Against the Wind

9.1 || Raya

The next few days were so lacking in rhythm that Raya lost count of them. She kept hoping she'd fall into some kind of routine with it all—flitting from one usual task to another, stowing away extra food whenever she could, spending her evenings pretending to work or feigning exhaustion in order to take care of Corvin—but it remained a swirling, unruly chaos. She was always in a rush and always fumbling for excuses. The hours dribbled through her fingers like water, devoid of shape, never quite enough.

Nerves were a constant. They fizzed a sandstorm in her stomach, colliding in a fierce, squeezing ball whenever her mind dared skirt the edges of the misty future. In that way, the chaos was good; it kept her busy, trapped in the moment, worrying about immediate problems that shielded her from what she really feared.

But time kept on marching regardless, and now it had led her here.

Bright-eyed as a mage who'd just cast her first spell, Corvin beamed. "Tonight," he announced.

The weak blue-tinged rays leaking through the curtains behind him gave him an eerie outline, one that clashed with the warm glow the candlelight splashed his skin with. He'd smoothed the creases from his red robe and tucked it neatly in all the right places, having clearly fussed over it enough so that it concealed nearly every scar—though the ones on his arms still poked out as angry ridged lines. The scratches on his face stood out starkly, too, but beyond that he looked startlingly well. Rest had erased the worst of his eyes' formerly dark rings.

It was rewarding to see, but the most Raya could manage was a thin, shaky flicker of a smile. Her fingers tangled themselves in the ribboned entryway she'd barely crossed the threshold of. "Are you sure you're ready?" she ventured.

He clasped one arm across his front with a tight hand, fingers twisting a tuft of pale fluff on his elbow in a way that betrayed a tremor of nerves. When she met his eyes, however, they sparkled with a dead-set surety. "Ready."

She couldn't argue with that look. He'd been eagerly anticipating this from the moment it was arranged, and she could hardly blame him. For a creature used to a loose, free life of roaming the desert, these restrictive four walls were driving him crazy, and he hadn't hidden the depth of his restlessness from her. He didn't seem capable of hiding much at all. Even now, when he bounced on his toes and practically shone with excitement, fear began to scrawl the edges of his expression, more pronounced with every second she hesitated. She couldn't stand the thought of it crumpling into fully-fledged disappointment.

To hide the shake in her hands, she funnelled her attention into shrugging off her cloak and carefully folding it onto the edge of her bed. "Okay." The silky yellow fabric settled easily into its usual sharp creases. She didn't look up, but she heard the whoosh of Corvin's relieved sigh. "Tonight."

She drilled him once more on her plan, the importance of safety and staying hidden, the stakes of staying out longer than the time limit she'd set—though there was no chance he would forget any of it when this event had clearly been circling his mind in endless loops for days. He would be nothing but diligent, and she found she trusted him. Despite the terrified twist in her gut, by the time Yasmin called her down for their evening meal, sugar tingled in her veins, placing a skip in her step as she glided down the stairs.

She did want this. It was a guilty craving, a twofold desire that flip-flopped her cluttered mind constantly until her head started to spin. She couldn't shake the swirling, chilling sensation that this forbidden trip was going to change everything.

If only she didn't have to make it through dinner first.

"She's clearly blessed." Hariq's voice took on a note of warmth as he recounted today's tales from his guardian post at the temple—something Raya had little interest in but was thankful it held Yasmin's full attention as she slid a second vegetable roll into her inner pocket. Chaotic as her life was now, she was gradually turning this into a practised art. If she nibbled slowly enough at her own food, no-one noticed if she swiped a few extra tidbits.