A Trickle of Soulfyre

Chapter 2 - Apprehension

The ECISI carriage enclosed Lyrani and Morloy in a ball of cool shadow, out of reach of the long, feeble fingers of the sun. Lyrani turned to her friend. He didn't notice, instead staring out of his window at the countryside whizzing past, at the flashes of trees crowned with golden leaves and little wooden homes that were one with the forest around them.

Lyrani had visited the other two elf states and the capital city of Vlitavia. Each of them possessed their own beauty, but there was something uniquely Irylenian about the gabled roofs and the trapezoid cut windows peeking out at her from between the russet leaves. These were the little details that reminded her, even in a very similar forest, that she wasn't home.

Lyrani rested her hand in the crook of her friend's arm, leaning against him. "I know you're busy, Morloy. You didn't have to escort me or let ECISI send a courtesy carriage for me. I could've walked to the station."

As Dessie had pointed out so many times, all Lyrani had to carry was a backpack. She could've reached the station on foot. The problem was getting there on time, but Lyrani would've made a plan. She always did. That was what it meant to be a secret agent—to think on her feet, to regain her balance faster than circumstances could topple her.

ECISI had a steady stream of injured agents coming into headquarters every day, some with little wounds, some merely inches from death. That was where Morloy should be, saving the lives that needed his healing hand, not here with Lyrani.

"Did you honestly have time to walk, Lyr?" asked Morloy as if he had read Lyrani's thoughts, his gaze still fixed somewhere beyond the window.

"Fair enough. You and Des call me Always-late Lyrani for a reason, right?" She nudged him, keeping her tone as light as his words despite the heaviness that seemed to weigh down his being. "I really appreciate the favour, you know."

A dimple punctured Morloy's cheek, but he didn't answer. Lyrani had seen this before, the curt replies, the evasive questions, the calloused umber fingers picking at the loose cotton threads hanging from his white healer tunic.

She always wondered whether the dark matter wedged under Morloy's nails was dirt or dried blood. She always wondered whether he ever noticed it or whether he had grown used to it the way Lyrani had become accustomed to diving into a new mission before she had even caught her breath after the previous one.

Morloy had come to do Lyrani a favour, but he was the one who needed her now, more than she needed him.

"What's worrying you?" she asked softly.

Morloy took a breath and released it. For a moment, Lyrani thought he was gathering his courage to make a surprising admission, but he only said, "Nothing. Just work."

"Don't insult me, Morloy. I've lived with you long enough to know when something is wrong." Lyrani studied his face.

The truth he wouldn't tell her was there, in his furrowed brow, in the gnawing of his teeth at his lip.

As if aware that Lyrani was gathering evidence against him, Morloy flattened his mouth into a stubborn line that gave nothing away. "We've been living apart long enough for my problems not to be your concern anymore, Lyr."

Lyrani sighed, settling her eyes on the path ahead of them. She loved Morloy, but she hated when he turned her words into a weapon he could hurl at her. It was something he was annoyingly good at doing.

"My friendship doesn't come with conditions, Morloy. You moving out of our cottage doesn't mean I don't care about you. It doesn't mean I don't want to know what's bothering you or that I don't sometimes wish we could be the way we were, even though our lives are always changing." Although Lyrani spoke to him, her gaze rested on the horizon, one of the few elements of her life that were as steady as she'd like the rest of it to be.