Chapter 20

“With the claim laid to Helios, our confidence beckons us to assign another expedition team to climb the third and most distant peak. We have high hopes that the third peak will proffer as much promise as Callanth and Helios have. With the repeated success of the expedition team, we also plan to create a permanent title for the ones braving the storm and peaks. A stipend will be assigned as incentive, and the title of Scavenger will hold as high of regard as High Chemist. It is our hope that the team of Scavengers will remain within our employ to further our research and discoveries.”

High Chemist Revela, 18th High Chemist of Callanth, page 110 of the compendium

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I don’t succeed in training that day. Nor the next. For the following five days the only thing I succeed in is testing how far we can fall before Nex is forced to deploy his harpoon. Never mind testing his patience level. He’s started pinching my leg each time I accidentally shift and propel us into the mountain.

Our investigation has yielded as much as our training. A quick survey of the large crack on the side of the mountain confirmed Nex’s speculation. But more tremors have appeared. The herd of mountain goats has been fenced in. Leil complains that it takes him longer and longer to herd all his fish with the disturbed sediment of the lake. The frost storms have grown more unpredictable, leaving Callantheans to watch the banners all hours of the day. Just in case. The uneasiness is like a weighted blanket of brackish uncertainty.

My fingers leave whorls in the thin layer of dust that coats the tome in my lap.

What if Nex is right? What if the other chemists are right? What if I deliver notes to Sulien that will humiliate and discredit him in court?

I slam the tome on Old Atoraxis shut on my musings and reach for another off the pile perched next to the armchair. “Why did the chemists in Old Atoraxis have to be so vague? They have to say ‘boiling clouds’ and ‘fury of the sky’ instead of what in the world they actually mean.”

Nex continues to gently flip through the yellowed pages of the tome splayed on the table he’s bracing against, not even flinching at my outburst, but a smile does creep up on his face.

“They probably had little to no clue what was unfurling above them all those years ago. We’ve had time to label things. ‘Fury of the sky’ does sound more daunting than ‘a really bad storm’.”

I open the new tome in my lap, but pause at turning the first page to shoot Nex an incredulous look. “Doesn’t help us now though, does it? If you’re right… people need to know. Soon. And we need a solution before then.”

Nex pushes off the table and stretches his back. “You’ve just got to think more… poetically.”

I blink at him. Then again. “What?”

In response, Nex glances ahead out the giant window while pursing his lips. “What would you compare the first layer of the storm to? Something unrelated to chemistry or weather.”

I open and close my mouth multiple times, much like the fish — the smaller fish — in the lake. But when I persistently search my brain for any unrelated comparison, I fall short. Maven is the one with a penchant for the written word. I follow recipes. I don’t— Well, I create them too. Coming up with a metaphorical description can’t be much different from concocting a new broth.

I find the stormglass orb depicting the first layer and watch the way it moves. The first layer of the storm is… mist. It’s pure mist wrapping you in what I imagine a wave of morning dew would feel like. It looks like—

“A dance,” I blurt without thinking, but watching the way tendrils of white and grey mist dance and intermingle with each other, I decide it’s a decent comparison.

When I look to Nex, I’m surprised to find him looking so… surprised. He only takes a second to look at the orb himself before nodding curtly. “That’s pretty good.”

Then he’s moving and quickly closes the gap between him and the overstuffed chair I’m sitting in. He reaches out a hand. “If you wouldn’t mind?”

I stare between him and his hand. Is he seriously asking me to… dance… in the middle of our studying?

“Maybe I do mind.” I lean back in the chair and watch him with narrow eyes. His hand remains outstretched towards me.

“It’s good to take breaks. Plus, I want to show you something,” he explains casually.

My plan was to wait to really see if he’ll relent, but I think I only make it to a few seconds before I groan and place my hand exaggeratively in his.

“Good girl,” he says in that deep voice that makes my spine tingle, but I don’t get to react before he swings me around and pulls me in close. I practically stumble into his chest and his arm is suddenly around my waist with his other hand expertly clasped around mine. Once I gather my senses, we are moving at a calculated and steady pace around the space in front of the window, an infuriatingly cocky smile plastered all over his ridiculously self-satisfied face. I want to reprimand him for talking to me like a house-trained mountain goat, but at the same time, his hooded eyes are looking particularly lively at the moment.

“O-kay,” I squeak. “What is it you want to show me?” If I don’t distract myself I might let my mind wander a little too much.

“An experiment.” He moves us through a graceful turn without checking where he’s stepping. “People that encounter something foreign or unfamiliar use comparisons to things that are familiar to them to make it relatable. You might call a round plant covered in spines a pin cushion. I call it a cactus. I might call a hole filled with water a cup. You call it a lake. Find the relatable denominator and you’ll have your decoding key.”

