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Bree is exhausted. A good night’s rest is all she needs. Easy enough in theory, seemingly impossible in practice.
She shifted out of her bed and sighs, feet sliding into borrowed slippers. Wrapped with her blanket around her shoulders, she slinks down the hall, blanket trailing like a train behind her feet. She blinks blearily at her surroundings, not knowing exactly where she’s headed, just away from the bed she can’t find comfort in. She’d been tossing and turning for hours, unable to set aside all the haunting thoughts that linger, when she decided a walk might do her some good.
She treks the creaky halls, hand on the wall to help guide her through the darkness. She’s not sure just exactly how long she was wandering when she hears two familiar voices hissing at each other.
“Keep your voice down,” one says. There’s the shuffling of feet and the huff of annoyance. She follows the noise not very far down the hall to a cracked door where two figures stand in a moonlit room. She doesn’t put her eye to the light (partially because of the stark contrast, partially because she’s committing to the bit of wandering around like a thief in the night), but she can tell Selwyn’s exasperated sighs anywhere. Which means he can only be talking to one person.
“She’s exhausted, Sel.” Nick says.
“I know, Nicholas,” he sighs. “And I’m not asking her to push any further than she must. But the longer Alice is trapped. . .” he trails off, solemn. “I don’t know how much longer she can hold on.”
Bree’s heart stutters. Sel had been briefed on all he’s missed since his disappearance. The growth of Bree’s power. The state of her best friend. What Erebus had been doing to the Rootcrafter girls. The shard in Nick’s heart. And it's true — attempts to save Alice haven’t been as fruitful as she’d hoped in the past few days. Her body is right here but her soul is so far away, just out of Bree’s grasp. It’s a heavy weight on her scarred-up soul. She pushes and pushes each night until coaxed into guilt-ridden sleep. Today was no different.
Nick is silent for a beat. “She can’t lose Alice.”
Sel grunts. “Aggravating as that girl is.” But Bree is sure she hears something like respect in his voice. It makes her smile.
Then something shifts in the air. Someone takes a step, short and hesitant. “Briana?” Sel calls.
She steps into the doorway, caught. They stand in a moonlit room like two soldiers meeting to exchange a covert message in the dead of night. The thought combined with the state of their nightclothes almost makes her laugh: Nick in just some big blue shorts and socks, one with a hole on the ankle, and Selwyn in even a tank top and shorts that are still all black.
They take in her should-be-asleep state, too. Blanket curling around her arms, worn slippers on her feet, hair wrapped in satin. Nick shoots her a worried but warm smile.
“I couldn’t sleep,” she explains.
Selwyn hums. “Neither could we.”
Nick crosses to stand closer to her. Selwyn stays across the room, moonlight dividing them. She doesn’t play dumb and ask what they were talking about, and they wouldn’t pay her the disrespect of lying to her. But they don’t pick up where they left off. We aren’t sure how much time your best friend has. But we aren’t going to talk about it anymore, because it won’t do you any good when we don’t have any new solutions.
“Do you want to step outside?” Nick asks, crossing to leave with her if she chose to.
She shakes her head. “No, no I should try to go back to sleep.”
She knows they see the weakness in her legs, the heaviness of her eyelids. Bree sees the wish they share to make her weariness disappear. So when the question pops in her head she doesn’t think twice; they harbor the safety she's looking for, and she is certain they will provide as much as she needs.
“Come with me?” she whispers.
Nick’s response is immediate. “Of course, B.” His hand finds her elbow to lead her back, but she doesn’t turn. Her eyes remained on Sel. He is locked in place.
“Both of you?”
He gives a short, sharp intake of breath. Hesitation bleeds in his eyes, his body. Briefly his gaze flits to Nick, who waits for his response with no judgement, then back to Bree. It hasn’t been long since he was returned to his right self, and its been a shorter period still that he stopped isolating. If he had been willing to lock himself up before for endangering Bree, he was adamant about it now. Coaxing him out of that stupor of shame was almost laborious, and it was heartbreaking that he could not see it was a labor of love.
Bree had spoken softly to him through a door frame. This doesn’t change what you mean to me.
Nick was close behind. A King needs her Kingsmage. And it sure as hell isn’t going to be Lark.
Sel has never been one to deny her. And as long as she needs him, he will be there. He nods sharply and follows.
When they reach her room, they fall onto the mattress in tired heaps. Bree first, Nick second, Sel last. Bree curls into Nick’s chest as he wraps a strong arm around her middle. When Selwyn climbs in he’s facing her, slotting into her open arms like a puzzle: her leg over his hip, his head over her heart. His arm slings across her frame and they breathe in time, deeply, together.
Sleep comes easy.
When she wakes, their configuration is askew but still just as secure. Her legs are thrown around Nick, bare feet on his back, and her back is securely pressed against Selwyn’s chest. One of his hands is tapping a rhythm against her ribs, the other hand plays with a stray curl. They were caged in by Nick, who snores, deep and heavy. In his slumber he holds them just a bit tighter.
It was the most rest she’s gotten in a long, long time.