Page 8 of Reign of Light
Dawnlin has its own unique way of communicating with us, whether it is one of the more dangerous forms, giving someone things they ask for, or literally locking a door. Back inside the mountain, it plainly said ‘In the magic of Dawnlin you must trust.’ Trusting the island has been difficult time and time again. Moving through all the challenges and struggles that arise without knowing what is the right path or why something is happening has been one of the most difficult parts of living here.
But more than trusting Dawnlin, how am I supposed to trust anyone back at camp? How can we know Mara wasn’t part of Dane’s plan all along, and that she isn’t fooling us into feeling sorry for her? She hated me only days ago, and was trying to convince everyone to turn on me. Could she have absolved so much hatred toward me that quickly? Was Weston right to keep the tunnels hidden from her and Roley?
And most importantly, will tomorrow be the trap instead of tonight?
My stomach rolls as I think of all the possibilities and betrayals that can happen at the meeting tomorrow, and I don’t know if I’ll be able to let go of the dread. If this was an elaborate scheme to draw us out, to get us to let our guards down, and then attack so Dane could have access to the waters, Weston won’t want to risk anyone else’s safety to go with him. And if it was, why was Roley in on it?
Questions and worries cycle through my mind, and I can’t hold them in any longer.
“I’m nervous about tomorrow. I’m worried it could be a trap.”
“We’ll be prepared. I don’t trust her either,” he says as he straightens and steps around me, taking my hand in his. “And if it is, well, I’ve had a long time to think about how I’d pay him back for this.” His free hand brushes his abdomen, settling on his scar for a second before rising to my neck. His fingers wrap around the side and his thumb strokes my skin, the same way it did what feels like forever ago as he used the magic of the island to heal me. Eyes darkening as they fall to where his skin brushes mine, his voice lowers, the possessive grumble creeping into it and sending a shiver up my spine.
“And that was before he hurt you.”
CHAPTER THREE
Flames flicker in the sconces of the dim Captain’s quarters as the latch of the door clicks behind us. The lanterns don’t brighten as they usually do when we enter, and I’m grateful for the darkness. It feels fitting for tonight’s events, and the shadow coated room matches the darkness I still don’t know how I’m going to overcome. Each time I face another Castaway with the truth, the mending wound will tear open again and again.
I sneak a glance over my shoulder at Weston, but he’s turned away, closing the door behind us. Twice tonight I’ve had the chance to let out the storm of emotions brewing inside of me, and I only could because he was there to let me. He was there to take away some of my burden, to let me feel everything and soothe the fragments of my guilt and fears, but he has shown nothing.
It feels like a lifetime ago now when I sat on the beach in the Oasis and watched Weston be strong for the entire crew in the wake of Jorn’s drowning and subsequent revival. So much has happened since that day,not only on the island, but between us. I will never forget the clench of his jaw, the haunted look in his eye, and the stuttered answers he gave when I asked questions to comfort him. He stayed strong, hiding his own fear and hurt so no one else would worry, so that life could go on unchanged.
Back then I wondered who he had to lean on, or to help him when he needed it, but when I sat by his side on that beach and looked around, no one was there. It was only me.
The same as tonight.
The same as it now will be for all of eternity.
Lifting the bow and quiver over my head, I lean them against the wall behind the door before crossing to the desk. We came straight to the room instead of stopping at the armory, so my new vest is full of weapons that I pull out and drop onto the wood.
Weston steps beside me and silently follows suit, ridding himself of all the deadly blades he carried to protect us tonight. I unbuckle my belt last, and loop it over the chair just like his before turning to look at him.
The shadows on his cheekbones make it even more clear how much he’s holding in, the tension almost palpable as my eyes trail over his clenched jaw. Gaze fixed on the desk, Weston unsheathes his last blade before dropping it with a clunk on the wooden surface. I reach out and take his hand, tugging gently and trying to pull his attention away from whatever is running through his mind.
His disheartened eyes rise to meet mine, and my chest squeezes. I have so little experience comforting anyone, but with my whole heart I want to help him. Ineedto help him. I won’t be able to sleep knowing I did nothing to make him feel he isn’t alone, that someone understands, just like he did for me.
Taking a step closer, I set my hand atop his. “What do you need?” I ask.
He shakes his head, but his eyes never leave mine. “I don’t need anything, sweetheart.”
Lifting my chin, I give him the same stern look he gave me back in the cave, the one that says I’m serious and he needs to listen.
“I don’t believe you.”
His throat bobs, but he says nothing. I don’t accept his silence, not when I know it’s how he keeps everything locked away beneath the surface.
“A long time ago, you told me that out there, you were the Captain, but in here, you were Weston. Just be Weston.” I take another small step, closing the gap between us, and crane my neck back farther to hold his gaze. “You don’t have to hide it from me. I know you’re holding it all in, but you need someone to be there for you too. Someone to tell you everything will be alright.”
The muscles in his jaw clench, and his assessing eyes move between mine. His fingers twitch between my palms, and I hope he’s perceiving everything I’m trying to show him.
He doesn’t have to hide from me, or stay strong in every moment. He can feel and be weak, just like he allows the rest of us to be. He can be unwell about our situation, even if it is only behind these doors, only with me.
“So tell me. What do you need?”
A heavy sigh escapes his chest as his eyelids flutter shut. He doesn’t speak; he just moves, and presses his forehead to mine, our breaths mingling as I watch him try to keep hold of everything.
“You,” he grumbles, and his eyelids rise slowly, as his focus bores into me. “I need you.”
