That single reaction had proven to be the beginning of the end for all my careful preparations, the way I'd planned to approach her. But that had been much earlier in the day, before I'd even left Tosch outside of Byako.
"Okay, how's this," I offered, holding up my hands. "Ellia, I know I don't deserve to be here after everything. But I've been fighting for Akadia for a long time now. And I think there's a lot I can help you and your friends with. You might be worried that they won't trust me, which... sort of makes sense, but I've already decided that I'll do whatever you want, to prove myself. If you want to take me back to Echren, and those guys can read my mind and tell you that I'm good now, I'll do that. But you shouldn't send me away, because I think I understand how Lox's head works better than anyone. Not that... I want to. I mean, I wish I didn't understand him. I wish I'd never met him, unless, it was like, I met him and killed him, then I wouldn't mind.... But look, what I mean is that I'm sorry, and even if you don't trust what I have to say about Akadia, I'm a good fighter, and I know I could help if you'll let me."
I waited patiently for Tosch's reaction; where he stood at attention beneath a shroud of branches. When he made no response, I added, "That's it."
He reacted straight-away, clopping his front hoof and bobbing his head, with cheerful whinnies.
I grimaced, waving him off. He'd had the same reaction to all of my previous attempts. I wanted to feel assured by him, but I was starting to think he'd let me go in saying anything. "Forget it. This isn't helping. I'll just figure out what to say when I get there."
Tosch rolled a huff while I went to work, untying my things. "I've still got to get on a boat or something once I get to Byako. I'll go over it more then."
His head wagged back and forth, going so far even as to knock into me. "No, you can't come. You stand out worse than I do. What do you think the Byakoans would do to us if one of Akadia's prize ivoronsu trots up?" I meant it rhetorically, but Tosch replied with a deep dip of his head anyways. I'd gotten my pack loose. It was larger than I was used to carrying, but worth it, since I wasn't sure how long it would be before I could visit Tosch again. "Yeah, I know you want to be a horse, boy," I consoled, patting his shoulder. He leaned into the caress while I looked ahead towards the trees. Then he brought his nose high and blew a snort of air into my face, which, with my hood, wasn't a very pleasant experience; but since I was more or less about to abandon him I let him have at it.
"I might be able to come back and get you once I've been there a while, but I don't know how long it will be. If..." I thought of the possibility of getting locked up by the Yanartians, or the possibility of getting kicked off straight away. We'd already gone over what he would do in any case, and finding each other again wouldn't be difficult. I decided to drop it, but I added for his sake, "When I get there, I'll see about whether they take animals across the water."
It turned out, as I learned later that morning, that they did take animals across, not always, but when the ships weren't in high demand as they weren't today. This was due to the Byakoan's winter festival. Lots of people were coming in, but no one wanted to leave until after it had ended. I was grateful for it, since it allowed me to go straight from the barracks, to the docks, with a permit to board, and a promise to arrive on the Isle before nightfall. At least, I told myself I was grateful.
So I'd been standing there on my boat, waiting for it to take off, and finally decided that I wouldn't try and traverse a path to Yanartas by way of the Isle—which people asserted took days and was sometimes un-crossable.
That's when another ship had arrived in the port. And that's when she'd passed me, close enough to reach out and touch.
I'd imagined what it would be like to see her so many times since I'd left the desert, that I would have thought I could picture it perfectly, but I'd been wrong. At first, I didn't really believe that it was her. I saw her hair, braided down her back, and my stomach twisted on its own as she walked by. Then she'd turned her head just enough to nod to the dockhand beside her, and I'd seen her face, perfect delicate chin, perfect pale skin. And all mine. Or at least, that was my instinctual reaction; liably born from those same thoughts that had come around the time Kraehe was about to kill me. Things like, we weren't on opposite sides of a war any longer. Or I wasn't allowing an evil maniac to control my every decision now. Or I wasn't too afraid of how badly her father would disapprove of me to go on and do what I wouldn't allow myself to realize that I wanted so badly to.
