Page 160 of With Wing And Claw

‘Right,’ Thysandra said sheepishly. ‘Afternoon.’

Creon shrugged and pointedly returned to his maiming of onions, as if to inform her that his job here was done.

‘Right,’ she said again, a little more lost now.

Naxi still hadn’t moved.

It was almost unimaginable that this was the same bloodstained, sharp-toothed little avenger she’d seen emerge from the Labyrinth’s darkness in those last frantic moments. Here, scrubbed clean and dressed in pale pastels, every part of her seemed crafted from the finest, most delicate materials – a fragile beauty that beckoned,beggedto be cherished.

You ran from the ones who relied on you before …

Her words.

Her turn for courage, now.

‘Would you, um …’ Gods help her, it would have been useful if she’d actually decided what she’d wantedbeforeopening her mouth – something more specific, at least, thanplease don’t hate me forever.‘Would you mind going for a walk?’

There.

At least that would get them out from under Creon’s chaperoning eyes.

Naxi turned even pinker than usual. But she rose, flicked a handful of bruised petals from her dress and fingers, and made for the open window without a word, blue eyes cast to the floor – a strangely demure posture, except Thysandra suspected it was likely a last, desperate attempt at restraint.

‘Come by for dinner if you feel like it,’ Creon said, not looking up.

Thysandra swallowed. ‘Thanks.’

By her side, Naxi did not seem to have heard him at all.

Outside, the air was heavy with the scent of blooming roses, sunlight trickling through the foliage and flecking dancing patterns on the ferns and mosses. Thysandra walked onward aimlessly. Naxi followed quietly, her steps lacking their usual bounce – a stillness that became more and more pronounced with every minute that passed, morphing from flustered timidity into the implication of question, and then into an undeniable demand.

Even in this sun-streaked forest, the ghost of that gallery argument hung heavily between them. The words still echoed, sharp and vicious.

‘I’m sorry,’ Thysandra managed, finally.

A pathetic start. But it was a start, at least.

Naxi gave a small huff.

It was almost familiar. She’d been in a place like this before, begging for forgiveness in the face of unrelenting vexation – except grovelling before the Mother had only ever been a necessity, a betrayal of her own feelings for the sake of approval and survival. This …

This was the gods-damned opposite. This was finally allowing her feelings to speak for her, approval be damned, survival be damned.

She didn’t need anything in exchange this time. If the favour wasn’t returned, the feelings were still just as true – and that realisation, somehow, made it a hundred times easier to open her mouth again.

‘I was being cruel because I couldn’t wrap my head around the possibility of kindness,’ she said, the words coming mind-bogglingly easily – because she no longer needed to persuade, to convince, to prove herself true. She only needed to be honest. ‘I was furious with myself for being weak, so I tore you down too. That was unnecessary and undeserved, and I wish I hadn’t done it.’

Funny how frankness could feel so little like weakness. Far less so, really, than feigned strength.

Naxi sighed.

Then, long seconds later, she murmured, ‘I was very angry.’

Was. Notam. Madness, to draw conclusions from a single small word, and yet Thysandra’s heart couldn’t help but stutter a little.

‘Yes,’ she said.

Naxi glanced sideways at her, face scrunched up a little. ‘Maybe I still am.’