Children Of The Sky (The Scripts Of Neptune, Book 2)

Chapter 13 •|•

THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS THEMES OF SUICIDE AND MAY BE TRIGGERING (hopefully not but I gotta put this here). Read at your own risk.

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The storms were getting worse.

It'd taken a while for Noah to realize, to note it, but now it stuck like glue in the back of his mind, an itch, a recurring object of occasional, absent-minded study for his travel-weary thoughts. Weather didn't just...change like that. Not when mages were afoot and strange arts were practised by a people who'd been dead for two millennia. The rains were nearly torrential, the wind coming in gales, hailstones a quarter the size of fists when they came.

Maybe he was going mad; a woman like Kariana could do that to a man. He found himself fishing his thoughts for interesting, distracting tidbits more often than he probably should've, trying to travel hard as they were. Thunderstorms were one of the only interesting things he had to contemplate, out on the road with nothing but grasslands and the occasional farm for miles on end. It helped him keep his head about him without drinking, as he'd done the night before they left. He was still cursing himself for that.

Don't give up. Nyle had said that. Noah had promised not to. Gods help him, he'd promised. Again. Two promises, both to princes who bore the weight of his friendship, both regarding the same woman. He was beginning to wonder why he kept stabbing himself in the foot like that.

Kariana was worse when she was sober, all temper and brooding rather than pitiful and placid. He'd heard a dependence on alcohol could do that; take it away, and the body turned on you and stoked your emotions in any way it could to get back its pleasure.

She sat now with her hood up and head bowed against a soft rain--his was up as well--riding slowly to let the horses keep their footing. The treated leather of their coats kept them relatively dry, but Noah's boots were in sorry shape, feet soaked, the legs of his trousers drawing up the water higher and higher on his leg. Not much he could do about that until they reached an inn. It'd likely be another two or so hours, too; the grasslands stretched out for miles, a lush yellow-green sea of quivering stalks and seed heads beneath a pale, weeping grey sky. It was a gentle storm, this one. No thunder or lightning. Noah was thankful for the small blessing.

The sky had gone dark when they reached a small village, an early dusk falling under the shadow of the storm. The rain tapered off as they paid for a room with two beds and stalls in the stable for the horses, then hiked upstairs, weary and wet, neither speaking to the other. Kariana shrugged off her dripping coat and went into the bathroom to bathe without a word. Noah let her, content to sit and be cold for a while, pulling a book out of his waterproof bag and waiting his turn, so long as it meant avoiding her temper.

Kariana stalked out of the bathroom stark naked, hair damp and tangled, and fished through her own pack for clothing as Noah's face turned as red as his hair. Forcing himself to keep his eyes on his book, he shrank a bit into his chair. This wasn't unusual--she'd seemed to largely abandon any sense of modesty as she fell apart over the months--but he still wasn't used to it. At least she was bathing again. Travelling had pushed her to do that much, at least, giving up her disregard for hygiene a few days into the trip.

Noah caught a glimpse of bony shoulders, ribs, and too-thin legs as she shut the bathroom door again, and he tried to swallow the sick feeling that settled into his stomach. He hated seeing her like that. Emaciated to the point of weakness, eyes empty, skin and hair dull. Where had the woman who'd fallen in love with Philip and turned against her own father, the strong, brave, fearless woman, gone?

The water was lukewarm by the time he got his turn. He washed anyway. It felt good to purge the sweat and dirt from his skin, scrubbing down with rough, scentless soap. Kariana was under the quilt in her bed when he got out, her back to him, hair unbound and fanned out on the pillow behind her to dry.