“I agree with all that,” he reiterated. “But it doesn’t mean I want you to go.”
Vi searched his eyes. Had their faces always been this close? Or had they been slowly moving together?
Near. Far. Near. Far.
Back and forth they swung, a pendulum that never lost its momentum. The closer she got to him one moment, the further he felt the next. Vi closed her eyes, taking a slow breath through her nose. She leaned forward, resting her forehead lightly against his one final time.
But Vi didn’t kiss him, not with an audience. Not now, when he still looked of death and smelled of potion. She’d kiss him when they were next together—when they were both stronger. In her mind, that future joining of mouths and tongues was an unspoken promise—to whom, exactly, she wasn’t sure.
“Be careful,” she whispered, and quickly stood, giving a nod to Sarphos. The man now wore an entirely new, strange, expression. “I’m ready.”
“Very well then. Until I return with stronger, more tailored potions, continue drinking that, and chew on those. And whenever you feel strong enough… do try to take a bath.” Sarphos pointed to the various healing accoutrements he’d left before he pushed himself through the crack.
Vi looked down at Taavin once more, already regretting her decision not to kiss him.
“Taavin… I…” Her voice was barely more than a whisper.
“Yes?” Had his breathing hastened? Or was it her imagination?
“I hope you feel stronger soon. I’ll be back as soon as I’m able.” Vi side-stepped through the craggy opening, reminding herself of the one thing Taavin had made clear: terrible things happened to the people he loved. Thus, he didn’t want to love anyone, or have anyone love him.
Under no circumstances could she let him know he’d well and truly stolen her heart.
“Ready?” Sarphos startled her from her thoughts as she emerged from the small cave.
“Yes, this way.” Vi started on ahead, walking along the bank of the stream. Just once she considered ignoring her promise to Sarphos about showing him the tear. But Vi knew she had to keep her word. New plans were already forming in her head. “Thank you, Sarphos, for healing him.”
“You didn’t leave me with much of a choice.”
“That makes me no less grateful.”
“I suppose, in a way, I should be thanking you.” Sarphos ran a hand through his ruddy hair.
“Why?”
“If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes… I would’ve never thought the monster capable of compassion, let alone affection.”
They reached the singed tree that marked the point Vi had diverted from the stream. Sarphos at her side, Vi followed her earlier markers into the dark woods.
“Why do you call him a monster?” She didn’t want to make small talk. But when it came to Taavin, she wanted to understand the source of Sarphos’s vitriol.
“If you are from the Dark Isle, as you claim—”
“Which I am.”
“—then there’s no way you could understand. This is not your fight.”
Vi sighed, pausing a moment to locate the next singe mark before moving on. “Maybe not… But Taavin is very important to me, and I’d like to understand the conflict as it relates to him.”
“You may not be able to hear the truth, as you have already been taken in by Faithful lies. But if you can, trust me when I say that there’s good reason why many in this world would kill me for not letting him die and rot in that cave. Even then, that would be a death far better than he deserves.”
Vi wanted to tell him that Taavin had been honest with her about the mutual hatred between the Faithful and the morphi—that she knew it was rooted in fundamental ideological differences in each culture’s magic. But the tear had come into view, and the conversation ended.
“What in the…” Sarphos murmured, slowly approaching the felled tree Vi had crossed through earlier.
“Don’t get too close.” She grabbed his forearm, holding him back. “It’s not safe.”
“It doesn’t look safe.” His nose scrunched. “And smells of death. You went through that?”