He guides us through another turn and suddenly the tomes don’t sit idly and wait for me to scour them. My free hand doesn’t hang suspended in air, but rests on his shoulder for better support.

“That… actually makes a lot of sense,” I sputter, my lips numb and my mind muddled.

Stars, how dizzy am I getting?

He smiles, then swiftly leads me back to where we started in front of the chair. The way his steps don’t hesitate or flounder, his grip precise and firm, makes me think he’s had ample practice in dancing. Under what circumstances a Chemist’s apprentice and previous Scavenger would need to learn correct dance steps, I’m not sure though.

Our movements slow till we stand still, but his hand remains splayed on the small of my back, his other still holding mine at shoulder-height. Our bodies still flush. Then he leans in.

“So is this how the first layer feels like to you? Like a dance?” This time his voice isn’t confident or teasing. His eyes search mine again, but the intensity therein makes me flick my gaze to my hand on his shoulder. Then the bookcase behind him. Anything but his eyes.

“Close enough,” I mumble, then quickly retrieve my hand from his and drop my other from his shoulder. “Better get back to studying. I’ve got some decoding to do.”

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

I ungracefully plop down in the chair again, the springs in the cushion making me bounce up and down for a moment. Nex doesn’t seem bothered by my sudden break in our conversation or dance as he meanders back to the table where his tome still lays open.

Not much else is said between us once we start reading again. Before I would’ve relished the comfortable silence between us as we both peruse tome after tome. Now I’m a little too distracted by the ghost of him pressed against me and his warm breath fanning over my face when he spoke. As if on cue, a wave of heat rushes to my face and I quickly raise the heavy tome to hide me.

What is wrong with me? I’m acting like an uncontrolled girl! A girl whose hand tingles where his had held it.

I sink further into the chair, hiding my face completely behind the tome and forgetting all about Old Atoraxis and crumbling houses amidst storms.

Part of me, an admittedly decent amount of me, wonders how much of that was Nex ‘experimenting’ and how much of it was just us dancing. Peeking up over the thick edge of the tome I’m hiding behind, watching the way he’s braced against the table again, his face hidden under tangled locks of dark hair, I distinctly note the skin of his neck appearing more flushed than I’ve seen it before.

A creak and tumbling footsteps catch me peeking at Nex, and I slam the tome on anchor systems shut like my secrets are written there. Unfortunately, the abrupt movement makes me bump the pile of tomes next to the armchair, sending them cascading like tossed game pieces onto and across the tiled floor.

Two figures stand in the doorway. Grinning.

Leil shakes his head and walks towards the table Nex is at, carrying a large wicker basket. “I’m way too sober for this.”

Nex stands as stiffly as I feel, making me wonder if he was also caught off guard.

“Did we interrupt?” Maven asks sweetly, gliding into the laboratory as if she was expecting to catch us doing something other than studying.

“Not at all,” Nex replies smoothly as ever. “What’s all this?” He gestures to the mysterious basket covered in a dish towel propped on the table between his discarded tomes.

I catch the hint of a sly smile playing on Maven’s lips before it fades into a barely contained expression of innocence. “We figured you two would be working late again, so we brought you dinner.”

As if they had rehearsed it, Leil takes cue and rips the dish towels off the basket with dramatized flair. I stand from the chair to go inspect the basket’s content, the motion sending a zing of residual pain to my head from our clumsy training the day before. Nex gives Maven and Leil a knowing look.

“This is leftovers from today’s lunch rush,” he states.

“It’s delicious leftovers from todays lunch rush,” Leil corrects with a pointing finger. “We’re beyond pretending Maven or I can cook anything edible.”

Maven makes a face. “So many mushrooms,” she says like the trauma of Leil’s mushroom stew still haunts her.

I dig out the four bowls tucked into the bottom of the basket and pass them out. I don’t spot Leil’s mug. “Leftovers or not, it’s highly appreciated.”

Leil starts scooping heaping ladles of broth and noodles into each bowl. We find spots around the laboratory to settle into with our warm bowls while Leil eagerly discusses the logistics of keeping his fish herd for another season without slaughtering any.

“And what makes you think another season will make any difference in your level of attachment to those fish?” Maven poses the question from beside me, a spoon poking the air.

“I can live in blissful denial for another few months,” Leil admits, shoveling a forkful of noodles into his mouth.

I scoff from my seat in the chair. “I would like to live in denial that your ‘fish’ nearly ate me.”

Maven’s head snapped to me. “What?”

Nex chuckles from his spot leaning against the bookcase across from us. “Ryn doesn’t play well with others.”

I roll my eyes at him, Maven quizzically staring between the Nex and I, till Leil indulges her curiosity. I’m mocked and teased for the following 30 minutes.

