up to him and grab his hand, placing the carving inside his palm. “I still want you to have it.”

He looks at it, wearing a cheerless expression before he leaves and I feel... hollow almost.

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