Page 100

AT THE RIVER

WREN

“ W ren!” Tahrik calls from the rocks by Kaden, excitement clear in his voice. “Come see!”

We are steps behind him, so I can’t tell what is lighting him up, but his happiness becomes my own as I curve around the largest boulder — one the size of a house — and see a tumbling wealth of water, stories high, falling in an avalanche of foaming white, misty clouds into a large pool below.

I’ve never seen so much clean water at once — it could fill the pitchers of our village a hundred times over, and strange, agonizing emotion pulls at me.

Kaden bounces down to the water’s edge like a mountain goat, surefooted and confident in his movements, and I’m reminded again how casual his joy is, how, like the waterfall in front of me, it never needed to be rationed out in careful portions.

Watching him is like watching a wildfire spread — it flares to a painful brilliance and swallows everything around it, making it difficult to see anything else in its blinding light.

He is almost to the low, not-quite-dirt stretch of smooth land at the perimeter of the water when he pulls off his shirt, exposing his naked back.

In a heartbeat, the world around me narrows to his bare skin, and the beautiful, twisting patterns cut into it.

It’s the clear work of a FleshCarver, though I’ve never seen any before, only heard of it in stories, and I can’t look away.

Down his spine, from the base of his neck to the low curve of his back just above his pants, runs an arrow straight series of intricate, slightly raised images — the full waning and waxing of the moon, from the new moon’s dark circle to the fading crescent, all in fascinating, glorious detail.

Three carefully planned stars sit at the top, one higher than the other two, almost to his hairline, and a pattern of smaller stars and various curved lines dart in and out of the white and black of the moons.

I step forward before I can think, hand outstretched, wanting nothing more desperately in this moment than to trace the lines of his carving, feel his skin against my own, to ask him what they mean, and how they came to be.

Only the strong grip of Rannoch’s quick hand saves me from tumbling down the rock face, and I come back to myself, flushing red in the late afternoon light.

He is silent, watching me with an intent look, eyes darting back and forth between me and Kaden’s back, quick and glinting, like the fish in the river.

There are questions there, resting on his sharp, full lips, and I know instinctively that I will not be able to answer whatever he is about to ask.

I cannot bring myself to regret the memory of the taste of citrus in his mouth, the feel of his tongue licking its juice from my own.

But I also can’t erase the image of a defined, muscled back, of an easy smile, of abundant happiness.

I have made no promises anywhere, with mouth or mind or body, but the glacial valleys of Rannoch’s eyes send cold shivers along my skin.

They remind me of where I am from, remind me that I was not born into the same joy that spills from Kaden like water from the falls.

Perhaps it’s unfair of me to look at his carved skin and wonder what it would taste like under my tongue.

I would draw shadows to his golden light, poison his pure water with my sorrow.

Tahrik makes an alarmed sound, and I jerk my gaze away from Rannoch’s pale eyes in time to see Kaden leap from the high edge of a rock, hover over the churning waterfall, then disappear beneath the surface.

Rannoch releases me, sprints to the high boulders near us which overlook the pool, and, without hesitating, jumps from them — not nearly so gracefully as Kaden did, but with an intent focus.

He hits the water and sinks, leaving me to scamble down the rest of the stones to the water’s edge in complete panic.

“I can’t hear them!” I cry, leaning forward to touch the cold water, then turn to Tahrik. “They must be alright. Would I even be able to hear them beneath the water if something went wrong?”

You can’t…hear them? Lorcan is shocked on my back, feeling almost newly anointed in the violence of the way he trembles on my skin. Wren —

It’s the first time that he has ever seemed afraid of me.

Even when I told him about being able to taste and smell bone memories, he never sounded like this.

He admonished me for keeping secrets, bit my spine in teasing rebuke, but once he realized I could sense him so deeply, he’s given me the best of his memories in the dark, storytelling hours, filling my eyes and ears and mouth with all of the things that he loved most as a child.

He never seemed frightened.

For you, Little Keeper. Only for you. Never, never of you.

His words loosen the iron band that had been constricting my heart.

I’m about to answer him when Kaden erupts up from the water, flinging his head back, sending tiny, glistening droplets to rainbow in the sun. He is laughing and gasping for air, followed seconds later by Rannoch, still fully clothed, who looks less amused.

“I’m sorry!” Kaden calls to him, swimming in a slow, lazy pattern. “I didn’t think you’d be concerned — or that you’d jump in after me! I must have grown on you! Admit it. You like me!”

Rannoch ducks beneath the water, then comes up again, his swimming more labored, face dark. “I don’t like you, Trader. You’re the only one who knows the way. What fool would jump into water this deep with no hesitation? And head first?”

“Even the youngest children do in my home, Rann. I am sorry. I was just so excited I forgot you don’t know our ways.

We all swim where I’m from — truly swim, not just wade into deep water.

And we dive off the low cliffs…I knew from the size of the falls that the pool wo uld be deep enough for me to do it, and after the dust of the day, thought it would feel good.

” He paddles easily to the strand where Tahrik and I are standing and walks out, shaking the water from his hair like an animal.

Against my will the corners of my mouth tip up.

I feel like one of the village women watching the men come home from the fields.

His body is massive and defined, glistening wet, little rivers of water trickling along the paths of his muscles, and for a moment I forget how to speak.

“Would you like to come swim with me, Wren?” he asks, holding out a hand, and Tahrik steps between us, blocking me.

