Everything that followed blurred into a barrage of images that flashed across Sebastian's subconscious. Looking back, he mostly remembered the sounds: the slap Abel's hand had made as she had pressed it to her shocked lips as Sebastian's threads had bolstered Astrid's fall; the frantic command Matthias had shouted when he'd ordered the Icicles towards Astrid's prone body; the crack of Sebastian's knee caps against the rocks as he'd finally collapsed in elemental burnout.
After the mayhem of the dragon finale, Melvin had escorted Sebastian into his simple, white tent, separated from both Abel and Astrid until the judges determined the winner of the second task. There must have been a lot of confusion over it because Sebastian felt as if he had been stuck here in solitude for ages with nothing but those terrifying, noisy memories to keep him company.
Slap. Shouts. Crack.
Now, he could hear a series of repetitive, grating thumps as the Scribal woman named Serah used a mortar and pestle to grind up various herbs. Sebastian assumed they were meant to help heal his burned hands, but he hadn't yet worked up the nerve to ask her, especially since he had cut the healing threads to her tongue just the night before.
He stared down at the bubbling blisters rupturing across his fingertips and knuckles when Serah approached him. There were white, linen bandages bundled under her arm, and she held out the bowl with her concoction of herbs that now resembled a leafy, green paste. He looked at it wearily as the Scribe stopped at his bedside. Guilt ripped through his already torn nerves because here she was caring for him.
Serah offered him the bowl and placed it beneath his nose.
It smelled of lavender, morning dew, and damp soil. "No, thank you." He tried to sit up straighter and winced, placing a hand gingerly on his ribcage. "I'm feeling much better already."
Serah's gaze followed his movements with a sharp look that reminded Sebastian, with a painful jolt, of the look Imogene had often given to Abel after she had attempted to take down a black bear last winter with nothing but a kitchen knife and a broken bow.
Reckless, it said.
Sebastian sighed. Reckless he had never been, but considering he had just survived walls of fire, two mechanical dragons, and a rule-defying princess, perhaps he deserved such a reprimand. Especially after his careless actions in the pursuit of truth had caused him to hurt this wizened, Scribal woman.
"Was everything you said true?" He looked up at Serah. "About the prophecy and queen?"
Wordlessly, she bowed her head over the herbal bowl. Yes.
"Hurmph."
The odd sound slipped between his teeth before he could stop it. Embarrassed, he took the bowl from her grasp, trying to keep his hands from shaking. He cleared his throat. "And are you okay, I mean?" He winced as the bowl rubbed against his burns. "I'm sorry for hurting you."
Serah placed a gentle hand against his chest, smiled, and then traced letters over his ruined tunic: Carissénas.
His breath caught. He was already shaking his head before she had retracted her hand. "You said I could be. A possibility."
This time, she dipped her fingers in the paste before spelling it onto the back of his injured hands. We hope.
The unbearably tight, stinging sensation of his burns immediately dulled with the application of her herbal mixture.
"We?"
Her lips thinned, but before he could question her further, both of their attention shifted towards the unmistakable sounds of a tussle from outside Sebastian's tent. With his luck, Scribes only knew who it could be. More Fae? A murderous Elven warlord? A vengeful dragon? Wisely, Serah backed away towards the opposite side of the tent just as Abel stormed into the small space, her fiery hair swinging about her face.
Well, at least she wouldn't kill him.
"Thank you so very much for your understanding," Abel quipped to Melvin, who had been stationed at the flap. Before Melvin could react, she swished the flap back into place, securing it with a rope, and then rounded on Sebastian.
"You look terrible."
Sebastian straightened under her scrutiny and placed the mortar onto the Monverta he had taken from the dragon's nest of flames. It sat innocently beside him on the cold ground. When he appraised Abel again, her hands were on her hips, mouth pursed as if she had tasted him and he had turned out to be particularly sour. He glanced at her balled up fists.
Perhaps he had spoken too soon. "You're angry with me," he ventured.
"Oh, so you do understand feelings," she snapped. "Hardly surprising, considering you're so gods-damned knowledgeable about everything else. I suppose you even knew those blasted books weren't real, too. It was all a farce!"
