Errant

History

Things come in snatches. The heavy weight of a blanket on top of my shivering body. A hand on fire. The sound of some kind of crackling nearby, and the strange feeling of safety.

My head aches fiercely, a stabbing pain to the rhythm of my heartbeat. As the events of yesterday come crashing down, I wonder again what I did to ache so badly.

And then I remember Morran. I remember every muscle standing out stiffly in my body as I fought to loosen his grip. I remember the unnerving feeling of his body passing through mine, and the searing white-hot heat of my locket.

I sit up too quickly, unable to stifle a tiny groan as every muscle protests and my head spins. Why do I feel so miserable? I blink and glance around the room, noticing small details that my addled mind missed the night before.

Books, hiding in every nook and cranny. Stacks of paper decorating a wooden table in the corner. Small things that look like game pieces piled in a corner of the table.

A fire snaps and cracks in the hearth I noticed last night, which is strange. The Resistance is normally warmed by the springs— so why am I not burning up? It's then that I notice my body shivering again. Did Rowan notice and start it for me? If so, he shouldn't have bothered. The warmth of the room hardly takes away the shivers.

Rowan himself enters the room with stacks of food, and two more cups of the strange tea from last night. His dark hair is mussed, and dark circles decorate his eyes. I wonder if he slept at all. His muscles stand out in a plain t-shirt, bronzed against the white of it.

"Sleep well?" he asks, smiling. I scowl at him.

"I asked you if you drugged that tea, you liar," I say. He sets down the food and throws his hands up, his face innocent.

"I didn't, I swear! But I wasn't about to wake you when you were tired enough to pitch over mid-conversation." Heat rushes through my cheeks. "Just eat something, and then you can go if you want. Though why you'd want to sleep in those cursed hammocks, I don't know."

I find myself smiling slightly as I pick the glass of tea up again. I almost liked the tangy flavor of it last night, and it didn't have the taste of sleep medicine to it. He has to be telling the truth.

"Thank you," I say. My voice is small, almost unrecognizable. But it really was the best I've slept in weeks, and I feel like I should at least convey my gratitude in some way. And there is something strangely calming about him. His smile makes me feel at ease for the first time in weeks.

We sit in silence for several moments, but it isn't an uncomfortable silence. The food tastes mostly the same as it does so many levels below us, but it somehow feels better to be eating it away from the water, and away from the prying questions of my peers. A piece of toast and several fluffy eggs later, I'm feeling well enough to slow down and ask a question.

"Why does Morran want to kill me?" I ask again. I wasn't satisfied with the answer I got before, and I intend to bother him until I get a satisfactory one. He takes a swig of tea and sets it down before answering.