Fire & Flight, page 37
She moved on, having decided that some fresh air might do her some good. And the best place was the veranda—though she preferred the upstairs balcony that overlooked the courtyard, she didn’t want to go too far from her friends. Nyla told herself this was only to gather her thoughts and occupy the time. But to what end?
She shrugged her bag off of her shoulder and set it beside her on the deck’s wooden boards. The torches sparked to life at her urging, and Nyla didn’t have a clue as to what she was doing.
The longer she stared at the backpack, the more temptation flooded her. Nyla was meant to find those things, so why shouldn’t she look at them? Astrid wanted her to find that box, and Derek had wanted her to find those books in the fireplace hearth. Her fingers twitched.
They itched to reach out and open her bag, and that’s exactly what Nyla did. She wasn’t sure if it was of her own accord or what, but in a few seconds, she found herself unwrapping the lilac-colored book that had given her such a horrific episode. Nyla bit her lip. Her eyes skimmed the smooth leather cover.
With a deep breath, Nyla reached a finger out to poke the cover. Her hand trembled, and she squeezed her eyes shut. Nothing. She peeked one eye open. Still nothing.
Her finger had touched the cover of the book, and there was no spark, no crippling vision, no seizure-like experience that whisked her away into someone else’s memory.
Nyla let out a shaky sigh of relief. She straightened in her chair and opened the book to glance over the flowing handwriting. It wasn’t particularly neat, but legible enough that it wasn’t messy or scrawled. It was a strange mixture of somewhere in between chicken scratch and perfection.
She struggled through the first page, the 600-year difference in their language a distinct obstacle in Nyla’s path, but she understood the gist of what she realized was Astrid’s journal.
The entry evidently began after the war had already started, as it detailed some kind of war meeting and preparations, but because Nyla didn’t know when the war started, the dates at the beginning of each entry meant nothing to her. The clues scattered within the pages she’d started to skim weren’t all that helpful either. She’d need more time to properly read through it. Her head just wasn’t in it today. She packed up Astrid’s journal and traded it for Westley’s sketchbook.
At least that was a happy distraction.
The sun began to fight against the stormy clouds outside. It was like the sun served as a backlight to the curtain of clouds in the sky. Nyla replaced the sketchbook in her bag and went to stand by the veranda’s railing. The wind still howled, beating the trees with each powerful gust. Dark storm clouds hovered beyond the treetops, another wave of chaos in the battle that consumed the sky. Nyla wondered if it was only a matter of time before the thunder and lightning started back up again.
She turned away and scooped up her bag, resigned to spend another day in the Woodlane Manor if the hazardous storm began anew. Or maybe it was better to risk it. They hadn’t been able to find many answers about her magic here, or the war, and Nyla didn’t like all that they didn’t know about Dinora. Her mind was made up. Coming to the Woodlane Manor was a mistake, one that she didn’t want to have to face the consequences for if their suspicions about Dinora being the evil sorceress from the legends proved true.
Nyla moved through the halls at a snail’s pace. There was no sense in rushing around, only to end up waiting around for something that might or might not happen. At least walking was something.
She turned into the entryway. Footsteps echoed through the foyer. Her heart began to pound between her ears. Her eyes flicked to the source, to Xander.
He froze when their eyes met. Even from where Nyla stood at the edge of the foyer, she could see him swallow hard. Nyla’s eyes fell to the bag on his shoulders, to how ready he was to leave. With a fist clenched at her side and the other twisted around the strap of her bag, her eyes never once left him as she crossed into the foyer, stopping in the middle of his path to the steeple doors.
“Are you leaving?” she asked quietly.
Nyla wasn’t sure if it was hurt and betrayal that ached in her chest or envy. Hurt that he was leaving and she’d probably end up staying because she didn’t know what to do next. Envious because he could just leave all of this behind.
“I’m sorry, Nyla.” Xander took a few steps closer. His eyes shone with guilt. That’s when Nyla knew that it was anger and betrayal that simmered in her blood. “I have to go.”
“Were you even going to say goodbye?” She gritted her teeth.