This reaction had been very quickly smothered by the reality of what I was wearing, and what it meant: That her father had been right, that I had let an evil maniac control my every decision for too long, stayed on the wrong side of a war for too long, and now neither me nor anyone around me was ever going to be able to forget it.
She smiled a little, and spoke, and a million imagined responses drove me to perfect stillness. I gathered at least, when she walked on again toward the mainland that for whatever reason, she wasn't going to be in Yanartas when I arrived there tonight. About the same time it became apparent that the same sort of urge that had been pestering me to get off the boat up to now, was now urging me to remain on it.
But I pushed this off easily, driven by a stronger pull, and jumped clear over the siding onto the dock.
So all this had happened before I'd followed her around Byako, before I'd lost track of her then found her again at the edge of the city, before she'd moved from training at the granted temple to training in the woods, and caught me watching her, and put a blade to my chest.
"Who are you," she demanded, not giving me the chance to respond to her first question. "I saw you back near the temple. And in the square. Are you following me or not?"
And here when I'd thought I'd been being so cunning.
But really, it was hard to think up any answer right now. I could still picture her perfectly, standing at the center of the grove, snow and ice all around her, lifting her sword up beside her face. I'd planned to just walk up and meet her head on, but she'd looked too beautiful to interrupt, so I'd used the time to formulate a fresh greeting.
Now all that, and my earlier rehearsals as well, were gone to waste; I was going to have to very quickly think up something new and while I could barely think past her eyes, which were now about the only thing I could see.
She jerked her head with a huff. "Can you speak, or are you mute? I don't intend to hurt you so long as you have an explanation, but don't think you'll be able to disarm me."
This immediately got my attention. I put my hands up and shook my head. "I don't want to hurt you." I knew as soon as I said it, that it was the wrong thing. I really hadn't intended it; it had just sort of come out on its own, unable to bear the idea that she could think otherwise, even if she didn't know who I was yet. She frowned and lowered her sword. For an uncertain moment, I wasn't sure if she recognized my voice or not, and I was almost glad when I heard a snap behind me, just for the distraction.
"Is someone else with you?" she gasped.
Even though I was already looking at pitch black, my eyes closed knowing these words meant that she hadn't recognized me, and I would now have to come out and tell her somehow.
I looked back at her hoping to find the strength to do it in some of that expression she always gave me—that told me how amazing and brave and good she thought I was. But instead, her features were strict with fear, and her eyes were all suspicion. I could barely stand to meet it fully, recognizing that it was the look I'd always deserved.
"It was a bird, I think," I explained, having known at the start from the height of the noise, but Ellia still looked suspicious. I mulled over what to say; I still couldn't stand that she didn't trust me. "I didn't mean to scare you."
"You didn't scare me," she retorted loudly, jutting her sword so close it would have stabbed me if I hadn't craned back, "I heard you coming from the top of the hill."
I narrowed, not liking that when I'd come so far since my attempts with Silos near the
desert. I even looked down at my boots for disrepair.
Ellia scoffed. "You must be the worst hunter in the world."
Yeah, so, I hadn't known until then how quickly a person could react without actually thinking anything through first. There was this voice, like, she knows I'm bad at hunting, and I've only just discovered for myself that I'm bad at hunting, but Ellia knows, even though she doesn't know my name yet, she knows who I am, Ellia always knows me, And my head jerked up and my hands jerked up and I really was about to kiss her—disregarding everything, all the reasons that I shouldn't.
Then I felt the sharp point of metal against my chest, and realized she was literally forcing me back on threat of death, thankfully forcing my back.
"Now that's enough!" she shouted. "You won't come any closer. And I want your name. Why are you dressed like that? Is it because you're from Kanth, or are you hiding yourself?"
