The Destiny Detour

On the Move

Drake

Any time passed without Rosaliy was hazy and dark, and time passed with her was mainly spent pondering her hair or facial expressions or trying to read her thoughts. Something about this seemed abnormal to Drake, but the worries were fleeting.

"Corin," Rosaliy was saying. "You didn't have to see us off yourself. Really, you didn't."

Her smile seemed strained, but Drake might have been seeing what he wanted to see. I mean, Corin was a— What was he, anyway? He was something like a king with no actual ruling power. Maybe he just came with the castle. He was rich, anyway. Rosaliy could have the best of everything with him. She deserved the best of everything.

She was radiant this morning—golden, slightly wavy hair tied back like normal, rosy cheeks, wearing a cloak Corin insisted she take. It was pale blue with ruby threads that shimmered in the early morning sunlight. Traveling in the sun all day had caused the reappearance of what must have been childhood freckles across the bridge of her nose.

Corin bent forward to kiss Rosaliy's cheek. Drake felt the urge to punch him in his smug face, but the urge was combatable. Rosaliy didn't want him to hurt anyone.

"Do you need anything else?" Corin offered, still lingering.

Rosaliy backed away. "Strangely, yes," she admitted, taking out a handkerchief. "I could use some of your blood to track your mother. Drake, can I borrow one of your knives?"

She had not finished the question before he had placed a knife in her hand. Doing things for her soothed that nagging cloudy feeling of unrest. Coincidentally, he was happy to assist in the stabbing of Corin.

"Thanks," she said, handing the knife to Corin.

The quasi-king moved to slice the knife across his hand, and she grabbed his arm in a panic. "A few drops! Not all of it!"

Corin complied, slicing his finger to squeeze a few drops onto the handkerchief. Drake envied him for having something Rosaliy wanted.

"Are you sure you don't want to stay with him?" asked Drake sadly, watching Corin saunter off.

A cold chill slid down his spine.

"Drake, look at me," Rosaliy demanded.

He hadn't realized his vision had gone so hazy. He tried to focus in on Rosaliy's very serious, lovely face.

"I want to go with you, Drake. We talked about this. You being you pleases me. You don't have to do anything else."

That warmed him and cleared his head a little, despite its ridiculousness. Why would anyone like him for what he was?

She handed the knife back and felt his forehead. Her fingers tingled against his skin. "Are you feeling any better this morning?"

"Better than what?" he asked.

"Better than me being the center of your universe as you wallow in a pit of despair."

"What would be better than that?"

She shook her head. "Maybe if I had rubbed the fish on me instead of making you eat it, I'd be less appealing."

"Nothing would make you less appealing," he answered automatically, "but no more fish, please." He did remember the catfish monstrosities with searing clarity, and he was sure she had packed a few of them in case of emergency. "Kianne fish tastes like mud."

"It smelled, and that was the point," she said. "I have a hard time believing you'd do anything for me but eat a fish."

"I had a hard time believing that was a fish."