A shadow moved in the corner of her eye by the hallway. Her eyes flicked over to see Shamira hovering there, watching the scene unfold between her and Xander. Nyla ignored her and finished closing the gap between herself and Xander.
He gulped, glancing at the arched doors mere feet away. “I left a note. You…you weren’t there when I was getting ready, so I left it for you.”
Nyla narrowed her eyes and studied him. She knew it was wrong for her to be upset. Xander didn’t have to come all this way with her. He didn’t have to help her. He shouldn’t even have been wrapped up in all of this anyway—whatever this turned out to be.
“Okay.” Her blood boiled over. Nyla forced herself to smile. She didn’t need a mirror to know that it didn’t reach her hardened eyes or that it was pinched and sickly sweet, the sort of sweet that was fake, a trap, a façade. “Safe travels, then.”
She started to walk away, to return to the library. Xander’s hand slipped into hers, and Nyla stopped. Her temper wavered when she realized that it wasn’t the skin of Xander’s palm, but something dry and malleable that had greeted her own. A scrap of folded paper. Xander needed to tell her something, but wouldn’t say it.
Or was it that he couldn’t say it?
Her eyes flicked to Shamira again before she glanced at Xander over her shoulder. There was pleading in his eyes. The piece of paper, and the careful—no, sly—execution of how he gave it to her was a sign. Xander needed her to be hurt, he probably had a plan, and she needed to roll with it.
And that was easy because she was hurt. Betrayed. Angry.
And now confused.
Nyla stared Xander down, waiting for him to say something more, see how he wanted to play through this little scheme of his. She quirked her lip into a flutter of a smile, just so he knew she understood before the anger twisted deeper in her eyes.
“What?” she snapped, even though it was more exasperation than anger in her blood anymore, and tugged her hand away from his. Nyla spun around to face him. The paper crumpled in her clenched fist, nice and safe, and she only hoped that this was what Xander had meant to happen.
“Nyla, I—” Xander started and took a half-step away, his hands up. “I’m sorry to just leave like this, but I can’t handle this—any of this. I can’t help you.”
“So go.” Nyla shrugged. “I’m not stopping you. You didn’t have to come with me. You didn’t have to help me or anything. I never expected you to. You have nothing to be sorry for.”
She needed to tell him that he wasn’t obligated to help her and that he didn’t owe her any sort of apology. They were still technically strangers, even with everything they’d been through. Nyla needed to give him a way out, especially with how difficult her situation seemed with her magic and Astrid and Cedric and the war and how they still didn’t know how, exactly, Dinora fit into all of this. Nyla tried to convince herself that she’d be okay on her own again. And the fact was Shamira would still be with her. But she was a pumpkie. Tears blurred Nyla’s vision. She tried to blink them away.
Xander looked at her with soft eyes, even as she tried so hard to play the part he’d cast her in. For whatever reason, he’d thought it best to leave like this, even if it hurt her.
“I’m sorry, Nyla,” he said again, somehow even softer than before.
Nyla’s face twisted into a frown. The longer they put this off, the more she’d want to actually scream at him. Her heart pounded in her ears, alongside the echo of Xander’s voice when they stood before the crossroads to Hart, when he promised she wouldn’t be alone.
Nyla swallowed the lump in her throat and straightened. It was the only hope she had of not breaking down and begging him to tell her everything, right this second. She struggled and clawed at the anger in her blood, latched onto the fear and desperation in her heart, and hissed the words that an overwhelming inkling told her could be some of her last.
“You should go.”
Xander nodded. “All right then. Bye, Nyla.”
Just as he’d reached the doors and put his hand on the knob, Xander turned and met her eyes one final time. Nyla tried to hold her head high, as if none of this bothered her in the way that it did, but rather as if she was bitterly hurt. He gave her a pointed look, and she knew whatever came next was genuine. “Stay safe, okay?”
She nodded stiffly. It was as if her head hadn’t moved at all. “You too.”
