The Amulet Of Nicmir (The Scripts Of Neptune, Book 1)

Chapter 36

"And proud of—" Sam cut off when she stopped in her tracks. Barely saving himself from colliding with her, he tried to follow her line of vision. When he did, his heart stopped.

Crynia went pale. "Is that—"

"That's him, all right," Sam said.

A figure was on one of the high, flat rooftops nearer the vast expanse of desert sand that bordered the western end of the village, limping towards the edge on crutches. Blond hair glinted in the sun. It looked like he was planning to jump.

"Meet you back at the inn," Sam said breathlessly, and broke into a sprint.

Sand slid under his feet the closer he got. When he spotted a doorway, crumbling sandstone blocks littered around it, he ducked inside. A broken flight of sandstone stairs curled around the wall. Sam took them two at a time, noticing the untended emptiness of the single room. So the building was abandoned, then.

Nyle had reached the edge by the time Sam made it to the roof. In the shadow of a swaying desert palm, he watched, heart in his boots, as his friend set his crutches down, crouched to jump—and lowered himself to sit on the crumbling tiles of the gutter.

Able to breathe again, Sam scolded himself internally for being so paranoid.

Silently, Sam crossed the scorching hot roof and lowered himself to sit in the shade beside Nyle, letting his legs dangle over the twenty-foot drop to the sandy ground.

"Sorry," he said, gazing out at the desert horizon. It was pale yellow, with scattered green cacti sprinkled here and there. The hot wind caught sand off the dunes and swept it into the air.

Nyle stared out at the view with the same lazy intensity. But his eyes were different. Sadder. "For what?"

"For pushing you and Lil to resolve whatever happened so fast," Sam sighed. "I was stupid, and I hated seeing you both like that. So...sorry. Because judging by how she came back, I only made it worse."

Nyle snorted. "Couldn't get much worse. Your input just sped up the inevitable a little."

Rubbing at the back of his neck, Sam frowned. "Right. Okay." Unthinkingly, he scratched at a bug bite on his arm. "What happened, anyway? I've never seen you guys like this."

For a moment, Nyle didn't answer. He looked down at his hands, rubbing his thumb over knuckles cracked from the dry wind. The muscles in his jaw tightened. "I kissed her."

Sam looked over and raised his eyebrows. "That's what's bothering you? I fail to see how you kissing the girl you like is a bad thing."

Then again, kissing Cryn didn't turn out too well.

"She was drunk, Sam," Nyle said quietly, his voice thick. When he gazed out at the endless sand, there was a strange look in his dark eyes. It was like he wanted to escape; to run and not look back. "I took advantage of that like the bastard I am. And it hurt her. It hurt her, and she had a panic attack because of me." Leaning his elbows on his knees, he rubbed his eyes and let out a shaky breath. "I don't know how to fix this, Sam. I just—I don't. Gods, I'm confused."

Sam knocked his heel against the wall and flexed his jaw. "Geez," he muttered. "That's a mess. You try apologizing?"

"No." Nyle ran his hands through his hair. "I was going to. And I wanted to explain. She thinks I was drunk, too."

Looking over again, Sam flicked an eyebrow. "Were you?"

Nyle made a skeptical sound and sat up straight again. "Punch-drunk, maybe. But not on alcohol."