Conquering The Unbroken

Chapter 4

The door to the cottage I've been staying in is brand new. I don't remember who used to live here before. When I searched through their belongings, I found nothing spectacular or memorable, but the entire second floor is gone. The front door was burnt to a crisp, the iron bars in the windows had a rusted char, and debris of all shapes and sizes covered the first floor.

I don't know why I picked this cottage out of all the others in the village. It's far enough away from my old home that I'm not staring at it all the time, but close enough to everyone else that I can keep an eye on them. It's closer to the cliffsides and what the rebels call their headquarters—a cottage left untouched that night. Now it's just an empty room that rebels stand around in during meetings.

As I walk into the cottage, greeted by that front door and the smell of stew, I run my fingers over the smoothness of the wood. For being a prince that's had everything done for him during his life, Renit isn't a stranger to beautifying what was a simple piece of wood. He attached hinges, a handle, and smoothed the wood so not a single splinter lodges into my finger.

The first and only floor of the cottage is where we spend the majority of our time. Most of it is clean, the ash and debris are mostly removed except for a small heap in the corner of tattered curtains and burnt pillows. On the other side of the room and away from any windows, our bed is empty and made—unoccupied compared to the last time I was here, about an hour ago.

I expect to see Renit there, lying underneath the covers on his stomach, but he's standing in the kitchen over the flaming stove. In a small pot barely big enough to cook a meal for two, he stirs the contents of the stew. His disheveled hair and slow movements tell me he just woke up, if he hasn't been awake since I left early this morning to clear my head.

At the sight of me approaching, he smiles weakly and jerks his chin over to two bowls sitting on the counter. I pick them up for him, taking them over to where he stands, and with even slower movements than those I've seen him make when he's tired, he dumps a spoonful into the bowls.

This reminds me enough of meals with my family that I flinch with recognition upon setting the bowls onto the small, circular table near the kitchen. We needed nothing bigger than what will fit both of us, and the occasional visit from Celestine who is currently living in a cottage down the street with Citlali and Dalis.

We went from sleeping in the same room to sleeping on opposite sides of the castle to not sleeping in the same building at all. Bren is right; we've matured. And in more ways than he realizes.

"Are you feeling better?" Renit asks as he sits down in the chair next to mine.

I shrug and display as much normalcy as I can. Shoving the carrots aside, I earn myself a frown, but Renit scoops them out for himself. "A little."

Renit is scowling before I can finish my statement. "Bren can't seem to let you get through this by yourself, can he?" He hunches over his bowl of stew and like he hasn't eaten in days, takes quick bites—one right after the other. Meals come about differently when Mills isn't here to make them for us. We haven't heard a word about the castle and whether people like him are still alive. For Dalis's sake, we must have hope.

"He's only trying to help. When we grew up, we went through things like this and we were always there for each other. If I truly wanted him to back off, then I'd tell him," I reason. Still, Renit shakes his head and shows the stew exactly how he's feeling with one nasty expression after the other. "You two need to stop hating each other. Your male arrogance is getting in the way of my sanity."

Renit frowns at me and nudges my knee with his own. Spitfire is on the tip of his tongue.

"Well, he keeps pushing you to feel better. Healing doesn't come about that easily," Renit goes on.