Page 111 of A Conduit of Light
“I’dlike to see our rooms, please.”
Iraised my brows in surprise. “Sorry?”Ichoked out.
“I’dlike to see our rooms, the ones we shared.”
“Why?”
“Ithink it will help.Ihave these memories.Butthey’re all mixed up, tangled in a web of thoughts andI…Ithink seeing will help me sort them out.Justlike whenMoirashowed me theBlight—it helped me remember thatIwas angry.”
“Idon’t want you to see our rooms and get angry.”
“Idon’t thinkIwill—I…I’djust like to see them.Please,Rev?”
Iblew air out through my lips slowly.
“Alright.Youcan look around and then we go straight to the dining hall, promise?”
Shelaughed lightly. “Promise.”
Chapter50
Karus
Iclosedmy eyes and entered the room.
Iimagined what it would have looked like seven years ago.Therehad been a gigantic bed in the middle, bookshelves along the furthest wall, two chairs before the fire—one blue, one black, and a door to the left as you entered, leading to the washing room and an enormous tub.
Hestayed behind me, shutting the door.
Iopened just one eye first, getting a quick glimpse.
Ilaughed and covered my mouth.Itwas likeIhad never left.Everythingwas in its exact place, just as it was seven years before whenItold himI’dsee him at dinner.
Itwas easier then, for me to rearrange the memories.Somewere still fuzzy on the inside and some were crystal clear as if they had happened yesterday.
“Ihaven’t changed much,” he muttered, pouring a cup of water from his side table and bringing it to me.
“Haveyou changedanything?”Iteased, drinking the cool water quickly and fully, stepping nearer to the fireplace.
“Incendo,” he murmured, bringing it back to life.Iplaced the empty cup on the mantle, stretching my fingers out over the fire, wiggling them as the flames danced in reaching patterns.
“Idon’t spend a lot of time here, honestly.It’snever felt right.”
Hedidn’t say,“Withoutyou.”Butit hung there between us asIturned to him.
“Ican only imagine your pain,Revich.Iunderstand now, when you said you suffered.Ibelieve you.Iknow you did.Iknow you still do.”
Heshook his head, looking down at his boots, his hands shoved into his pockets.Theold memories of him mixed with the onesIhad made in my time of forgetting.
“Idon’t remember you being so quiet.Butin all the memoriesIhave of you recently, you’d hardly say more than a few words to me.Whyis that?”
Hishead leaned back, not in annoyance, but in a desperate attempt to hold his composure.
“Doyou mind if we sit?”Hepointed to the blue chair. “Thisone was always yours and—”
“Thatone was far less comfortable, but you insisted on using it.Iremember.”
Hegrinned in a half smile and sat, just asIdid, both of us leaning forward, arms on our knees, faces a mere foot apart.
