Owen’s face twitched with a kaleidoscope of emotions, his grip of the clothing growing tighter. “That would be the only reason you’re here.” He confirmed quietly. “But, I don’t understand—”
“I heard Dieve say something before I slipped away,” she confessed. “Aziel took Everand’s life and his name was not on Aziel’s toll. Dieve said that the price must be paid in double.”
The clothes were placed on the table and Owen’s strong arms were wrapping around her, lifting her to feet. Nymiria could feel the strength of his arms, could smell the scent that had once comforted her tired heart. Owen always smelled of cedar and unsmoked tobacco, with a small trace of yellowing book pageslingering on his fingers. In the summer, he smelled like honey. There had always been a very thick, sweet smell that clung to him.
But the thing that frightened her most was that she could feel no warmth on his skin. It wasn’t cold—it just was.
He heaved a long sigh, hands smoothing over her back before he pulled away from her, putting a great amount of distance between them, as if he’d heard her terrified thoughts. He took a seat in the old worn chair, his head falling into his hands. “It wasn’t supposed to be this way. He was supposed to protect you.”
“Hewasprotecting me.” She snapped. “Hedid. It was all he ever did, Owen.”
Green eyes flickered up to meet hers, ignoring the bite in her tone. “But because he is a glutton for punishment and justice, you are here.”
“Is that such a bad thing? He killed a very bad man.”
“And endangered you in the process.”
Her eyes narrowed. “It was my idea. Everything that happened—it was a plan I’d come up with.”
“Killing Everand was your plan?”
“Well—no. But you don’t understand…” His jaw flexed at her confirmation, hands curling to fists on his thighs. “I have to go back.” She said more firmly. “I am goingback. This cannot beit. This cannot be the way it ends.”
“A lot of souls feel that way when they first arrive here.” He stated blandly, shoving himself to his feet and walking towards the arched threshold that led into the kitchen. Nymiria trailed along behind him, watching as he grabbed a cooking pan from the wooden rack that hung above the woodstove. He must have assumed she’d followed him, because he kept talking. “You can’t go back. You have no idea how many times I’ve watched souls try to swim back upstream—how many times I’d attempted itmyself. There is no way to get back.” He moved to the water pump on the far side of the kitchen, working the handle up and down until spurts of water began to fill the pan. Once full, he walked it back to the already-lit woodstove.
“Owen, I can’t stay here!” She exclaimed, her frustration and fear gathering a lump in her throat. He gave no impression that he was listening, his eyes fixed solely on his task. Silence stretched between them as he took down a cloth satchel of dried herbs and plopped it into the water. “Owen!”
When he turned to her again, she saw the haggard look he wore, the confliction in his eyes. Her stomach sank. “The only way you can go back is if someone saves you.” His voice was quiet, but quivered. “The only way someone can save you is sacrifice, Nym.”
If Nymiria had the ability to breathe, she was sure her breath would have caught in her throat. She forced herself to look away from him, not wanting him to see the tears forming in her eyes. But Owen knew her. He knew her entirely, how much she hated for people to see her feeling sorry for herself. The only time she ever allowed herself to feel much was when she was alone. He didn’t pester her, nor did he follow her when she turned and walked out of the kitchen.
But Aziel…
She’d never been afraid to show him what that pain looked like. Even though she tried to shy away from showing him the side of herself that felt so deeply, he always managed to see it anyway. Eventually, she stopped caring if he saw her sad or angry. She stopped feeling as if he would judge her for feeling things.
“I’m going back.” She whispered, almost to herself. Gritting her teeth, Nymiria shucked the blanket from her shoulders and stomped towards the door of the cabin. Aziel fought so hard for her. He’d done so many unspeakable things to keep her safe—he’d built a kingdom for her so that she could have a home. Even if she swam against that current for all eternity, she could at least say that she fought for him, that she tried. “I’m going back.”
Bare feet gliding across the soft, green grass, she ran towards the river. Wind filled her ears, her eyes fixed upon the crystalline waters that flowed in the direction of the dark, ominous mountain range to the west of where she stood.
She paused, fear flooding her gut, before she screamed and dove into the waters down below.
Chapter 39
One good thing about being dead was that she didn’t have to hold her breath under water. She could trash and kick and dive as much as she wanted without ever having to come up for air. Thebadthing about death was that she still grew tired. Her legs still ached, the muscles in her arms burned from over-exertion, and her stomach was starting to cramp. Nevertheless, Nymiria pushed against the current as hard as she could, eyes focused on the blot of darkness on the eastern horizon. Other souls passed her by as she went, their tired eyes paying her no mind. Perhaps they couldn’t see her. If they did, they would surely find it humorous to see someone trying to fight against the river of souls like a mad woman.
Well into the second hour of her struggling, Nymiria had half the mind to try and conjure her powers—tried to see if there was something that she could do to bring herself back from the dead, but when she remembered Aziel’s warning about using one’s powers for selfish reasons, she firmly decided against it. If therewas someone on the corporeal plane that brought her back to life, she did not want to return in bad graces with Fate.
Fate.
There was a brief flash of memory, pain pulsing sharply through the front of her head like a lightning bolt. Her hand shot to her forehead, causing her to ultimately lose her battle with the water. Her feet slipped on the surface underneath her, a small yelp escaping her before she was carried under the surface. When her back collided with the hard surface of a boulder, she felt those familiar strong hands close around her arm and jerk her upright.
“Had enough yet?” Owen asked, a smirk toying at the corner of his mouth.
Nymiria shot him the most venomous glare she could muster, even though she was the one who probably looked like a drowned rat in the river. Owen chuckled. “Laugh all you want, but I amnotstaying here.” She pulled herself onto the bank, not even bothering to look at him as she headed towards the cabin.
“Trust me, Idobelieve you, but could we at least enjoy the time we have together while you wait?” He called out after her.
She wanted to be angry with him, if only to havesomeoneto be angry with, but those words made her brisk movements loosen—her hands unfurled, her shoulders sagged in defeat. Because he was right. For the last four years, Nymiria harboured guilt over what she’d done to him. Even if it had been his idea all along, hiswishfor her to kill him instead of herself, it did nothing to soothe the ache in her chest. It didn’t make her regrets any easier to carry. And while she did not want to be here—notnow—she also did not want to leave this man believing that he’d never mattered to her at all. Because he had.
