“You don’t need to be taken care of. You’re more than capable of taking care of yourself, and I think it’s time you learn that. Don’t you?”
I nod my head, unable to respond to the words that just left his lips. Such a brutal contrast to what I’ve always thought of myself, what I’ve always beentold.
“So this…Char. Where was he the night we met?”
You mean the night I almost died?
“They did something to him. I don’t know what. But it’s the only way those men were able to find me at that bridge. I’m worried about him. All the time, I’m worried.”
“Then, write to him,” he tells me, nodding at the parchment and quill that sit on the desk. “I’ll make sure the letter gets to him, and if he writes back, I’ll make sure that letter gets to you. Just instruct him to leave it at the mailing outpost on the outskirts of your village.”
My heart flutters at the thought. And then even more when I realize exactly what would have to happen in order for my letter to reach the outpost and then his letter to reach me before the third trial starts.
“You would deliver the letter to the outpost yourself? You would take the time to do that?”
“I would. I can move rather quickly, if you don’t recall.”
Oh, I recall.
He smirks at my expression, and without saying another word, I reach for the parchment and begin frantically penning a letter.
Ryjax moves to stand in front of the painting, staring at the ocean view.
Char,
I’m so sorry. So sorry for everything. Are you okay? Please tell me you’re okay and know that I do not blame you. Not even for a minute. I understand why you told them. I need you to know that, to believe that.
I know Char, and I know he’s been beating himself up over telling Norin where I was hiding. But what was he to do? They would have killed him if he didn’t. I continue my letter.
I hate that I can’t talk to you in person. Honestly, I hate everything that’s happened these last few days. Know that I’m all right. I’m safe. And I’ll be safe until we see each other again.
I jot down Ryjax’s instructions about where to leave his letter, and then I end the note by writing:
I miss you.
Fi.
I fold the paper in half and contemplate sending a letter to my parents as well. But I decide against it. I don’t want to give them false hope. I don’t want to tell them I’m alive, tell them I’m coming home, if I’m only coming home to die in the final trial.
My heart aches thinking about what they must be going through. I’ll reach out to them when I’m stronger. I’ll reach out to them when I’m sure I’m going to live.
I move to stand beside Ryjax.
“Thank you,” I say, and he holds out his hand. I give him the letter and join him in admiring the ocean view. “It reminds me of that place you took me to. The sand, the water, the birds.”
“Good. Means I painted it correctly.”
My eyes widen.
“You painted this?” I ask in awe because it truly is so beautiful.
He nods, and we’re both silent. So many minutes pass that I find myself unable to think of what to say next.
“Why did you stop fighting?”
His question, histone, takes me by surprise. It’s pained, almost agonized.
“What do you me—”
