By the time I make it back to the tent that night, exhaustion has sunk so deep into my bones I barely get my boots off before sleep takes me. But the next morning, I wake early, determined to check the Letter-threader before anyone else stirs, already reaching under the bed before my eyes have fully opened.
The tent’s quiet, everyone else still asleep, their breathing soft in the darkness, so I slip the cold golden device beneath the rough woollen covers with me before anyone can stir. Firelight spills across my face, a warm orange glow, as I open it and the central stem ignites. A wide smile follows when his reply floats free.
“The arm still isn’t great; Cal took a pretty big hit to his wing and it’s taking longer than I expected to recover. But I’m desperate to be with you for Blood Moon next weekend.
I would leave here in a heartbeat, but Serrane will hardly let me out of his sight. Having his prized officer down has made him worse. More paranoid, more volatile. And right now with the injury, I can’t control his emotions as well as I need to.
Plus once I’m done for the day Luc is always watching me like a hawk. The bastard will hardly let me leave my quarters, let alone the Citadel. I tried telling him that I’m fine, butapparently writing all these letters with my left hand is a dead giveaway.
I wish he would just let me recover in peace. Things are a bit tense between us at the moment.
Anyway, the first morning light is starting to show on the horizon. I'm looking out toward the southern peaks and thinking of you. — T x”
Hope wraps around me, soft and sudden, and my pulse skips a beat as my fingers trace over the last line.
He’s awake right now?
At first, I’m surprised he wrote back so early, but then I remember what he told me after the first time we slept together. How he always wakes before dawn to see the sun come up, because going without it reminds him too much of the twelve days he spent beneath the Citadel, when he was trapped in the dark and tortured badly enough to leave all those scars across his ribs. All because some mission had apparently gone wrong and he’d lost something important.
My stomach twists because I never asked if the other officer imprisoned down there with him ever made it out.
“If you’re that important to Serrane,”I write back,“and he trusts you so much, why doesn't he let you into his Inner Circle thing? And if you can’t control his emotions right now, will he start to suspect anything?
But your writing seems clearer today. I can actually read it now without having to squint, so that has to be a good sign for recovery. I hope you can make it for Blood Moon, hell, it might be the last time you see me before Ahria roasts me alive…”
Pausing, the pencil lifts from the paper. It’s meant to be a joke. It should be a joke. But staring down at the words, at how easily they came out, it doesn’t feel like one. Not really. But I force myself to keep writing, and pray he won’t notice the way my handwriting has gone a little shaky too.
“And about Lucien, he’s probably stressed. He was exhausted when I saw him last, and I know he worries about you. Rightly so. I worry about you. –L x
P.S. I didn’t know you were ambidextrous.”
Rough wool rubs at my arm as I shift beneath the heavy blanket, burning the note away. Scratching the itch, I sit back, already bracing myself for the long, painful wait—but before even a minute has passed, the orange glow swells again and another note slides free.
“Serrane only picks people he can harvest easily to join his Inner Circle, or ones he thinks are weak enough to fall in line and follow him without asking questions. Merrin and I have always been close to it, close enough to be useful to him, but never close enough to see what’s really going on.
He’s definitely more on edge around me at the moment. The injury makes it harder to keep him steady, but I’ve spent years building enough trust with him that I think it’ll hold until I’m fully healed. I just have to be careful.
And yes, I know. I should cut Lucien some slack, but we’re so close. He’s not a friend, he’s like a brother to me, and I think that’s half the problem. When you’re that close to someone, they know exactly how to drive you insane. — T x
P.S. I told you these hands were good... you'd be surprised what I can do with just one.”
My thighs press together before I can stop them, heat flashing through me so fast I have to bite down on my lip. Even through the paper I can practically see that crooked smile spreading across his face.
Gripping the pencil tighter, I start to write back.
“What are you doing under there?” I jump at Neeve’s voice, the pencil skidding across the paper as she yanks the covers back and the cold morning air rushes in.
“Uh—nothing.” My voice comes out a little too high, cheeks burning, as I turn around to shove the unfinished note under my pillow and accidentally slam my elbow into the Letter-threader.
Cursing under my breath, I lunge for it, my chest clamping down with panic as I catch the delicate gold stem just before it rolls off the bed.
Shit. I need to be more careful, it’s so fragile I doubt it would survive a fall.
Glancing back up, Neeve doesn't say anything, she simply shakes her head as her lips curve at the edges then drops the heavy wool blanket back down on top of me.
“What are you so happy about?”I ask Neeve an hour later as we head toward the Food Tent. Narrowing my gaze on her, I watch as she twists her long braid around her fingers, catching the grin she’s failing to hide even in the low morning light.
“Darren said my mum and sister will be joining soon, that they’re signed up for the next batch of evacuations.” Mist puffs from her mouth as she drops her braid and rubs her hands together, blowing warmth into them. “I can’t wait for you to meet my mum, she’s so wacky. Ezzy, you’ll love her too, she’s into all that boring Thread research stuff.”
