He exhales slowly. “I assume because they don’t understand me. And because of that, they don’t understand why I do the things I do.”
I tilt my head, watching him carefully. “I think that might not be entirely their fault.”
“It’s absolutely not their fault at all,” he admits, his voice introspective. “I’m not easy to… know. But I don’t know if I can ever change that. Maybe it’s better that way.”
I glance at him, feeling a strange tug in my chest. “Let me guess. You’re trying to protect them?”
Rylan looks up at me, his eyes melting a little as a ghost of a smile flickers over his lips. “Heard that from me before?”
“Just a lucky guess.”
He nods, his gaze distant now. “If anything ever happenedto either of them, I don’t know if I could live with myself. So… I let them believe what they want to believe about me. And I love them from afar.”
He finishes the last stitch on my skirt and holds it up, admiring his own work. “Pretty good.”
I take the skirt from him. Our fingers brush again, and this time, the touch lingers. His eyes meet mine, and for a brief moment, there’s something different there. Softer. More open. It makes my heart skip, and I quickly look away, focusing on the fire instead.
“I’m sure they would love the chance to understand you, if you gave them the chance,” I say quietly. “But I wouldn’t know. I don’t have any siblings.”
The silence between us stretches on, but it’s not uncomfortable. There’s something about being this close to him, in the stillness of the night, that feels… different. I’m not sure what it is, but it’s unsettling and comforting all at once.
After a while, Rylan speaks again, his voice more casual now. “Your turn to tell me something. I’d like to be able to say something more than ‘That’s Eirabella Kaye, she never shuts up and smells like wet horse.’”
My jaw drops open, and I grab a handful of snow and throw it at him. “You try going a week with only one bath and the occasional wash in a freezing cold stream!”
He ducks the snowball with a twitch of his lips but doesn’t respond.
With a huff, I resume my darning and say, “Well, first off… I love banana pudding.”
Rylan gasps in mock horror. “Say it isn’t so!”
I laugh with a shrug. “Beggars can’t be choosers. But ice cream is actually my favourite thing to eat. Ever. Ever want me to forgive you for something? Just bring me a giant ice cream sundae.”
He waits until my chuckles fade before he turns serious, his eyes flickering with curiosity. “You said you wanted to write a letter once we get to the capital. Who’s it for?”
Instinctively, I hug Janus’s jacket tighter to my chest. “Um, just want to get word to a… good friend,” I say softly. “He’s probably worried about me. I just want to let him know I’m okay. Or that I will be. We, uh, we’re very… close.”
Rylan’s eyes harden slightly, and he nods, his jaw tightening. “Well, I’ll make sure you get that letter to whoever you need to. It must be nice to have someone worried about where you are.”
“I’m not really sure life would be worth living if one didn’t. I can’t think of anything worse. Even when I had nothing else, I had that.”
Suddenly, I feel his eyes on me. Really on me. I chance a look up from my sewing, and his gaze locks with mine, and for a moment, it feels like everything else fades away.
He holds my stare, the firelight reflecting in his dark eyes. Then, almost out of nowhere, he says softly, “Did anyone ever tell you that you have a resilience about you? Something that seems innately... unshakable.”
The words catch me off guard, and for a second, I don’t know how to respond. No one’s ever said anything like that to me. My throat tightens slightly, and I look away, focusing on the stitch I’m working on. “No... not really,” I mumble, feeling oddly vulnerable under his gaze.
Rylan watches me for a moment longer, his voice dropping to a more intimate tone. “I suspect you’re the kind of person who doesn’t let the world crush you, no matter how much it tries.”
“Something you noticed about me when I was trying to run away from you?” I say, my voice shaky but trying to sound casual.
“I notice more than you think.” Then he moves, as if to leave.
Inexplicably, I touch his arm to stop him. “Rylan?” He stops, turning to look at me. “If you actually let them, I bet you’d be surprised how many people would wonder where you are if you went missing,” I say quietly.
He smiles, a small, sad smile, and shrugs. “Maybe. Or maybe it’s just too late for me.”
My heart breaks for him. No one should ever feel like it’s too late, and it’s all I can do not to hug him. Instead, I just squeeze his arm. Heat burns where we touch, and the log feels wobbly beneath me. But I don’t let go. He stares at me, the campfire reflecting in his eyes.
