But I can tell she’s already getting frustrated with me hovering around. Since we started talking again, I can’t help checking on her every five seconds, and some time away from me and the camp would probably do her good.
Plus, if that also means I can check the Letter-threader, then fine. Two good things.
“You two have fun.” Bending down, I grab my pack and swing it over my shoulder before Neeve can protest. “I need to check on some stuff.”
Neeve’s mouth curves into a knowing smile. “Fine. But I want to read them all later.” Shaking my head, I walk away. “Especially the dirty ones,” she calls after me.
Ahria speeds off ahead of me, her green body expertly weaving between the narrow paths, which, for once, is completely fine because I’m walking as fast as I can without looking like I’m running.
When we reach the tent, she slips through the narrow gap in the entrance and I lift the canvas and hurry in after her. My pulse is pounding so loudly, heaving against my chest in anticipation as I sit down and open the Letter-threader, you would have thought I’d sprinted here.
Chewing on my bottom lip, I catch Ahria watching me from the comfort of Talen’s flight jacket, thrown over the chair at the end of the bed, her eyes narrowing on mine in a way I can only describe as judgmental.
But I don’t care.
He’s only managed to write back twice since my first letter. The first week after the attack he was stuck in the healers’ wing, which explains the initial silence, but he’s returned to his quarters now, resting most of the time. He hasn’t said he’s in pain, of course he hasn’t—but I know he must be, I can see it in the tremor of his handwriting.
Golden light spills across my face, as in front of me, the flame flickers and my heart catches with it—one stupid, helpless beat before a puff of smoke curls upward, carrying the faint, charred smell of burning paper, and a new folded note slips free.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Talen’s letter drifts down toward the petals but I catch it before it lands and unfold it with shaking fingers.
“I know you liked this one. — T x”
Slowly, I turn it over and see it’s his drawing of the girl by the lake. The one I saw in his sketchbook when I took it from him in the Rec Hall last year.
I knew it was beautiful then, but I’d also been pretty distracted, trying and failing not to stare at the sweat sliding down the toned muscles of his stomach, so I hadn’t really taken it in, and seeing it now, close up, I can't stop my eyes from widening.
God, it’s even more impressive.
It’s only charcoal, but there’s so much feeling in it, so much contrast between light and dark, that the whole thing almost seems alive. And the mountains look familiar now; the jagged peaks behind her are just like the ones surrounding the camp.
I want to keep staring, to study every line, but I also don’t want to waste time, not when there’s a chance he might still be awake. So grabbing the notebook and pencil, I scribble down my response.
“How is your arm doing? Do you know when you’ll be back next? — L x”
Worry spreads through me as I watch it catch and burn away.
He told me what he told everyone at the Citadel: that he’d tripped and fallen partway down the ravine before catching himself with his Threads.
I laughed when I first heard it, because it sounded so ridiculous. Talen doesn’t exactly look like someone who trips over his own feet, but I suppose that’s one of the benefits of being able to manipulate emotions: people trust him more than they should?—
Light swells around the tent as the flame shifts, and for one second my lungs freeze with anticipation, but then a small roar sounds beside me, and I turn, catching Ahria at the end of a yawn, smoke seeping from her nose, the soft puff of her breath making the fire in the Letter-threader flicker.
Letting out a long sigh, I sit there counting the seconds, then I reluctantly close the device, the metal warm in my hands as the last petal clicks back into place.
I know it’s stupid to close it, but I don’t understand how the thing works, and I don’t want it running out of magic somehow.
But as soon as I hide it away, my fingers start twitching again, tapping impatiently against my leg.
I’ve already read all the previous letters he sent me, twice. Little things about him, stories from when he was younger, funny memories of him and Magda that made me smile. But there are only so many times I can reread the same words before they stop helping and start making the longing worse.
Besides, I don’t want to sit here any longer while Ahria continues judging me from the end of the bed, so I push up and head out.
Reya and Lucien are both gone, picking up the extra workload while Talen’s recovering. Which means there’s notraining with them—but I refuse to let the gap turn into wasted time, and anyway the camp never stops. There’s always something broken, something needing hauling, someone needing help. Patrol shifts to cover, conversations to catch at the edges, and updates to pry loose from anyone coming from the Innerlands. Ways to keep showing up, day after day, and prove to Ahria that I’m not weak. That I’m worthy of her. That I can be like my mum.
Plus any spare moment I do get, Neeve and I end up in the Combat Tent with Ezzy, running drills until our arms shake and our lungs burn, trying to get her back into shape.