I immediately cursed myself; resisting the urge to bring my hands up over my head. How stupid. Stupid, Cyric. Stupid. What are you going to do—kiss her when she thinks you're a complete stranger. That would have gone over well. Stupid, stupid. I tried to keep from looking at her—mostly so that I wouldn't try it again, because the delirious thoughts were still rampaging in my head. Then I suddenly realized. In an instant I realized. If I told her. If I just said it. If I just said, it's Cyric. I'm Cyric, Ellia. This is Cyric. Her sword would drop. And there wouldn't be anything keeping me from doing what I liked. At worst, we would only move ahead in the conversation; she would know what I had to tell her anyways. I stole a look at her, putting everything into remaining still. Then I took a quick breath. "I'm..." Cyric. Cyric. Just say it and you can kiss her.
"If you are, just tell me," she said. "I'd rather know. I've nothing against them, but I don't like being lied to."
I narrowed, trying to figure out what she was talking about. Somewhere I'd gotten lost in the conversation, and now she was using a tone that I recognized too well. One that said she was attempting to deceive someone, and thinking herself very talented about it. The same one that told me she was in the library to read while her book was upside down.
If you are, just tell me. Right. She'd asked if I was from Kanth. Which made sense with my clothes, but what could she be tricking me about?
It came to me with a cold silence that knocked out all the happy thoughts that had begun a moment ago, and brought me down to a state that much better matched the snowy grove.
She wanted my hood off. She wanted to see my face, and if I wasn't Kanthian, she was going to make me show it. The only thing that would stop her would be if I was a Kanthian, because staying covered was sacred to them, and nothing was more important to Ellia than sacred beliefs.
I couldn't breathe very well, faced with the prospect, but at the same time, I didn't want to lie to her. There was no point; she would know eventually that I wasn't from Kanth. Still, there was a big difference between letting her see for herself who I was, in agonizingly slow recognition, or telling her first, then probably never letting her see me anyways.
"They are," I answered, in a gasp. "My clothes, I mean, they're Kanthian. I..."
"Now your name," she interrupted, snapping her chin up. "Give me your name and stop trying to lift your hands up."
"I'm not going to hurt you!" I wanted to shout at her, but she only let me get the first part out.
"Name!" I felt her blade break through my robes again to touch my skin, but that was the last concern on my mind now.
I was sure I was grimacing. For the first time I realized I didn't have to bother with disguising such reactions. I could make any sort of face, but all anyone saw was a blank mask. But that wasn't important now—it was a convenient ability that wouldn't matter very shortly.
"It's—"
My voice broke off when I looked at her—still considering me with suspicious eyes. Right now, I didn't care that they were suspicious; I only knew that they were beautiful.
"It's—" Cyric. It's Cyric. Just say it. What's the worst that can happen? She hates you? She pushes her sword further in a moment of objective clarity? She wants you to prove it?
"It's—"
"Get on with it!" she shouted.
"It's—" Cyric, Cyric, it's Cryic, "—Cole," I blurted out.
Immediately my world went black; it felt like waves of it were rolling over me. And I didn't know if it was because I'd closed my eyes, or for depression, or for relief. One thing, I knew: I was a coward.
I'd always been a coward, but after freeing the behemoths, and defying Lox, I'd thought maybe I'd changed a little. Well, I hadn't. Fighting in Akadia, far away from anything that really mattered was one thing, but now I hadn't been around Ellia for more than a day, and I couldn't even own up to who I was.
I heard her scoff. "Cole? That's the simplest name I've ever heard. Could you have so much trouble saying it?"
It was hard to believe how casual she sounded, harsh even—and I thought I was wincing at that. But then I realized that wasn't it at all. She'd said the name, she'd called me Cole. Cole! Not Cyric, that I so wanted, needed to hear her say. Maybe I'd had doubts about how she would react, and if she would hate me, but at least she would have said my name. Even yelling at me, said my name. Now, I wouldn't ever hear it. When would I hear it? Could I ask her now to say it in a way that made any sense? Would it sound the same if she was just saying it in passing, talking about me with someone else? Why would she though? She thought I was dead! Actually, I didn't even know for sure if she did or not. I didn't know anything. I was stupid, and a coward, and I didn't know anything.
