*COMPLETE* There are whispers across the kingdoms that the Paragon, that strangely gifted person who can wield all four Skills, has been found.
They're wrong, of course. No one has caught the Paragon. Allayria should know: she's it.
But Allayr...
The thought seems to echo in the chambers of her mind, bubbling up to the surface at odd moments: when Iaves passes her a bowl of soup; when Meg flips over a page in a Skill book.
They are going to hunt me.
Ben has already fashioned himself a quiver of arrows, and he takes up target practice in the abandoned mess hall, sending arrows into the sack of corn across the room with increasing efficiency. Every thump is a punch to Allayria's stomach, sending nausea climbing up her throat and terror scuttling across her brain.
"How do we even know it will work?" Iaves queries, chewing on a bit of jerky as he watches Ben aim again.
"It's the bow," Ben answers. "We've checked all the markings, Iaves. Besides, there's only one Paragon. There's no way to do a test trial of the thing before we kill him."
Iaves laughs, and Allayria's cup shakes between her hands.
She's tearing through books now, fingers trembling as she pushes over page after page. Useless, meaningless, not here not here not herenot here—
Yuen has failed her. His authorial friends have failed her. This library has failed her and she doesn't know where to go, doesn't know where to turn next, but she has to move on, has to keep trying, has to find something. Gods, she has to, but time, time is slipping through her fingers like sand and she's clasping at it now, trying to keep the grains clutched safely through her palms but they are escaping and she doesn't know what to do.
She climbs now, up along the staircase, up to the atrium just beneath the ground, where she can spy sunlight misting out from the cracks around the door just up the long, winding staircase.
Air, she thinks, I need air. I just need to breathe it in, pause for a moment—
"There you are!"
Allayria jumps, swinging around to see Ben, slinging a bag onto his shoulder as he strides toward her. She sees a sharp, thin angle poking out of the sack and realizes the bow is in there, lurking just out of sight.
"I was just looking for you," he says, smile wide. "I want to do some practice out on the cliffs up top and I was wondering if you could fashion me a target. I'd like to see how these new arrows do against armor. I'm thinking when we get back into Thalassa we should get some better quality steel, or maybe talk to Meg's friend..."
His expression falls.
"Hey," he says, and his hand comes up to cup her face, thumb skimming over her cheek. "Is everything ok?"
Allayria shifts.
"Yeah, of course," she says, swallowing the panic back. "Everything's fine."
He doesn't believe it, and his thumb brushes her lips before he says: "We'll be out of here soon, you know. A couple more days, and then we can go."
His tone is so soft, and she tries to school her expression into something that looks relieved or comforted, but he pulls her in closer, knowing, always knowing in that intuitive way of his and her heart seizes in the blindly panicked fear that he knows too much, that he's seen too much this time. But his hands drift to her shoulders, rubbing slow circles around her shoulder blades as the flutter of his breath tickles her neck.
"It's okay," he tells her, his voice a low, steady murmur in her ear. "We can do this. You and me, this is what we were made to do. I know it. I've always known it, deep in my bones, in a place beyond words. We have the ability, we have the nerve to change the course of history."
He leans back, hands cupping her face, and holds her there so that simply staring back is all she can do.
"I've known what I have to do since my parents died," he says, and his brow crinkles slightly, "but the pieces of it all never fit right until I met you. I know you have doubts, but everything in me tells me this is the way forward, I know it."
His thumbs skim the tops of her cheekbones, warm and gentle, and he leans in so his forehead touches hers, and whispers:
"We are meant for great things, Allayria."
Are you sure? she wants to ask. How do you know? But his lips brush against hers and he pulls her to him.
"After we get out of here we'll sail down the coast to Solveig. Have you ever been to Tazdahur?" he murmurs soothingly into her ear, a hand running down her hair. "The trees seem to grow out of their buildings, and the carvings on the walls... every stone has a history to it. The city is a sea of every color you can imagine, and the food is nearly as rich, filled with spice and warmth..."
Allayria's eyes flutter closed and she relaxes into his embrace, her fingers hooked in the belt loops on his pants. She visualizes it, this distant place full of brightness and warmth. She thinks of summertime and green, green everywhere.
"We'll go there," he continues, weaving the dream still as a hand runs down her spine, "to a small place tucked back into a corner of the city. We'll take a couple of days for ourselves."
Allayria closes her eyes tight, the fantasy of it achingly sweet, and his lips press against the corner of hers, his thumb again brushing across her bottom lip. She turns and kisses him back, kisses him hard and sure, because she loves him, loves this dangerous man who whispers so ardently about quiet places and time, time for them.
"Whatever secrets you have, whatever ghosts you're hiding from, it doesn't matter. Tell me, don't tell me—I only want you here."
The memory of Ben's words echo in her mind as he opens his mouth to her, his arms drawing her in closer, but it's not enough and she twists her hands into the front of his shirt, holding vise-like as she deepens the kiss. She's pressing him closer, pulling him into her with arm and leg, seeking the kind of comfort they had last given each other on the ship, alone in their room.
More, she wants to whisper, closer, closer to me. More.
She wants him closer to her than air, close enough that she can't distinguish his heartbeat from her own, his breath and her own, because there is where she will be safe, where he is only Ben and she is only Allayria and these problems will be trivial, solvable. This is where she can banish the fear of this place, the fear of that bow, the fear of what the man she loves plans to do next.
He returns the kiss just as hard, a groan rumbling in the back of his throat, but when she yanks his shirt out from beneath his belt he eases back, eyes locked onto hers. His hands cup her face once more and he's got that look on his face, the one that tells her the gears are turning, that he's seen more than she would like.
"What's wrong?" he whispers.
Allayria opens her mouth, air rattling, coarse and dry, down into her lungs.
"I want to tell you something," she answers, her voice cracking as her heart thunders inside her. "Ben, I—"
And then the wall blasts apart behind them as someone screams.
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Note: A full view of the artwork can be found on my deviantart account here: http://asimsluvr.deviantart.com/art/The-Lonely-Cliffs-692611753?ga_submit_new=10%3A1500090068&ga_type=edit&ga_changes=1&ga_recent=1
