“They told me that you died and I thought that Howl had killed you. He always found a way to take away everything good in my life…”
The blood leaves his face. “No. Not Howl.”
Her voice is small. “But you didn’t take me with you.”
He blinks at her. Swallows visibly. “I didn’t think… that you…”
I lean back in my chair. It feels like they’ve forgotten I’m here, the same way everyone in the room fades away for me when I’m with Baelen.
Indira rustles her wings again, but it’s a subdued movement, the torn ribbons fluttering around her. “Was it because of these?”
Erit closes the small gap between them, his arms unfolding and his knees knocking against hers. “No, not because of your wings.”
She presses her lips together so hard they turn white. “You were older than me but I turned eighteen the night you disappeared. I thought you knew my heart. I went to your bed but you were already gone.”
Erit is shell-shocked, frozen, wings half-forward, not quite reaching for her.
I take glances between the two of them and carefully slide off my chair. It’s time to go. I’m definitely intruding on a conversation I shouldn’t be part of now. I tiptoe away from the table, grateful that neither of them notices my departure.
Outside, I take stock of the mountain and its view of the wastelands. Talon crows wheel across the distant sky. The birds aren’t as big as giant eagles and nowhere near as large as the Phoenix but they are a dangerous predator. Far, far in the distance, our world ends in walls of rock. I never imagined that any clan could survive in the wastelands, let alone on a cold mountain like this one. I feel a deep respect for the Outlier Clan and especially the Grievous females for surviving in these conditions. I shiver, wishing I’d brought a coat. I draw on the heartstones’ power, trying to warm myself as I glance at the door behind me.
Nope, not going back in there to get warm. Not until one or both of them comes out.
Five minutes later, Erit emerges, quiet and troubled. He leans against the wall beside the door, his wings tucked tight to his sides, broad shoulders hunched. I can’t see much of Indira through the opening, but it looks like she picks up the jug of alcohol and stares right into it.
He says, “I can’t be what she wants.”
I blink hard. Is he really going to throw this chance away? “And what is that, Erit?”
He gestures at our surroundings. “Grievous. I can’t return to the clan I gave up.”
I funnel as much anger into my response as I can muster while my teeth are on the verge of chattering. “I don’t think this is the same clan you left. It’s changed dramatically. In fact, it’s still changing and you have the chance to be part of that change.”
He shoots away from the wall, obviously taken back by the harshness in my tone. I’ve never reprimanded him before. “Lady Storm?”
I glower at him. “A proud female like Indira will only show you her feelings once. You’re lucky that she opened up to you at all. If you want to be part of her life, then go back in there and tell her. Right now.”
He glances at the open door.
I point a commanding finger at it. “She’s giving you a second chance, Erit. You won’t get a third. Now go make a hammock bed or whatever it is you need to do to make it official.”
He takes the leaps from shocked to serious to grinning. “I didn’t come here for a wife, Lady Storm.”
“I know you didn’t, Erit, but you’re leaving with one. Now get back in there.”
“As you wish, Lady Storm.”
He pauses in the doorway, his big chest rising and falling. I guess it’s a lot to take in. We came here to build bridges. Now he has to build the most important bridge of his life.
He leaves the door open behind him. I turn away from it, giving them privacy as I head up the steps to the right. I’d rather try to find a warm fire somewhere, but the village is not exactly welcoming regardless of the clan’s pledge to me.
A crash and a thud behind me draws me right back down the stairs at a run. I seriously hope I wasn’t wrong about Indira… or maybe talon crows got in… or one of the clan members doesn’t like the way things are going…
I race through the opening and skid to a halt.
Erit lies on his back next to the table, one arm around Indira who has landed on his chest. She clutches the broken handle of the glass jug, brandishing it at his face, shrieking at him. “You don’t get to tell me that you love me!”
Golden liquor drips from the edge of the table, trickling from the remains of the glass jug on the table’s surface. I quickly put together the pieces of what I’m seeing: she dropped the jug, he took a step toward her, slipped on the liquid, and they fell together.
