Zarrek nods, releasing her then taking her hand in his. His expression shifts into one of anticipation. “I’ll kill anyone that stands in your way.”
Auryn smiles. “That’s not necessary, Zar. They’ve exiled me from Maradryn, but their guards still can’t see past my disguises.”
She pads over to one of the tables and lays out the vegetables into another basket. Rhythmically, but not with purpose. Like a soldier polishing hisblade the night before a battle. Moving just so the nerves won’t devour him.
One at a time, she lays them into the next basket.
Then another.
And another.
“I’ll make soup tonight. Will you stay?”
Zarrek grunts, folding his arms across his chest. “Need to stop by the Hollow, but I’ll return.”
Another in the basket.
And another.
“How is she? Yourvessar’en…I haven’t seen her in some time.” Her tone is raw for reasons I can’t understand. I don’t know who she speaks of, but the pain in her voice isn’t from remembering that person. It’s from the intimacy of that word:vessar’en—a Glider term for something deeper than a seasonal mate.
“Bring her next time,” Auryn says, and her voice catches at the end. “I would love to see her again.”
Zarrek nods, his golden eyes gentle and soft. He looks like he wants to say something but turns away. The sick feeling in my gut intensifies. This man with Zarrek’s face is a stranger to me. Not my blood brother. Not my Second. I reach out. Try to say something, but my body breaks out in cold sweat when I can’t speak.
My throat tenses to the point of rending pain, but I am voiceless.
I look down and see that my body casts no shadow.
The bands tighten.
Auryn’s hands keep moving between baskets.
Zarrek sighs then heads for the front door, but just before he steps out, he turns and looks back.
“Auryn…can you…have you…” he trails off.
Her hands stop moving.
The carrot she is holding falls soundlessly into the first basket.
I was not forged to feel cold, nor to fear it. Yet my skin breaks out in gooseflesh as the temperature in the cottage plummets. When Auryn next turns around, raw pain wells in her eyes.
“No.” Her hand reaches up and presses against her chest. “Not for a few decades now.”
Zarrek grips the doorknob so hard his knuckles turn white. The metal groans and bends against his palm. He curses. “Auryn, you can’t do this forever. There’s nothing for you here.”
“He’s alive, Zarrek. I know it.”
“How? How do you know if you can’t even feel him anymore?”
“Because I do.” Her brow furrows, her voice tight and strained.
Look at me. Auryn. My Auryn. Please.
“Auryn, he’s not coming back.”
I have never wanted to hit Zarrek as badly as I do in this moment. Because he lies. I am here. I am right here. I am in those trinkets on the table. Inside the pain in her eyes. I am the scrape in her voice as she answers.