The glowing ceiling soon becomes the only source of light in the laboratory, and the conversation has turned to a comfortable lull between Nex and Leil.

I watch the orb of the third layer, taking in how the black ribbons of cloud writhe and thrash. It reminds me of how the red-scaled lake snake moved in the water just before it lunged for me.

Maven’s fork clinks against her bowl. “Raiden stopped by.”

Her words are as cold as the chill that runs through me. No matter how many times she has had to repeat those words, they leave the same effect on me every time.

“When?” I ask quietly.

“Two hours ago,” she replies. “That’s partially the reason we brought you guys dinner here. I didn’t want you to accidentally bump into him if you were coming home soon. I figured it was best if we kept you here a little longer.”

The weight of her words settles in me, sits heavily in my lungs. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“Yes, I did,” Maven’s tone is firm, decided. Apologetic. I’m about to comment on it. Comment on how she doesn’t need to plunge into years of penance for a decision she thought was within my best interest. A decision she made out of pure love.

“He seems familiar,” she interrupts my thoughts. “Nex. I feel like I should recognize him from somewhere. But maybe it’s just that he fits in so well.”

I follow her gaze that’s traveled to the window where Nex is enthusiastically demonstrating to Leil how he snuck on top of a cable car from Ocassus to Helios once when he was a teenager. And it occurs to me as clear as the starry night, that he does fit.

“Sometimes I can’t tell if he’s the best thing for you,” Maven continues. “Or the worst.”

“He’s neither,” I add. “He’s someone who’s teaching me how to win the Stormglass Trials.”

“And studies with you, and cooks with you, and sleeps with you—”

“We have not slept together,” I snap.

Maven cracks a smile. “Wouldn’t blame you if you had.”

I force myself to slurp up another noodle, ignoring both Maven’s smirk and how the light of the Stormglass dome above us softens Nex’s features. It’s just lighting, but it somehow removes the worry from his brow and the tension around him. It just… softens him. I shake away the thoughts, my head building in pressure.

I can’t talk about this right now.

“Any ideas on how to compile a presentation to the court?” I ask while fishing my fork through the noodles that suddenly taste bland.

Maven’s hand raising a full fork to her mouth halts mid-air. “A presentation? To the court?”

A smile blossoms on my face. I don’t turn. I don’t have to. I know Maven well enough to know she’s dropped her jaw in her bowl.

***

The beast is back. So is its deafening howl the wind carries like a promise of death. The cold weight of it presses my body against solid ice that bites against my skin. My hand, my right hand, threatens to snap off its joints. The weight. The cold. The wind. It’s too much. It’s always the same. There’s never a way out. Only the numbing cold encasing me in a tomb of a white tempest. The helplessness a heavier weight than any threat.

I gasp, the cold air rushing in to seize my lungs. But instead the fresh taste of peppermint lands on my tongue. And licorice. The air thickens, the wind shying away from the new tastes like the night yields to the sun. Warmth curls around my right hand, its exposed skin soothed and shielded. A calming, yet disturbing warmth. Unnatural, like something my body didn’t do on its own.

There’s only darkness when I open my eyes. My chest quivers with every breath, but I’m not cold. There’s no wind. No ice. But my head is still filled with pressure.

Bed. I’m in my bed. I’m in my room. I’m not back there. I’m safe. We’re safe.

I suppress my instinct to check on Maven, like I have so many times, when I force myself to swallow a large breath.

I pause mid-breath.

Peppermint and licorice. It laces the air outside my nightmare too. I scan my room, finding nothing out of place… except for the mug in the narrow window sill. I watch the soft ribbons of steam leave a delicate fog on the window pane.

Still warm. But who—

Twisting in my bed, the sheets bunch as I peek over the edge of the bed, down at where Nex should be sleeping. In the velvet shadows, I can only see his dark silhouette lying on its side, as close to my bed as possible without sliding under it.

I release my held breath, somehow finding an unexpected comfort in the knowledge of his presence, even if it’s as a result of a self-serving bargain.

Bargain. Deal. The words feel hollow in my mind. As if they don’t sit right anymore. They don’t fit. As if Nex sleeping on my bedroom floor means something else. Something more.

Slipping the mug off the sill, I cradle it in my hands, allowing the night to steal my thoughts. The warm breath of the tea unfolds my tense muscles, swaying me to savor a couple of sips before returning the mug to the tiny sill and curling up under my blanket again.

There’s only one reason Nex Avenell is suffering through night after night sleeping on a splintery floor, Hesperia, and it isn’t out of self-sacrifice. A deal is a deal. Even if he made me tea.

I repeat my prayer of cynicism like a chant till my lids grow heavy with unclaimed sleep, closing on the view of Nex’s hand laying on the edge of my bed where my right hand had been.