Luminous

85 - The Valley's Mouth

The Greeneyes had departed for Hyacinth. The rescue party was left to huddle around the fire against the gathering desert chill. As she waited for the kettle to boil, Arinel made a poultice with desert herbs she had picked and dried during her trip across the Sands. A mixture of acacia, brittle bush, desert lavender, yellow bells and whatnot, sure to soothe the nerves and the bowels.

Once the kettle had begun to sputter, she slipped it off the spit and poured scalding water over the poultice into wobbly tin cups. She carried the first two to Baron Hadrian and Simon—they spared a moment to nod in thanks before returning to their grave discussion over a letter. The next she offered to Christopher, who had just returned with more firewood and gratefully warmed his dusty hands around it. She set one down before Jerald, who refused to acknowledge it, left one behind on the gravel to cool for Coris alongside her empty cup, and made her way to the tent with the last one.

She lifted up a half of the cloth-door. Zier was lying on his side on the carpet. He hadn't bothered taking off his boots. He flinched away from the sliver of light as it slithered up his crumpled silhouette, burrowing his face deeper into his arms.

"Zier? I brought you tea."

Zier flipped onto his tummy, trembling. She knelt down and caught snippets of a sob leaking from the crook of his arm.

"Zier!"

Arinel bent down and gathered him onto her lap. He pushed himself up and into her embrace, nestling his face into her chest.

"I'm sorry. I just can't do it." He blubbered, shaking his head in a desperate plea for mercy. "I don't want them to hate me. I don't want to die."

He repeated over and over as he clung tighter to her. Arinel pressed her nose into his hair and dried her tears. In this moment, a soothing hand down his back, and a listening ear, were all she could think to offer.

⏳

By the time Arinel reemerged from the tent, Coris's tea had gone ice-cold. She replaced half his cup with freshly poured tea, then cast her eyes about for the Hadrian heir. She found him stationed a little way away from the clearing, his back to the light, his eyes on the wedge of darkening sky visible behind the gaping mouth of the valley.

Arinel approached him, tin cup in each hand. So deep was his concentration, he only started at the sight of her hand entering his field of vision. He whipped around, eyebrows raised. His sharp gray eyes were emotionless, constantly calculating—just as they were all those years ago.

"Tea," was all Arinel could manage to break the awkward silence. Coris's eyebrows crept closer together.

"Thank you."

Arinel felt his eyes upon her as she gathered her skirt and settled down. He blinked, then unfurled a smile which did not reach his eyes.

"Interesting. What inspired you to seek my hated company, Lady Crosset?"

"You were supposed to be my husband. Just thought I'd see what could have been." Arinel cocked her head.

"Ah. So, are we going all the way?"

Arinel felt a rush of heat on her cheeks. She shot the cheeky lad a withering look.

"No, thank you. I'm regretting it now."

Coris chuckled.

"Shame." He heaved a dramatic sigh, then succumbed to the call of the earth and slumped down by her side, "Perfect timing, nevertheless. I've been meaning to ask—How's your research going?"