Aria Blackwing's Arc

Chapter 8 of 24

By evening the raven slept in its basket. The owl slept in its own. Aria set two bowls on the table and lit a pair of tapered candles between them. The wax had already begun to drip down the sides in soft folds. Derek came in from checking the bar on the door and sat down across from her, favoring his bandaged arm. She had made what she could from what they had: grain cooked soft, a few strips of dried meat, greens from the jar by the window. A hearty, simple plate. Steam rose off it in the candlelight. Derek ate slowly. She watched his good hand hold the spoon and thought about how quiet the cabin was with both birds sleeping. "Why birds?" Derek asked. Aria looked up. "The sanctuary," he said. "You could take in any hurt thing. Rabbits. Foxes. You chose birds first. Why?" She set her spoon down. She had not planned to tell him. She had not told anyone. But he was sitting across from her with a knife on his hip and a bandage on his arm, and he had asked plainly, so she answered plainly. "My mother kept a small black bird," she said. "On her shoulder, most days. It followed her around the house. When she got sick, it stopped eating. It died the week before she did." Derek did not speak. He watched her face. "I was little," Aria said. "I thought if I had known how to feed it, I could have saved it. And then her." She turned her spoon in her fingers. "I know that isn't how it works. But every time I find a bird on the porch, I feel like I get to try again." The candles pulled long shadows along the table. Derek reached across and put his good hand over hers. He did not squeeze. He just held it there, the way he had held her hand on his arm the night before. "Then we'll keep trying," he said. Aria felt something loosen behind her ribs. She had not known she was still holding it. She turned her hand under his and let her fingers close around his palm. "You could have asked me weeks ago," she said. "You weren't ready weeks ago." She almost laughed. She looked at him properly then, across the candles, and saw that he already knew everything he had asked about. He had wanted her to say it out loud. They finished the meal without more words. When Aria stood to clear the bowls, Derek stood with her. He did not let go of her hand until she needed it for the dishes. Outside, past the window, something moved once in the trees and went still. Neither of them saw it. The candles burned low between the empty bowls, and for the first time the cabin felt like a home two people shared.