Page 68 of Twisted Bonds
“Sure. Why not?” I shrug, feigning nonchalance.
He eyes me, and I know I’m not fooling him. I suck on my teeth and try a different tactic. “Look, I know I’m not going to win against you. I’m not that dumb. I just… I don’t know. There’s a lot going on. I thought it might be nice to just lose myself in a silly game for a while. You know?”
He watches me closely, every word from my mouth deciphered for secret meanings. After a moment, he lets out a huff. “Fine. But only if you put on some fucking clothes. This isn’t a brothel, despite how you and your friends treat it.”
His words pull a surprised laugh from me as he channels pure white Chroma, pulling out a luxurious bathrobe as if there’s a closet in some unseen nether that only he can access. I don’t try to hide the awe in my gaze as I slip it on.
“That is quite the talent you have. You could be the Oprah of Illuemera. You get a robe and you get a robe…”
His eyebrows twitch at the reference he obviously doesn’t get, but he ignores me. With a huff, he stands and moves to a shelf weighed down with books—their spines promising riddles and conundrums to lose oneself in. “If it’ll stop you from hovering like some overgrown mother hen, choose your poison.”
“Let’s start simple,” I suggest, tapping a finger against a leather-bound tome titled ‘Enigmas of the Elders’. My nod is more for myself than for him—I hope this distraction eases the tension creasing his brow.
“Simple, he says,” Tairyn snorts, but I catch the ghost of a smile teasing at the corner of his mouth. “We’ll see about that.”
As he settles back into his chair and begins flipping through the pages, I sit opposite him, pretending to ponder the puzzle he presents. But really, I’m watching him, offering company and distraction veiled as competition to solve these riddles. Sometimes I don’t even understand the question, but I guess what reaction he’s expecting of me and try to meet it.
I wonder what Sunder would think of me sitting here trying to play word games with Tairyn. He’d probably laugh himself hoarse, and I smile at the image. One day we’ll be free enough to laugh like that. When this is all over. The five of us will find our harmony, but someone has to start.
Still, my thoughts wander, tracing the invisible lines that connect us all to Mira. Her strength, her resolve—it’s what keeps us tethered, even in moments of doubt. And like threads in a tapestry, I’ll weave us tighter, one Shard at a time.
Later in the day, I slink through the corridors, my paws whispering silent promises to the ancient stone floors, when the clanging of steel and the thud of fists against leather draws me near. Sunder is in the training room, a dance of sweat and muscle, his black hair whipping like an angry storm as he battles unseen foes.
He’s been down here for hours already. I’m surprised he’s still going, but I shouldn’t be. He’s nothing if not single-minded. And he’s torn now between warring paths. On the one hand, I know he wants revenge against Cor’than for all he’s done, so asking him for help is basically a non-starter for him. But stopping Yurghen is more important. He knows that. I know he’ll put his pride aside. He just needs time to adjust. So for now, all I can do is help him work out his frustrations any way I can offer.
With the stealth only a feline can muster, I spring into the fray, leaping at Sunder with claws sheathed. The moment I connect, I shift. We’re sparring, a whirlwind of moves that blur the line between play and fight.
“Bobble,” Sunder pants, his chestnut eyes flashing a mix of annoyance and respect as he parries another blow from the spear I grabbed from the floor. “You’ve really got to learn to shift in clothes. This is distracting.”
“A benefit for me, then,” I purr back, the sound odd in my fae voice as I dart behind him. He grunts, amusement lacing the sound, and we continue our exhausting tango until his movements grow sluggish, the tension bleeding from his frame like ink from a quill. As we slow, I back away, letting my taunting smile slide away.
Blunt is best with Sunder. “You’ve been wound too tight or too long, big guy. What can I do to help? The weight of everything is strangling you.”
He scowls, wiping the sweat from his brow with a forearm marked by swirling tattoos. “We need to talk about Cor’than,” I say softly, leaning against the wall, arms crossed over my chest.
Sunder’s jaw clenches, the resistance evident in the set of his shoulders. “There’s nothing to discuss. It’s a fool’s errand.”
“Or it’s the very thing that could tilt the scales,” I counter, keeping my tone light, yet firm. “A chance.”
“Bobble, sometimes I wonder if your head is filled with fluff,” he retorts, but there’s no heat behind his words, only the weariness of a warrior too long at war.
“Maybe,” I concede with a grin, “but fluffy or not, even you can’t deny it's worth consideration.”
He sighs, the sound echoing off the stone walls, heavy with the weight of centuries. “I’ll think on it,” he finally concedes, his eyes meeting mine in a silent promise.
“Good boy,” I tease, clapping him on the shoulder. His eyes dart to mine with murder in them, but then he does something I’ve never seen him do before. He outright grins–grins - at me.
I bite my bottom lip as I return the smile, dancing in delight at the sight.
As I leave Sunder to his thoughts, I know I’ve got one last stop on my Tour de Shards.
Bounding toward the kitchens, I gather what comforts I can carry: hot tea fragrant with herbs, a few hastily prepared tea sandwiches, scones with clotted cream, and even a few cakes that would tempt even the most sated appetite. With the tray balanced carefully in my hands, I find Mira where I knew she’d be, ensconced on the terrace, her gaze lost to the mountain vista.
This time I wear clothes, lest my intentions be misconstrued. I mean, of course, I’d love to get lost in her arms right now. It’s been a long day, and both my body and mind feel like mush. I’d love to just rest cuddled up with her. But right now isn’t about me. I can almost feel her contemplative mood through the bond. Nothing like what Sunder can do, but just seeing her slumped posture tells me everything I need to know.
“Hey,” I greet, setting down the tray beside her. She smiles, the kind of smile that reaches deep into her hazel eyes as I plop down next to her. Her eyes light up as she eyes the tray I set before her, and I can’t stop the knowing smile that spreads across my face. “I come baring gifts.”
She murmurs her thanks as I pour two cups. Together, we sit in companionable silence, steam curling from the mugs like gentle spirits playing in the cool air. We reach for each other’s hands, an anchor in the quiet, my fingers wrapping around hers, reassurance without words.