Despite my fatigue, sleep refused to wrap my weary mind in its repose. Ty and I said our goodbyes with plans for me to make contact with Dyter. Silence fell between us after that. I ached to escape into the repose of slumber. I was bone tired, but my mind wouldn’t rest.
I was on the edge of the precipice of why. I yearned to understand why Mum had been killed. Why I’d been brought here. And how the puzzle pieces fit together. Yet I was unfailingly sure there was no way to achieve this understanding without losing a piece of myself, or learning something I’d later wish to unlearn. Namely, that my mother was not who I thought. That she’d lied to me my whole life about who and what I was. That she’d made me feel inadequate under the guise of keeping me safe.
For hours, I stared at the crumbling ceiling, listening to the drip down the hallway and wondering when the hurt would stop, or if it would eventually kill me. My cup was full, and one more drop would see it overflow—losing Tyr, having my hope dashed, calling to Ty to find him no longer there.
Where would the last drop come from?
The clank of a key in the lock announced the arrival of a visitor. I was safe, if only because the king had bound the Drae to make it so. I yearned for familiar arms and a familiar smile. Even if it was wrong, I wanted Tyr.
As if he’d heard my call, Tyr glided through the darkness and into my cell.
I rolled to sitting, my heart pounding with emotion I had yet to name.
He knelt next to me, and for a moment I stared at the familiar slope of his shoulders, the curve of his jaw, and my gaze flitted to the bow of his lips. I reached for him.
He didn’t ask questions but simply pulled me into his arms and held me close, pressing his warm cheek to mine. Any touching between us in the past occurred after my torture sessions, when I was physically and mentally exhausted, not before. Tyr’s kindness had always been a comfort or boon of compassion.
This . . . was different. Like the hug of a friend. But when I thought of hugging Arnik, it was nothing like this.
I heard what happened, his voice echoed in my mind, rough with emotion. I’m sorry.
His words carried a weight of meaning. Until then, I hadn’t even thought about his involvement. He had to have known to have been so meticulous about cleaning up my blood.
“You knew?” I asked in a whisper. Confusion plagued me as I tried to understand. And then the answer occurred to me. “Irrik was sending you.”
The Drae was the only person who’d known before.
He pulled back, and not for the first time I longed to see his eyes. To see into those depths, I was certain, would mean I’d get a glimpse of his soul.
At first, it was by Irrik’s order. Then, I saw your strength.
Tyr touched my face, and my skin warmed under his fingertips, his hands were ungloved for once. My eyes fell to his lips, and I shook off the direction of my thoughts, though my heart still thumped against my ribs, eager to escape.
“And now?” I asked, glancing into the darkness shrouding the area above his mouth.
He rested his hands on my shoulders. I come because I need to.
The air between us tightened, and I inhaled his scent, a combination of sandalwood and something more. He drew closer, and there was no trace of a smile on his face.
Did he watch me from the depths of his hood? Did he look at me with the same wonder I now felt?
“Tyr,” I said after a beat. “What’s happening?”
The loaded question was not just referring to my bad situation. Something in our dynamic was shifting, and I was uncertain if this was me or him or us. Did I want it to be us?
He looked at me, head tilted in silent question. His hands slid down my arms, and he entwined his fingers with mine.
“Do you . . .?” My insides quailed, the questions battering at me from within. What if he didn’t feel the same? I chickened out, choosing the easier option. “I might have found a way to get out.”
He released my hands. What do you mean?
“There’s a man in Harvest Zone Seven,” I related. I wrung my hands, unable to let them remain empty. “His name is Dyter. He has connections to Cal. I never thought to contact him,” I admitted. “I didn’t think the rebellion would care about my capture. I thought Dyter might have, but he isn’t the leader, so . . . anyway, my dungeon buddy, Ty, said they’ll come if they know I’m Phaetyn.”
Tyr nodded slowly, but the rest of him was oddly still, and he kept his hands by his sides.
I took a deep breath and pressed on. “Would you be able to get word to Dyter, the owner of The Crane’s Nest, if he’s still there? If not Dyter, there is a boy my age named Arnik who might be able to help.”
Tyr rested his long fingers on the back of my clenched hands. They’ll be able to contact Cal?
“I don’t know, but it’s all I’ve got.”
He grimaced, the corners of his mouth turning down. Which is more than I have at the moment. Surely, this rebel leader has ample resources at his disposal and will be able to help you.
I frowned. But the warmth and excitement I’d felt moments ago, churned with confusion. “Help us, you mean.”
Tyr withdrew his hand, but nodded.
“Tyr?” His very name was weighted with my question. Was he saying he wasn’t going to come with me?
He sighed but did not move as I stepped closer. I reached for him again, this time filled with prophetic dread at what I would hear.
There are things which tie me to this place, and . . . I cannot be sure I’ll be able to get away.
I opened my mouth to protest but then closed it. I barely knew Tyr, yet, I did. He’d cared for me, brought me food and water and clean clothes, but none of these things accounted for the twinge inside at the thought of leaving him behind. Twinge didn’t even describe the feeling. No, the idea of leaving him behind gnawed at me, leaving a hollow ached in my chest. Escaping without Tyr would be a mistake and something I’d regret. If not immediately, certainly later. “Please?”
I want to leave, his voice spoke in my mind, and I both felt and heard his earnestness. But I cannot be sure, and I will not give you false hope.
“Please, promise me you’ll try. I don’t . . . I don’t wish to leave you here.” No one deserved to live in this way, let alone someone as gentle as Tyr.
He brought his hand up to my face, his movement slow, as if giving me time to pull away if I wanted. But I didn’t. I stared into the darkness beneath the hood, the air around us charged with emotion.
He brushed his fingertips over my cheek, and I heard him promise.
I give you my word.
“Lovely day for it,” I remarked, tipping my face to the sky.
My new clothes made me brave. That was the only reason for saying such a thing to the Drae in front of me. My new clothes: breeches, a tunic cinched at the waist, and shoes.
In addition, the glorious, joyous rays of the sun touched my face for the first time in five weeks. If I wasn’t sarcastic about it, I might burst into tears.
“It is a lovely day, considering it’s not night,” the Drae agreed, in a voice like the embers of a fire.