THE HEIR OF STORMS | Garrick Tavis

Chapter 9

"Hey, stranger!"

I smiled, my face turned to the clouds, feeling the warm sun on my skin and the damp grass under my head. The winds were calm that September, and that afternoon, the clouds had given a break and made way for the sun. Though shy, it was warm and burned my face like a vivid reminder of life. As if pain was not a familiar presence, but someone I still feared. As if I were newborn, naive, happy.

"Ridoc," I greeted, whispering. That warm afternoon seemed too pristine to spoil with loud sounds.

Ridoc's broad body cast a shadow over me as he sat down beside me in the gardens. His body made a soft thud on the grass, the sound soothing my ears.

"I've been looking for you," Ridoc whispered too, mirroring my voice, and then I felt him lying down, his shoulders aligned with mine. "What are we doing?"

"Watching the sky."

A few moments of silence passed, and although my eyes were closed, I felt Ridoc's face turn toward me. Even without looking at him, I could clearly see him in my mind—the light brown skin, dark eyes, and the scar on his brow from the last training session in the Gauntlet. Even his little half-smile, though I was sure, at that moment, he was biting his cheeks, as he often did when he was thinking of something clever to say.

"I used to watch the sky when I was little," Ridoc's whispered voice faltered slightly, making my smile grow wider, as if his vocal cords refused to produce any sound that wouldn't stir someone's life. "I prefer my way of watching things to yours."

"Hm? And what's your way?"

I felt Ridoc's face turn back toward the sky.

"With my eyes open."

"That's a great way," I agreed and heard him take a deep breath. "You said you were looking for me?"

"Just one more question. Why are we whispering?"

I shrugged.

"The day is too beautiful."

"I see," Ridoc asked no more questions. "Well, I was looking for you. I need to discuss my deep feelings that no one around here would care to hear."

I let out a low laugh.

"And what makes you think I'd want to hear?"

Ridoc shifted, uncomfortable, and I opened my eyes to look at him. This time, it was he who had his eyes closed, his eyelids glowing with the faint beams of sunlight squeezing through some clouds. His curly hair was covered in small bits of grass, and a white flower grew beside his face, tickling his left cheek.

"I don't," he replied, his chest deflating with deep sorrow. "But I don't need you to like it, just listen. Other people would try to comfort me."

I furrowed my brow.

"You don't want me to comfort you?"

"I don't know," he shook his head, then turned to face me, and we locked eyes. "Are you afraid of Presentation Day tomorrow?"

Was I? I wasn't so sure. Lately, my life had been an intense experience of living in the present and dwelling on the past. The future didn't take up much of my time, which was terrible. I had hoped that brooding over the past would motivate me to fight, but it only discouraged me. I felt like a child, playing childish games.

Be patient, my chosen one. My heart leapt with pain and false hope as I heard him again in my mind. Lately, that had been the main reason for my silence — I liked to think that the quieter I was, the better I could hear his voice in my mind, far away, low, muffled.