Out

Chapter 20

Cerani Encampment, 324 Era Vulgaris, Centennial 32

Nothing is better than the first thing I behold as my eyes open. And it is wonderful because of what it means, and because I have yearned to see it since I first dreamed of it all those days ago. Aron's face. His eyes are trained on mine with empty focus, as if, in his diligence to watch over me, his hopes for my recovery gave way to despair. From his perch on a short stool, he looks fragile. He holds my hand, desperately clinging to my pulse, which quickens as his thumb trails over my wrist. A spark of realization flickers deep inside those electric greens.

I am awake. His diligence has not been in vain.

The corners of his mouth turn up and he closes his eyes, pressing his forehead to my hand. A thankful, weighty breath escapes his lips. I cannot help but smile; his stoic pallor is stripped away. This is the Aron I have longed to see, the person who remains when all pretenses are gone. His temple rests against our clasped hands. How strange that anyone should be so relieved at my survival.

I have ached to remember his face as it was in my dreams, but this Aron, the true wild boy, is different than I saw him. He is angular, but softly featured. His hair is still a mess of black strands, but it is been lightened by the sun, and it is much longer than it was in either dream. It is course and thick, too, but also gently waved. Aron breathes deeply, as if trying to stave off tears. I graze my fingers along his crown. He looks up at me, eyes shining. I have seen nothing better than that light in Aron's eyes. The rest of his face is haggard, drawn by many hours of worry on inadequate sleep. I could not be happier to see it.

The sights around me are overwhelming. Green canvas stretches overhead on a wooden frame, while the wax of globular candles melts outward onto the table beside my cot. I am dressed in a blue robe made of tightly woven linen. Vesper's tunic was stained with Riva's blood; I felt it stick against my stomach. I imagine someone must have changed me out of my grandmother's clothing while I was unconscious, and it was probably Aron. It is unlikely he would have allowed another to care for me if he was able. A stream of light filters in through the canvas flap, casting a yellow beam on Aron's sleeve. Aron is cloaked in a long sleeved jacket with a hood, which softens his angular face. He is younger than I thought he'd be, but no less fierce.

"You survived it," he whispers. "No one has ever survived. Not Vesper, not anyone."

"I do not want to speak of that just now," I say. "There is something better."

Aron kneels beside my cot, clutching my hand to his chest. "That man is dead."

"I am glad of it, but that is not what I mean." I smile. A worry line forms at his brow and I smooth it with my thumb, tracing around his temple to his cheek.

"I can see you, Aron."

He leans close to my face, studying my eyes. "You can?"

"You look like you might pass out," I say, brushing his cheek. "And like you have not slept in a few days."

A smile fills his entire face and he closes his eyes in embarrassment. "I slept yesterday. I had to watch over you."

"No, you did not," I say. "But thank you."

"I did not know what else to do. Besides, you took care of me after my lashing," he says, removing my hand from his cheek and linking our fingers. "Truly, I was afraid that you would slip away and I would not be there when it happened. Of all my fears, that is, perhaps, the greatest."

"A fear you will not face today," I say.

"How is it possible that your sight has returned?" He asks, squeezing my hands.