"Well, Cole, I don't like being followed. And I don't like being spied on either."
I groaned, losing a grip on my frozen position. "I told you! I wasn't spying on you—or sneaking up on you. I was trying to find you. Then I saw you practicing here, and I..."
I suddenly realized that I was yelling at her. Me—yelling at Ellia, after everything. It was the worst. I stepped back, unable to hold her gaze. How many ways could I botch this? I thought of my rehearsals with Tosch, and they seemed like a fond idealization—any of them would have been better than this.
But I'd done it all wrong. I'd practiced all wrong. I shouldn't have been going over what I say to show her how sorry I was, or convince her to let me help her fight Akadia. I should have just practiced saying my name. Hi Ellia. It's Cyric.
Then I would have realized that I didn't have it in me to begin with. And maybe I could have thought up another way to make myself.
Ellia was almost perfectly still; I could see that from her stance, even though I wouldn't meet her gaze. Her voice came out uncertain—but not without its new harshness. "Why?" she demanded. "Why were you looking for me?"
My jaw gripped and I held back a sigh. Just looking at her feet, I realized, was enough to make me more settled than I'd felt in months. I was sure now, sure as soon as I'd seen her, that Silos was right when he'd said that I would only find peace like this—even if it meant fighting.
I knew I didn't have a right to, but I looked up at her, thinking about the answer to her question. That I was searching for her because I needed her, because there was nowhere else I could be, that I'd tried every other way to live and I could only be right with her.
Her brow inched low for a split-second, just a flinch. Then her eyes trailed over me, and she sighed, a look of exhaustion coming over her. "You want to join the war?" she asked.
I narrowed—jolted off by the question. But at the same time, it fit so to what I'd rehearsed begging her to let me do for so long, that I nodded automatically.
She grimaced.
Then a lot came to me all at once. A sort of picture that had started somewhere in my mind, probably as soon as I'd said my name was Cole, as soon as I'd realized how easy it was to hide my expressions, maybe even before all of that in short events, like seeing her at the dock.
A picture where I was a Kanthian named Cole that wanted to join the force against Akadia. Without a past
that mattered, without apologies to make that would only hurt those I had to make them to, without a face that anyone would want to see.
Just a Kanthian, wanting to join the war. Not Cyric Dracla, just Cole.
Ellia had gone so still and my thoughts had gone so one-sided that it felt like forever watching her standing there in front of me. And the way she was staring—though I was sure this notion came from my own guilt over the ideas I was entertaining—seemed to shout that I was betraying her. It even seemed like her eyes were swimming the way they did when she was close to tears.
Very suddenly, her features crossed over to something vicious; frightening even. She dropped her sword and leveled me with an impatient glare. "Look, I don't know how they do things in Kanth," she said, "But following after someone without announcing yourself, isn't considered regular behavior. Not here or on Yanartas." She shook her head a little, frowning. "You should have just explained your intention from the beginning."
I blinked, finding it hard to believe, even now, that this was really happening, that she really didn't know who I was, and now she was talking to me like a total stranger. But it was something that I had to realize. What had she just said? That my behavior wasn't regular. Well, of course it wasn't. Maybe for Cyric Dracla, coming to confess to her, but not for Cole the Kanthian, who didn't know her.
If I was really going to do this—and I didn't want her thinking Cole was completely crazy—I was going to have to start thinking in terms of how he should respond.
Looking at her now, focused on her turquoise eyes that so easily watered, I still wanted to apologize to her for all I'd done. And I decided that it was an okay thing for Cole to do to.
"I'm sorry..." Ellie? No, Cyric. Forget it. "I'm sorry, princess," I said.
It felt like being back in the great hall at a banquet—when I'd accidently greeted her by name because I'd been doing so every other day that month—but then one of the scholars would wag a finger at me, demanding that I use her proper title; and nearby courtiers would whisper about the son of Dracla having the audacity to call the princess by name. Only she'd always argued then that she preferred Ellia, flaunting that sometimes I even called her Ellie and she liked that best.
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