Chapter Text
“There were peaches in the kitchen,” Iloniyn said as he opened the door, rapping knuckles light against the wood. “I brought a basket.”
It took Viera a moment to look up from where her hand was clenched in her lap. She almost didn’t. Still, she knew she’d feel better once she did, even if it was a guilty relief. Smiling up at her tael’inan, she shifted aside on the bed to make space for him.
“Thanks. Hadn’t managed to grab dinner, yet.”
“I figured,” he responded, settling beside her and pulling out his knife. With ease he halved one of the fruits and twisted its pit free, eying her sidelong and arching a brow. She knew that look, but couldn’t think of anything to fill the silence. So she didn’t.
“...That bad, huh?”
Evidently, she didn’t need to. “The council isn’t impressed with my running off, it would seem,” she said. “I’m not sure how much longer Josie’ll be able to stall for me.”
Iloniyn snorted. “Who cares what a few crusty shems think? For fuck’s sake—” He cut himself off when she cleared her throat, returning his attention back to slicing fruit. “Fen’harel’s arse, they’re dull. Thought saving the world from an ancient evil might earn you a little respect. Shows what I know.”
He held out a sliced peach, and she took it between her fingers. Any other night his griping might’ve pulled some humor from her, or his kindness some relief; as it was, she only ached. Sweet flesh met her lips, but the fruit was not so ripe as to melt in her mouth. It was still firm, and mild. Though she wouldn’t meet his eyes she knew they studied her, until she could feel his presence shift.
“What’s this really about, Vie?”
She didn’t want to speak the answer, even to him. Especially to him. Her fears unspoken were hers alone, shouldered in silence so they couldn’t spread. Inevitably the pain would come for him, she dreaded the day it would—what use was there in the torture of anticipation? Or worse, in hope?
In her lap her left hand opened, still sticky at the fingertips from his gift, before an involuntary spasm tensed it shut. She couldn’t tear her eyes away, but she could feel him, pressed to her side. She could feel him, sifting clues from her expression. Tael’inan. One soul, two vessels. Together, whole.
But, apart…
“If something were to happen to me,” she finally forced out through the lump forming in her throat, before he could hear it, “promise me you wouldn’t follow. That you’d return to Niri, and our clan. Promise me you’d keep them safe.”
“Creators, Vie, don’t talk like that—”
“Promise me.” This time her voice wavered, and cracked. Beside her, Iloniyn seemed to shift to stone, still and solid. “Promise me. Please.”
He didn’t move, not at first. Then, wrapping his peach with the rag he’d spread across his lap and setting his knife aside, he leaned into her. His hand snaked slowly behind her head, palming below her ear and tugging her towards him, until she’d nestled in the crook of his neck with his chin resting on her crown. For just a moment he held her there, unmoving, unspeaking.
Not stone, she corrected, failing to trap tears in squeezed shut eyes, but the trunk of an oak. Stable, enduring.
“Okay. I promise.” His fingers trailed through her hair, tracing around her ear as his chin rolled, and was replaced by his cheek. “But it won’t come to that, Viera. We’re making it through this.”
More than anything she wanted to believe him. As quiet tears rolled down the line of her jaw, however, another shock pulsed through her body from her hand, this one taking near all her control to hide as it jolted her heart.
I only need to make it a little longer, she pleaded, shaking in his grasp. Creators, let me make it just a little longer.