He huffs, clearly annoyed, and raises a hand to trace the sun’s path, squinting like he’s digging through a fog in his head. “We… well…” he mutters. “Morning, maybe?”
No. That’s not it. Can’t say why, but it justisn’t.
“Try again, Rancour,” I press, feeling the silence thicken around us, the pressure climbing. This isn’t just a random question, and he knows it, too. His brows knit tighter as he glances from the sun to his hands, like he’s expecting to pull some magic answer out of thin air.
He drops his hand, jaw clenched in frustration. “Hell if I know. The sun’s damn well rising, isn’t it? Noon’s creeping up, so when else could we have come here?!”
“Fuck!” I curse, turning around and running both hands through my hair. I pivot on my heel, take a look at the sky again and turn to face him once more.
I need to calm down. I need to think about this logically. What has happened…?
“Alright,” I mutter. “It seems like,” I round a finger at our surroundings, “is some kind of a trap. And clearly, the two of us don’t remember something that we should.”
He swallows hard, his throat bobbing. It’s the worst kind of powerlessness—not remembering something that one should but knowing it exists. Fabien glances around, then sighs and takes off his sword. He throws it to the ground and crouches down, like he’s just too tired to keep standing still.
“Yeah, something feels wrong,” he agrees finally. Then, with his mouth open and panting, he looks up at me. “It’s definitely a trap.”
Okay. Alright. This gives us something already, right? It’s better to be trapped and realize it than walk mindlessly forward without noticing it.
“Fine, well… Let’s think about it,” I mutter, walking toward the tree and leaning against it. Somehow, even it’s bark feels like heated-up iron. I need to crouch down like Rancour to even get a semblance of rest. “Why are we here?”
“To retrieve something the Lady wants.”
“Do you remember what?” I ask.
He glances sideways. It takes him a moment to reply. “No.”
Well, damn.
“Okay,” I mutter, nodding. “Fuck that, then. I guess when we see it, we’ll know. But… what do we need that thing for? I mean… I have this notion that time is really important but…”
His eyes widen, he licks his lips. And then, I can see that something pops into his head, even though he doesn’t say what.
“What?” I ask him.
His eyebrows pinch together again and he’s shaking his head slowly, like whatever he came up with seems too ridiculous to voice out loud. But that’s just the thing here, isn’t it? Everything seems ridiculous. I can barely believe that I’m in a place like this. It feels too much like a dream. Too unreal.
“Just spit it out,” I snap at him, slapping his shoulder with my hand. The sweat that stays on my palm is so thick that I immediately regret it.
At least it works.
“I just… I remember Ridley saying something about dusk and dawn. Twelve hours to one and twenty-four to another. We were supposed to meet on the ship by that time.”
The moment he says it, the memory of it pops up in my head. Yes. Something like that did happen.
“The two of us came here, to the island of the sun, and Gypsy and Vinicola went to the other,” I mutter, following up on it. “And the time we came here was important because…”
“Because if we’re not back by dusk—or was it dawn?—then we’re screwed. Won’t make it to the Trial in time,” Rancour cuts in, his voice barely a whisper but sharp enough to hit like a gut punch.
“Hell,” I mutter, raking a hand through my hair again. “You couldn’t have shared that little gem sooner, Rancour? What, were you just waiting for the suspense?”
He scoffs, his lip curling. “Yeah, alright,” he says. “It’s just that I wasn’t sure I trusted it myself. Come to think of it… if dusk’s twelve hours from a certain point in time, the sun would be directly overhead at noon. And if dawn’s twelve hours from that same point, the sun’s at its lowest—or close to setting, depending on whatever Ridley thought he meant when he said it.”
I stare at him, realization and dread twisting into a hard knot in my stomach. “Either way, the sun we’re seeing here,” I point up above. “Is not what truly stands away from the island.”
“We have no way of knowing time,” he quips.
I let out a harsh, sour laugh. Either that, or I’ll end up screaming into these goddamn trees.