The door opened with a groan, and Xander stepped over the threshold. Nyla couldn’t help the tears when they finally rolled down her cheeks. She stood there and pleaded with whatever higher powers were listening that Xander would turn back around and, if he didn’t, that he’d be safe in whatever it was that he was doing.
He didn’t come back to her. Instead, the massive steeple doors creaked open, and Xander walked out into the storm and, with him, the crushing realization of everything she wanted in her life.
The doors shut behind Xander with an ominous echo, leaving Nyla and Shamira alone. A sob escaped Nyla’s lips. Her legs shook, but she fought it off. She didn’t have time to let her emotions get the best of her. Even now, Nyla realized that the sensation that coursed through her body was magic. She glanced at her clenched hands. They glowed and sparked faintly of purple. She prayed that the note hadn’t been incinerated in her palm and fought to control her magic.
It’ll be okay, Nyla, Shamira tried to reassure her.
Nyla crossed the remainder of the foyer. “I hope you’re right.”
The note Xander had slipped her, much to her immediate relief, was still clutched tightly in her hand. It was the only thing that grounded her as they walked back to the library. Sure enough, there was another rolled-up note waiting for her on her sleeping bag.
Nyla strolled over to it, sitting cross-legged on her sleeping bag with Shamira following close on her heels. Carefully, Nyla unfurled the note Xander had left for her there, all the while conscious of the note concealed in her hand. As nonchalantly as she could, she unfolded the note he’d slipped her in the foyer over the one in her hands, wanting to read that one first.
Nyla—
First let me just say I’m sorry to leave like this. I know someone who might be able to help us figure out what to do next, but I need to send a letter to them first. I’m heading to the port just north of here, in Gossamer (he often has business there, so it’ll get to him faster than the regular couriers).
I should be back in a few hours.
I’m sorry I had to leave like this. I just don’t trust Dinora—I was afraid of what she would do to us—to you—if we tried to leave. Hopefully, I’m wrong, but if not, now you and Shamira don’t have to worry about me if Dinora exposes herself for what she is.
Shamira leaned over Nyla’s shoulder to get a better look at the note. So that’s what all this secrecy is about?
“It looks like it.” Nyla shifted the note down to expose the beginning of the second one. It looked like a crude map. Xander had probably drawn it or traced it from his own. Nyla huffed, slightly amused. Maybe he had thought of everything. Seamlessly, Nyla crumpled the first note back into her hand without ever really moving.
Her eyes studied the map, recognizing the roadways and path he’d intended to take to the port town of Gossamer a few miles away. Toward the bottom of the crude map, Xander had written another little note. His handwriting was cramped in the corner of the scrap paper, but Nyla was glad to read it.
If you want, we can meet somewhere along this route if you’re not comfortable staying at the manor. Stay safe and I’ll see you soon.
Another little “I’m sorry” was wedged into the tiniest bit of what was left of the corner, but Nyla barely glanced at it.
“Well, I guess if there’s nothing else for us to do here, we should head out too.” Nyla paused and took one last look at the map Xander had drawn for her.
It looked like he was going to H&R Trading, as it was the only major merchant company that worked out of Gossamer’s port. The rest, Nyla remembered her father saying, were fishermen and Tenebris’s navy. She shrugged away whatever lingering questions she had about Xander’s adventure and crumpled up both notes.
The fire popped and crackled when she tossed them in, and for good measure, Nyla urged the fire to make certain no trace of them survived.
Shamira was ever watchful as Nyla dressed and repacked her things.
Are you sure there’s nothing else you need to do here? The pumpkie’s tail curled and uncurled, tapping the floor like a human would their foot.
Nyla paused. Her eyes lingered over every surface of the room, looking for anything that they might have otherwise forgotten. “No, I don’t think so.”
Another pause. Nyla met Shamira’s eyes. “Could we take Astrid’s looking glass? Is it worth taking anything from there, from her workroom?”
It’s worth a second glance. Shamira blinked, already on her paws.
