“You and Oran spent the vast majority of six months getting black-out drunk and stumbling through forests together. I’d hardly say either of you accomplished much during that time.”
“We were finding ourselves.”
A snort.“Finding yourselvesdrunk.”
She couldn’t argue with him there. The only good idea Oran had during that time was them boarding that ship to Shidosha. Even then, none of that had gone to plan. She felt guilty about it—wondering if Oran ever made it to Fiernan’s side, wondering if he settled into life on the islands, wondering if it’d been the balm for his soul that he’d hoped it would be.
She was anawfulfriend.Andan awful travel companion.
By the time they reached anything remotely familiar, Nymiria’s legs were burning so intensely that she plopped herself onto the ground and refused to take another step. Owen, turning to see her state of dishevelment and the dark circles under her eyes, smiled as he relented to her request.
Over the last six months, Nymiria had worked hard at conjuring things with her magic. Just as Aziel had procured food from thin air, she’d been able to produce a few apples and a too-thin fish every once in a while.
It was harder than it looked.
She was still surprised when she managed to produce things that way. Even now, as she looked down at the leaf in her palm that held plump cherries, she smiled. Owen was watching from the other side of the fire as she plopped each one into her mouth, juices staining her fingers a deep red from the amount of seeds she plucked from her mouth.
“I’d kill for some of Dieve’s dragon tart right now.” She closed her eyes and sighed, imagining that the next cherry was that flaky, delectable crust filled with dragon-berry jam. When she opened her eyes again, Owen was watching her with a smirk. “What?” She demanded.
He shook his head, pushing his deep golden waves away from his face.“Nothing. You’re just… different here.”
She frowned. “In a good way or a bad way?”
“You’re home here, Nym. This sort of freedom… it suits you.”
“Living in a forest suits me?” She chuckled, averting her eyes back to the cherries.
“No,”He laughed.“Just you. Like this. Youbelonghere.”
Nymiria stared at the cherries, heart aching as she watched each stone fruit stem in her palm formed pretty pink blossoms. The overwhelming scent of cherry blossoms filled her nose. Panic hit her, her heart thudding loudly as she tossed the leaf of cherries into the fire.
You don’t belong here.
Aziel had said that to her in the garden. She’d been cursing at him, shoving dead flowers into his face, demanding that he admit that he had ruined them with his rot. She remembered how his face paled, how he looked at her like she was some sort of marvelous monster that both intrigued and terrified him.
You don’t belong here.
Nymiria shoved the memory from her mind, lips pressed together as she dusted her dirtied hands off on her breeches. Glancing around at the darkened forest before them, she slowlypushed herself to her feet and mumbled something about needing to relieve herself. Owen watched her as she went, but stayed close to the fire.
She ventured out a few yards, hiding behind a large boulder before she lowered herself to the earthen floor. Her eyes were burning with tears, her throat tight, and as much as she would have loved to will those emotions away, she’d learned that it was better to let them go.
Face in her hands, shielding the bleeding of her heart from the world, Nymiria cried.
She didn’t know how much time had passed, but when her eyes were finally dry and the ache in her chest had returned to the numbness of before, she lifted her face to see a beautiful bed of moonflowers had sprouted from the rotted foliage underneath her. She stared at them for a moment longer before deciding to return to the fire she’d made.
It was now smoking and the logs she’d used as kindling were reduced to crumbled remains, white smoke rising into the night sky. Owen was still watching her with a calculated indifference, already knowing that if he questioned why her eyes were swollen and red, she would banish him immediately.
She took her seat across from him again and closed her eyes, picturing Dieve’s dragon tart landing in the palm of her hand. From the warm crust, to the frosting that dripped off the tops, she assessed every detail,willingit to existence.
She felt something warm and wet against her palm.
Confused, she opened her eyes, only to find a thick, clear substance pooled in the cup of her hand. She followed the slimy stream of clear goop up, up, up until…
Fuck.
Chapter 2
He couldn’t sleep.
