Against the Wind

6.1 || Raya

Back flat against the wall outside her bedroom, Raya fumbled for calm amid a storm. A tumultuous gale encircled her thumping heart and squeezed the air from her lungs. Past the noise of her own panic, she listened as the beastfolk boy's thrashes slowed and his cries ceased, but she remained anchored to the spot, trembling still.

She'd known this wouldn't be easy, but now regret was a swaying sea. Keeping her head above water was all she could do.

How could she get through to him, convince him that she was making herself his ally? She barely believed the word herself. Determination was no good if she couldn't see through a solution to this. A vow against a god was powerful, but meaningless in practice.

None of it meant anything if she stayed scared.

Simple enough to think, but her fear thrummed onward, an unceasing, undulating rhythm that rocked the ground beneath her feet. It took her a moment to notice the genuine thuds that accompanied that dizzy feeling. Feet were marching up the staircase. Sucking in a sharp breath, she curled her fingers around the hem of her dress, scrubbing the emotion from her face.

Yasmin swung herself off the staircase all of a fluster, sage skirt flapping and one hand pinning the loose end of her headdress in place. Its floral pattern split jaggedly as she twisted it tight with anxious fingers. Out of breath, she stumbled to a stop before Raya, a flashing display of emotions widening her features as their eyes locked.

Raya was a statue, mute, encased in ice. Her heart thundered.

"Is everything alright?" Yasmin strode forward without hesitation. Her hand lifted, hovered near Raya's arm, and then awkwardly drifted aside, but the fierceness of her gaze and her question were hardly diminished. "I heard screaming. What happened?"

Screaming. Frosted trails crawled a mosaic across Raya's back in echo of how near the beastfolk boy was. If the curtain behind her swung open one crack, Yasmin would see. If he made noise, she would hear. He couldn't scream again. The ground felt thin and breakable beneath her feet. Her stomach dropped as if she were already falling, yanked too fast, unable to stop.

Digging out her voice was an adventure on its own; even when it emerged, it came out stilted, cracking at every turn. "Sorry," she managed, finding that the easiest place to start. "I—I was messing with a spell and... I made a mistake. It ended explosively." She pushed out a horribly nervous laugh. "I shouldn't have screamed. Apologies if I woke you."

Pity melted Yasmin's expression. Eyes like round, shimmering pools and crimped smile slight and shaky, she stepped forward into the sliver of space between them. Delicate fingers slid a strand of hair behind Raya's ear, and Raya became wood.

"Do not apologise. I would come to your aid whatever the hour." Yasmin's voice was the softest breeze. She took a breath, paused, and sheepishly withdrew her hand, gaze flicking down and up again. "It is only my duty. Are you sure you're okay?"

Raya forced a twitched smile. "I'm fine."

"Really?"

"Yes." If her limbs were wooden, her insides were the brittle leaves of trees, shredded by her heart's storm. Was that a whimper from behind? Her head spun. She needed to get a grip on this faintness—any sign of it would only heighten Yasmin's suffocating concern—but her legs wanted nothing more than to fold and let her sink to the floor, plunged beneath the surface of her panic.

Silence ruminated. Eventually, Yasmin heaved a sigh. "Well, if a mess was made, you must at least allow me to—"

Raya's rejection was more exclamation than any audible word. She flung out an arm, blocking her attendant's attempt to step around her and enter her room.

Startled, Yasmin ducked backward, hurt flashing across her face. Raya winced.

"It's my mess," she said in a hurry. "My fault, I mean, so I'll clean it."

That cleared the hurt like parting clouds, though a stubborn fog lurked beneath. "You're ever so kind, Miss Rayanah, but I insist. That is hardly your responsibility."

Yasmin made to push her way past with more force, and Raya fisted the storm, stuffing it into a spiralling shape that better suited the words she needed, though it still all felt too rushed. "It has to be this time." She lifted her chin, summoning that air of sure, strict importance she saw amongst the mages she was supposed to mirror—the sole characteristic she thought of when her mind strayed to her mother. "This is magic's mess. It's not safe for someone like you to handle it."

The arrow-point target of those words was unfairly sharp, but it needed to hit. Raya swallowed her guilt; though the sink in Yasmin's posture and slighted gleam in her eyes was painful, it was necessary. It had to happen.

"I act only to protect you," she added, mouth bitter. She felt like a pitiful, cowardly fraud.

Hand gripping her arm, her attendant finally stepped back. Her jaw shifted as if ticking through an unsaid speech, picking at each point until she made her decision. When her gaze rose, it was sharp and warm, a molten blade. "You can't protect anyone if you don't first care for yourself, Rayanah."

Raya said nothing. Her legs still begged to flee.

Another sigh, barely a breath. "I wish you would trust me enough to let me in."

With that, Yasmin turned and padded away, the quiet swish of her plain skirts steadily fading into the emptiness. Raya sagged against the drape. Her eyes squeezed shut, sealing everything out in a veil of muted darkness, seeking out relief but struggling to find it. Her erratic breathing filled the void. If not for the in-and-out heave of her chest, she could've imagined that the sound's source was within the room behind, where the boy lay; his presence still prodded at her but, thankfully, he remained silent in reality. They were safe. The storm had settled. Now was the time to go back in.

Her feet stayed glued to the floor.

Clenching her jaw, she sucked in a long, slow inhale, battling to hold its jagged edge steady. Perhaps there was some truth to be found in Yasmin's words. She couldn't do this without first taking care of her own fear. It was a stimulant to trouble, but a barrier too, one that was difficult to see beyond from either side. She had to be transparent and she had to be calm.

"Calm," she whispered in echo, letting it flow from her lips like a cool stream, washing over her skin in a series of counted, continuous ripples. "Stay calm. Take it slow."

Her eyes peeled open. She let the world soak back into view in dribbles—the glitter-drained sandbrick of the walls, the hardwood dark and solid beneath her sandals, the sapphire tangle of ribbon that made up Hariq's bedroom entrance and the maze of limp bells sprinkled within. Dim candlelight swamped it all. The slit window above the staircase reflected the indigo shine of her eyes back at her, the glass painted onyx by the night. Black meant nothing to Tehazihbith. No god's face wove it. The stars were scattered in no pattern at all, studded, faraway specs amid a totally blank sheet. 

There was calm to be found in that limitlessness. Rolling her shoulders, she eased herself away from the wall, spun on her heel, and pushed back the curtain.

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