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The vliegeng aerie was quiet, almost hauntingly so. The giant, skybound warbeasts slept soundly in the tiers below, their gentle snores a kind of lullaby that harmonized with the low whistle of the wind through the rafters. Addilyn laid among the stolen blankets that sat strewn across the stone floor, the scratchy fabric doing little to stave off the cold.
But that didn’t matter, not with Lemuel at her back, not with his arm around her waist holding her flush against his chest.
Addilyn sighed, tugging the threadbare blanket up and under her chin as his warmth enveloped her. This was one of their last safe havens, one of the few places they could still find refuge within each other. Things had gotten harder since the wedding, as they knew it would. There were certain things expected of a newly married Ssaelit man, soldier or not, and constantly dodging time at home to sleep at the barracks didn’t exactly speak to a fruitful union.
Besides, Leysa was a grieving widow with children—his brother’s children, no less—and she deserved the comfort of her new husband’s presence. To spend these frigid nights alone with the shadow of her dead husband haunting her nightmares was cruel, and yet Lemuel could find no solace in his brother’s old home with his once sister-in-law. He could find no peace in a bed that had once belonged to Duane Adelier.
He had done his duty and would provide for Duane’s family, but he couldn’t bring himself to sever the ties that still kept him tethered to his old life. That kept him tethered to her.
A familiar, leaden weight pooled in Addilyn’s gut as Lemuel’s hold on her tightened. The guilt that came with their continued affair had grown near suffocating over the last few months. She had a feeling that Leysa knew of Lemuel’s infidelity, and Addilyn had no doubt that she was among the widow’s short list of suspects—and yet she did nothing to discourage him. This was an arrangement of necessity, after all. For both of them.
And yet the raised, scarred flesh of Lemuel’s marriage brand, the symbol burned into the skin above his heart, was a constant reminder of Addilyn’s culpability in this unhappy union.
Carefully, Addilyn maneuvered herself out of Lemuel’s grasp and onto her feet, resisting the urge to shiver as she gathered her clothes from the floor. She longed to lay back down beside him, to bury her face in his chest and allow herself to be encased in the warmth and strength of his embrace.
But she shouldn’t. Couldn’t. Not again. Not anymore.
A soft groan followed by the sound of shifting fabric reached her ears as she pulled her shirt over her head. She stilled, bracing for what would come next.
Lemuel hummed softly as he pushed himself up onto his forearms, his long, disheveled, golden hair hiding his eyes. “Where are you going?” he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep.
Addilyn was quiet for a beat, allowing herself a single, calming breath before she spoke. “I should get back to the barracks. It’s late.”
A muffled grunt as he turned to look toward the window, pushing his hair back and away from his face all the while. “The moon is still high,” he said, only just barely more alert than he had been a moment ago. He shifted again, laying back down in their nest of stolen blankets. “Come back to bed, Addie. This chill is making a small man of me—and I’d hate to be caught woefully unprepared for another round.”
Another silence fell over them, one in which she was sure he had already managed to drift back to sleep. For a brief moment, she considered slipping out of there without a word. It would be so easy, so much easier than what she was about to do, what she was about to say.
“… We can’t keep doing this, Lem.”
Her words hung in the air like an ax waiting to drop. He shifted once more, his words low and muffled by sleep. “Doing what?”
“Living a lie.” Saying it aloud was almost a relief, that tight coil of shame loosening where it sat heavy in her gut, though the words tasted like ashes upon her tongue.
Lemuel stiffened, the muscles along his back and arms pulling visibly taut beneath his skin. He was fully awake now, she could tell by his deliberate, even breaths. It was a practice he adopted before diving into battle, his swords drawn as a measure of calm washed over him.
And what was this if not the waning hours of a long fought war?
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said, his tone clipped. “Come back to bed.”
“Lem, I’m serious.” She turned to face him fully, trying her damnedest to keep her voice steady. “We knew this wouldn’t last forever. Hell, this has gone on far longer than it ever should have.”
“I’m not doing this now.” He seemed to try burying himself further into their makeshift bed, though he remained rigid and tense. Ever the soldier, ever prepared for a fight. “I have a patrol to lead in the morning.”
“Does Leysa know that?” she asked, the accusation clear.
Lemuel sat up suddenly, his golden eyes flashing dangerously in the dim moonlight. “Don’t, Addie.”
She scoffed softly, folding her arms over her chest. “Someone has to. Otherwise I worry you’d forget about them.”
“I’d never,” he snapped.
“Then why are you here?”
He fell silent, his jaw muscles twitching slightly as he ground his teeth. “You know why.”
Addilyn’s throat grew tight, traitorous tears welling in her eyes as she said, “I’m not sure it’s enough anymore.”
His gaze softened a fraction then, his brow furrowing. “Don’t say that. It’s always been enough. We’ve always been enough.”
“You have a wife and children now, Lem,” she said sullenly, pleadingly. “Leysa is a good woman and she deserves so much more than this. She deserves more than a husband in name only.”
“She knew what it meant when we said our vows,” he said. “She expects nothing from me, and I expect nothing from her. I keep them fed and warm and clothed. That is what my duty to Duane dictates, and that is what I shall continue to do.”
“You can continue to do what you wish,” Addilyn retorted, leaning down to snatch up her boot from the floor. “But I cannot bear this any longer.”
“Addilyn.” Lemuel was on his feet and before her within the span of a breath, a hand at her wrist as he tugged her toward him. “Addilyn, please. There is no point to this without you. I would have nothing if not for you.”
Her resolve weakened at his touch, at the sound of his voice—so desperate, the cracks in his armor so clear—but she pressed on, each word like a glass shard embedded in her heart. “This was never forever, Lem.” She smiled up at him sadly, her free hand coming up to cup his cheek. The stubble there had always felt wonderful against her skin, the raised flesh of his long-healed scar a familiar comfort. She clung to that as she continued, her voice tight with emotion. “But you have to let go. You have to let me go.”
He pressed his lips into a thin line, bringing his hand up to cover her own. The calluses along his palms were rough, and she hated that this could very well be her last chance to etch the coarse sensation into her memory. Nausea began to gnaw at her gut, the acidic tang of bile coating her tongue as she bit back the sob that lay trapped in her chest.
“I’ve loved you for so long,” he said quietly, nearly a whisper. “I cannot imagine a life without you in it.”
A soft hiccup escaped her as she stood on her toes, pressing her forehead to his. He met the gesture, his hand moving from where it sat covering her own to the back of her neck, tangling within her dark tresses. “We were always living on borrowed time,” she whispered. “It was a gift that we even had this long.”
He pulled her against him then, his lips capturing her own. It was a desperate kiss, filled with longing and sorrow and anguish—and Addilyn fell into it, as she always did.
They were living on borrowed time, that much was certain, but she would cling to these final moments, these last tender caresses, with the strength of a dying man grasping for salvation.