Shamira led the way toward Astrid’s hidden workroom. Nyla’s bag was heavier than she could ever remember it being. She shouldered it and hiked after Shamira. While the storm outside thundered on, the sun had managed to break the clouds a little and let its light shine through. Nyla basked in the sunbeams that streamed through the lilac window as they climbed the main staircase. All too soon, the world was plunged back into a stormy gray. Yet another violent-looking cloud blocked the sun.
Her stomach grumbled. Nyla pressed a hand to her abdomen to quiet it. She was in no mood for this sort of distraction. All she really wanted at the moment was to take one last look around Astrid’s things and leave so they could meet Xander on the road to Gossamer.
Hungry? Shamira glanced back at her.
“I’m fine.” Nyla tried to shrug her off, but the cat blocked her path toward Astrid’s bedroom.
You need to eat, Nyla. Not only to keep up your physical strength, but also your magical strength, Shamira nagged, giving her a maternal scowl.
“Okay, okay. I’ll grab something to eat.” Nyla turned on her heel. “You and Xander are impossible, you know that?”
You can’t change the fact that we care about you. Nyla heard the sly grin in Shamira’s smooth voice. Do you want me to come with you?
“No, I got it. It’ll only be a quick run down to the kitchen, and then I’ll be right back up.”
Be careful.
Nyla waved the pumpkie off with a roll of her eyes and begrudgingly headed down to the kitchen. She had barely made it down the one wing of the main staircase and down onto the landing when the wide oak doors groaned open for the second time that morning. She stopped and stared. Had Xander changed his mind?
And if he had, why?
Nyla’s smile and confusion faded. Illuminated by a bolt of lightning and the pale stormy daylight, the shadowy silhouette’s blue-gray cloak billowed out like rolling waves behind them.
Ice ran like blood through Nyla’s veins.
Cedric strolled into the brightly lit foyer. His bored scarlet eyes sparkled with agitation. The doors closed behind him with a thud that echoed in Nyla’s ears alongside her frantic heartbeat.
Her mind screamed at her to run, but her legs were like anchors. She wanted to look away, but she couldn’t. There was nothing she could do, other than let the ice crystals creep and crawl across her skin. The backpack on her shoulders burned, and Nyla didn’t know whether it was an anchor or a balloon. No matter what her mind tried to tell her body to do, it wouldn’t listen. All she could do was watch as Cedric strolled toward the stairs. His deft fingers undid the clasp of his cloak and he draped it over the banister.
“You know, I’m a little disappointed that there isn’t more of a reception.” He fingered the wet material, and Nyla tried her best to swallow.
This wasn’t happening.
It simply couldn’t be.
***
One step, inhale. Another step, exhale. Keep walking, keep breathing.
It was all Xander could tell himself as he walked down the drenched path of the Woodlane Manor, the path that was still assaulted by buckets of water from the volatile storm clouds above.
Thunder rumbled overhead. Xander pulled his hood farther down over his eyes. He kept his head down and his hands free for his bow, but there was nothing he could do against the gusts of wind that slammed into him. He knew his bow was a useless defense.
Guilt settled in every bone inside his body, but Xander pressed on anyway. Through the first gate and onto the slick, muddy path that led to the second gate, the one he could barely make out through the blurred wall of rain all around him, Xander’s feet carried him farther away.
The howling wind nipped at his heels, as if it made to push him along the path and away from the manor—away from Nyla. The paranoid assumption wasn’t very reassuring when Xander remembered that this storm wasn’t natural.
He picked up the pace. The sooner he got to Gossamer and sent his letter off, the sooner he could meet up with Nyla.
It had to be done, he kept telling himself. His inner voice wasn’t very convincing, though, especially as goosebumps spread up and down his arms upon crossing through the second gate. The gate groaned and clanged shut behind him.
Just as Shamira had said, the storm was somehow confined to the Woodlane Manor and its grounds. With each step, the rain slowed. Xander walked on until he crossed through a drizzling curtain of rain out onto the clear and lush, winding paths of the Godberd Woods. Old and crumbling statues lurked in the shadows of the scarlet blotted plum leaves that were dry and curled in on their edges. Droplets of rain plopped onto the ground behind him, the thundering storm only a hollow echo in the near distance.
