Obsidian Thornwing's Arc

Chapter 12 of 18

Inside the cabin, Obsidian set his sword by the door and hung the captain's braid on the peg above it. Seven days. He counted them the way he had once counted drills. Then he stopped counting. Sylvara pulled the shutter closed and the room went soft with mushroom light through the walls. She stood in front of him and untied the cord at her shoulder. The leaf dress slipped down her arm. He caught it before it fell and folded it over the chair. His hands shook. He had held a sword steady through a trial bout and could not hold cloth steady now. "Look at me," she said. He did. Her green eyes held his. Her white wings caught the low light and threw small sparks across the ceiling. He put his palm flat against her cheek. She turned her face into it. "I don't know how to do this slow," he said. "I only know how to march." "Then learn." He lifted her. She was small in his arms, lighter than his pack. He carried her to the bed of moss and folded blankets against the far wall. He laid her down like something breakable and she pulled him after her by the collar. They did not speak for a long time. His pale blue wings opened without him asking them to. Hers opened to meet them. Where the feathers touched, the air warmed. He felt her heart through her ribs. She felt his through his coat until the coat was gone. Something changed in the room. He noticed it in pieces. The mushroom walls brightened from within, first pale gold, then a steady white glow that did not flicker. The jar of white flowers on the sill uncurled. A vine along the ceiling beam put out a green shoot as he watched. The bond between them pulled taut and then loosened, like a knot finding its shape. Sylvara opened her eyes. She saw the walls. She saw the vine. She did not seem surprised. "It's us," she said. "The house knows." He looked at his own hand on her waist. The skin there felt warm in a way that was not fever. He understood, without being told, that whatever the bond was, it had just moved to its full weight. It had rooted them into this cabin the way the mushrooms rooted into the ridge. He kissed her forehead. "Then we're married." "We're married." Later, he lay with her head on his chest and watched the glow in the walls settle to a steady low light. The vine had put out three more leaves. His braid still hung on the peg by the door. He had six days left. He did not think about them yet. He listened to her breathe, and for the first time in his life he had no orders and someone beside him, and the morning had not even come.