“She can’t. It’s not safe.”

She can’t. She can’t. The words echo and bounce off the surrounding stone. Kaden is patient, still holding his hand steady, waiting for my answer instead of my friend’s. He does not even frown; his face is eager and expecting.

“Did you not hear me?” Anger swirls in Tahrik’s voice, mimicking the whirls and spirals of the water that is kissing my toes.

“I heard you,” Kaden replies, dark eyes fixed on my own. “But I did not hear Wren.”

“I am answering for Wren,” Tahrik grinds out, and I turn to him, brows drawn.

“Tahrik!” I say in surprise, and he nods reluctantly.

“I’m sorry,” he answers, clearly frustrated. “It is, of course, your choice. But it’s not safe.”

Turning to Kaden, I point at the pool. “Is it not?” I ask, desire and caution warring in my tone, and he shrugs.

“It’s fine. Well, it seems fine. But I’ll check it for you. The water is clear — I’ll be able to see any problems. And there is no pull from the falls. Let me look, and then I’ll take you in.”

“I can’t swim…” I whisper, voice teetering on the edge of hope.

I’ve always wanted to swim, always, but never learned.

Small barrels of brackish water were carted to my home for me to wash — an extravagance, most thought.

A form of control, really. The luxury of a golden cage is no luxury at all.

A prison is still a prison, no matter how beautifully decorated .

“I thought you all swam in the brackish pools?” Kaden looks between us, watching our interaction with careful eyes, like he is walking across a shaking bridge, unsure of which step will break and send him tumbling into the belows.

“She was not permitted. As such.”

Rannoch is standing in the deeper water, his shirt clinging to him like a second skin, hair dripping in dark strands over his forehead.

He pushes them back casually, as though swimming beneath a waterfall in the depths of a green forest is something we did every day back home.

He answers Kaden’s question in a flat tone, one I am coming to recognize as disguising some larger emotion.

I wonder what he is hiding, to answer in such an uncaring manner.

“But I’d like to. I’ve…I’ve always wanted to.”

Kaden nods, as though my response is all he was waiting on, and leaps back into the pool with a joyful whoop of noise. He is under for long enough that I find myself unintentionally holding my breath, mimicking him, and finally let it out in a pained gasp when he finally surfaces.

“It’s safe,” he assures me with a smile, swimming towards me on the shore. “Come on. I’ll take you in.”

I watch him exit the pool for a heartbeat too long; he notices the way my eyes follow his movements, curling up the corners of his full lips in a slow, purposeful smile.

Lingering in a languid, unhurried way, Kaden ambles from the water up the narrow beach to me, giving me space to drink him in.

I can’t look away, tracing him until he is directly before me, towering over me, smiling down at me through soft eyes.

They are full of a hesitant tenderness, and it shakes me.

Reaching out a calloused hand, he takes one of mine in his own. “Will you come swim with me, Flame?”

The words are low, not whispered, but not meant for other ears either. Tahrik has wandered to the edge of the water, poking at the surface doubtfully with his toes, and Rannoch is still as stone in the depths of the pool, watching Kaden approach me with a thoughtful expression.

I look down at my hand in Kaden’s — my thin, pale fingers so different from his own, my hand seeming tiny in his grasp.

He doesn’t move, just stands patiently, waiting for my answer.

Suddenly I realize how often he does this — gives me the room to figure out my own mind, with no pressure or impatience.

I think back to our nights around the fire when he cooks — he watches me eat from the corner of his eye, seeing what I pick at, what I eat quickly, which I save for last as a special treat.

I always thought it was just casual interest, like studying an unknown animal in the wild.

It did not occur to me to think it might be…

something different. He’s never moved to return to our time from the village; I thought it was because he had changed his mind, but maybe it is that he is giving me the space to make up mine instead.

“I…I don’t know,” I begin slowly, looking at the water, then back at Kaden. But I do know. If I don’t go, then I am the only one keeping me in my prison. “Yes.” This time the answer is firm, excited even. “Let me just?—”

In one swift movement, I shrug my tunic from my body, and then pull off my pants, putting them on the stones behind me.

There’s a sharp intake of breath, and the clearing falls silent.

When I turn back around, the weight of three sets of eyes feels as heavy as a yoke, all three men staring at me, unblinking.

Flushing red with embarrassment, I shrug uncomfortably.

“Is this…is this not…” Swallowing hard, I try again, more forcefully.

“Isn’t this how the women dress when they swim at home?

” I motion to the small shirt and undershorts that still cover my body, Lorcan’s bones trailing down my back.

“We wash the clothes while we are in the water?” I must sound very unsure, and Kaden shakes himself, offering a forced, tight smile.

“You’re perfect, Flame. This is exactly right. In my home, the women wear even less. We are more casual with nudity there.”

I frown, looking down at my thin outfit, and pluck at the edges. “I don’t think I would be comfortable completely naked…” I say thoughtfully.

From the pool, Rannoch makes a choking sound and drops beneath the surface. All talk of clothing and nudity forgotten, I panic, pushing past Kaden, and rush into the water, slowing only slightly as the cold liquid curls around me.

“He’s drowning!” I cry out. Without thinking, I fling myself forward, hands flailing, trying to find some piece of him to grab and pull back to the surface.

Kaden and Tahrik chase me, but I’m too far in, and, without warning, step off the edge of some underwater cliff, sinking like a stone to the bottom.