He had known that, actually. Or, he had, at least, come to figure it out; that the Monverta he had saved wasn't actually the same one that had unlocked Rainier's memories, but Sebastian wasn't about to tell her that. Not when he could see the frustrated flush coloring her cheeks. He wasn't quite sure what he had done to deserve this reaction from Abel. Her anger was palpable enough that Sebastian swallowed thickly before guessing.
"You're mad I wanted to take the book."
She scowled at him, slender jaw ticking. "I don't know."
"But you told me I should."
Abel ran a hand over her face. "I know!"
"Then, I don't understand. What's the problem?"
She screwed her eyes shut, lips tight and thin as she sucked down a fortifying breath like a guard gearing up to throw a punch. "Sometimes, I just wish—" When her eyes reopened, the amber color of them had hardened, flinty. "Damn it, Bash! I wish I was your first option! Not even your only option. Just your first!"
He stared at her. "But...you are."
"No, I'm not. Not anymore, and I thought I was okay with that." She stepped closer to him, her eyebrows pinched. "By the Scribes, Bash, even Astrid went to Matthias first. Everyone's talking about it. The daring princess who sacrificed herself for love. She saved him before she even tried to save herself—"
Love. Did Astrid love Matthias in that way? "Yes," Sebastian agreed, "and she almost died because of it. It was hardly well thought-out."
He knew immediately it had been the absolute wrong thing to say. Idiot.
Abel recoiled, uttering a self-deprecating laugh. "Of course that's what you'd be most concerned about."
"Right now I'm concerned about you."
But Abel shook her head. Her frustration sizzled into regret as she scanned him from his messy, windswept hair to his scratched, bare feet. She sighed, haughty shoulders slumped. "I'm not sure who's been more delusional with their feelings: you or myself."
Sebastian watched her take a step nearer until she was standing in front of him. Their knees touched, and Abel let loose a shaky breath. It flitted across his cheeks. She smelled like home. Sebastian's chest twisted.
"I don't understand—?"
Her fingers brushed the hair that hung over his forehead. "Just shut up, Bash, for once in your life."
He'd only just shut his mouth when she pressed closer and kissed him.
Years of memories shared between them reshaped in the slim space between them into an arrowhead that saw him as its target. Sebastian was unsure how to deflect it. He didn't know what to do with his hands, so he sat on them. He wasn't sure what to do with his thoughts, so he swallowed them. They stuck painfully in his throat when Abel pulled back, her fingers against his jaw.
A thin smile flickered across her mouth. "I was wrong."
Her breathy words slapped Sebastian. He blinked at her. "About what?"
Abel dropped her hand away from him and clasped them both behind her back. "I've been the delusional one."
It was odd to him that her face, which was so familiar to him—from the dotted constellations of freckles across her nose to the slim, silvery scar above her left eyebrow—could hold an expression so foreign that it sent his stomach into a free-fall.
He didn't know what to say to this Abel.
Abel took a step back into the damaging silence. "You probably won, you know." Her hand reached blindly for the rope of the flap. She fumbled with it in a clumsy motion that Sebastian never associated with her. He frowned, and she flushed warmly.
"Forget it. Please."
She looked away from him, her eyes finding the mortar of green paste as her hand slipped on the material of the tent. "And use the damned medication, Bash. You still look gods-awful."
Sebastian opened his mouth to call her back, but she'd already slipped through the flap like a raindrop through a crack. He felt the chasm widen between them as he stared at the space where she had stood. His fingers drifted to his lips. They felt the same somehow even when everything else felt different.
He had never kissed anyone before.
Serah appeared beside him, the mortar and pestle back in her grip. She shoved it into his chest. Her expression was grave as she scooped some of it out and spread it across his knuckles. The motion was not as gentle as it had been before.
"I think I messed up."
Serah didn't respond, of course, but she soothed the mixture into his burning skin, though he wasn't sure what she could do about the flaming flush erupting across his face. He sat still for Serah's sake even as his legs bounced.
Abel had always been the one to reassure him of his intelligence, but he realized it would never be enough to help him understand what had just happened between them.
_ _ _
A much shorter chapter for y'all! Enjoy this nice little break and a very clueless Bash.
Please leave a comment and a vote! This chapter's random question: When was your first kiss?