I look down, seeing a few small loaves of seeded bread and what appears to be produce wrapped in waxed cloth. Probably meats and cheeses, based on the hearty aroma that flips my gut, the mere thought of food making me fight back the urge to vomit.
“Though I appreciate the gesture—”
“Kaan Vaegor, don’t you dare refuse me in my current state,” she growls—the sort of chastisement I haven’t had since before we lost Mah. “I’ve walked down a thousand steps to feed your sorry arse. Wrapped the meat and cheese with my own two hands. It’s the closest thing to a home-cooked meal I’m capable of. The least you can do is share a damn bun with me.”
“Creators, Siharna. You win.” I set the basket on the path, glancing at my stone-dusted tunic and pants. Not that my hands and arms are much better, so covered in sweat and grime I can barely see my scars. “Just … let me get cleaned up a bit.”
I ask Bulder to shape a riverside bench with a supportive backrest, my voice a ravaged croak that has Siharna crossing her arms, looking at me like she’s about to drag me to the surface by my ear.
“Have a seat before you send me to an early grave,” I rumble, receiving a muttered response I can’t make out—moving down the stairs I spoke into the riverbank when I needed a drink earlier.
Away from the warm light spilling off the pathway torches, the atmosphere is cold and eerie enough to send a shiver up my spine. Water rushes past like sloshing ink as I crouch to rinse my hands in the brisk flow, watching folk move back and forth over a nearby bridge. I splash my face, plagued by the distant grind and groan of Bulder shifting around us, coaxed by other brown beads working other parts of the bunker, though voicing his frustrations at their sloppy dialect.
I drink from my scooped hands, the cold water soothing my throat as I stifle his song—his tone reminding me too much of times when I was small and scared, buried in a dark hole I was expected to bust free of. Or dietrying.
At the time, I couldn’t understand why he seemed so aloof. Little did I know, that’s how he is with everyone at first.
Bulder honors dedication. Those who don’t take the time and effort to shape his words correctly receive the same effort in response. Like he’s weighing one’s character with each rough-hewn word.
I splash more water on my face, rubbing away the grime, thinking of the phase when I first visited this village. When I learned the secrets sown through Mah’s bloodline and found the rhythm of Bulder’s heart.
Discovered that shaping is an art form.
That very same phase, I cracked into Bulder’s stony soul and discovered a slew of words too powerful to behold. Like grasping an ancient chestbrimmingwith lyrical treasure that’s weighed me down ever since.
Nobodyshould have that sort of power.
Shaking out my hands, I clear my throat and move up the stairs to where Siharna’s sitting on the bench. Brows raised, she empties the basket, unwrapping bundles of shaved meat and cheese.
I’m just settling beside the spread when she lifts out a large twill-wrapped parcel and hands it to me.
“What’s this?”
“Whatever you ordered from Luík.” She frowns down at her belly, kneading the underside with the heel of her palm as tension crimps the skin around her eyes. “Korie was looking after it, waiting for your return to the surface so she could give it to you. Figured it was best served as a reminder the surface still exists.”
A shaft of remorse strikes me.
“Apologies.” I set the parcel aside. “Time slips by down here.”
“You’ve been at it for daes, Kaan.” Her stare brands the side of my face. “You need rest. We have many cycles to finish this. An easy task, given we’ve been so graced with your help.”
I don’t tell her I’ve tried to rest. Stolen moments between shaping rooms, tunnels, and infrastructure to lay on the ground and close my eyes. But all I see is Raeve looking at me in that mirror, telling me Elluin still loved me.
Rattling me to the fucking core.
Coupled with the fact that she’s currently taming a Moonplume, there’s no way I can grab more than a few moments’ rest at a time. Certainly not enough to justify climbing all the way to the surface to sleep on a pallet that’ll only make matters worse, given it’s drenched in Raeve’s scent. The very scent that lingered on my pillow well after Elluin dumped my málmr upon it and took off back to Arithia with my bleeding heart clenched in her fist. Only to bind with my brother.
Quicken with life.
Die in childbirth.
All while she
still
loved
me.
