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A new crop of blisters later, I’ve been unwillingly introduced to rattlers (reportedly dangerous, obviously horrifying, avoid in future), not to mention squirrels (less dangerous, actually kind of cute), spiders (only sometimes dangerous, but extra next-level horrifying), and an alarming number of very-dangerous-looking creatures with spikes sticking out of their heads that both Cadence and Ash insisted were not only animals and therefore not monsters, but generally harmless. I’m pretty sure they were joking.
Decidedly not harmless are the assorted water monsters we have encountered inhabiting everything from a marshy patch on the flats to a stagnant, overgrown pond, to a barely-there trickle of creek and a small but bridgeless river. That last time, we barely managed to drag the bike through without further damage or loss of life. So far, speed, caution, and Ash’s blades have carried us through safely, but I’d hate to be out here without him.
Ash has also taken to singing a marching song called “Sunny Sunshine Coast” every time it rains, which happens at least once a day. Feels more like once an hour. Cadence joins in with excessively creative harmonies whenever she feels like it—which seems to be most of the time, despite the fact that she’s not doing any of the actual marching.
I didn’t notice at exactly what point they drifted into making up their own lyrics, having tuned them out for the sake of my sanity—Cadence drops a few beats to cackle at that—but I just caught them rhyming “Mara-taken” with “eggs-and-bacon” and now I can’t stop listening.
I think I might’ve been humming the tune in my dreams last night.
Okay, maybe not just in my dreams. It’s catchy, even if I refuse to learn the lyrics. Or make any up. Though I do think they could’ve come up with a better rhyme for “taken” than “bacon.”
“Cole thinks we’re bad songwriters,” Cadence says. “She thinks she can do better.”
“A lyrical battle the likes of which the world has never known,” Ash chants to the rhythm of the song, which by no coincidence whatsoever is also the rhythm of our steps. “As we march through the mountains hmm-somethin’r-other alone.”
“Weak,” Cadence says, at the same time that I look pointedly over my shoulder and say, “I thought the mountains were back there?”
“Something-something-something-and-genius-all-un-shown,” he continues sadly, but with a glint in his eye.
I snort, and then he snickers, and suddenly all three of us are howling ourselves to tears in the pouring rain.
I lean on the bike to keep upright, my stomach aching with laughter. The frame shifts under my arms, nearly dumping me to the wet ground. Ash grabs my shoulders and pulls me away, shouting the song’s lyrics again from the start over the sound of rain and our laughter as he gallops in circles with me in tow, spinning us in dizzying whirls up and down the road. Between the singing and the laughing and his prancing antics, it takes me until the end of the sixth verse to realize we’re dancing.
I jerk away with a gasp and stand swaying, the rain suddenly sharp against my skin.
“Cole? What is it?” Ash comes a little too close.
I take a quick step backward, hit a slippery patch, and go down hard.
“Don’t,” Cadence says when he reaches for me again. “She just needs a minute. We’re fine.”
So he just stands there in the middle of the road, shoulders bowed, looking lost and suddenly, terribly tired. His hair is slicked down with rain and his power is sleepy, barely a shimmer in the depths of his eyes.
And I sit in a puddle and watch him, wondering about what could have been.
What we could have had, if I hadn’t lost who I was and become who I am in a world where you weren’t supposed to look, never mind touch. If I hadn’t learned that dancing was all about desperation and power and control instead of the natural outpouring of joy and freedom and fun that Ash had made of it, if only for a few careless moments. If I had become someone who had learned to heal, instead of someone who only knows how to hurt and be hurt.
Ash sits down beside me, apparently without regard for the wet ground soaking through his pants like it has mine. Not too close, and not angled in. Not watching me, just . . . there.
“Sorry,” I say, small and so quiet I’m not sure he’ll hear over the drumming of the rain.
“Don’t you dare,” he says without turning his head. “Don’t you apologize for how you feel or what you need. Not to me. Not to anyone.”
My face gets hot and my eyes sting, and I’m glad he’s not looking at me. I feel . . . miserable.
It would have been better if he’d yelled, or hit me, or ignored me altogether. Now I feel like he’s done all of those things and more, and I can’t even blame him for it because, as far as I can tell, he was trying to help.
But instead, it’s like he’s just put one more expectation on me that I have no idea how to live up to. One more way that I can’t be who and what I should be. And I hate it. I hate feeling this way and I hate thinking these thoughts and I hate that the one thing I thought I was meant to do was ripped away from me almost as soon as I found it.
And I hate the cold fear that whispers all day and all night that Cadence is right, and she would have done better.
“You’re right,” Ash says, as if, like Cadence, he’s taken up permanent residence in my head and is listening in on every thought. “I came back for Cady. Finding—finding what I did was . . . It was a shock, sure. There’s never been anything like this before, not that I know of. How could I have prepared for—for you? But, Cole—”
He reaches a hand close to mine, not quite touching, but near enough for me to reach out and take it if I wanted to. He’s watching me now, watching with an intensity that makes the hair on the back of my neck rise, though I refuse to look back at him. “Finding you was not a disappointment. Just because you were unexpected does not make you a mistake.”
I shake my head, moving both hands to my lap and drawing my knees up. Ash’s hand curls, and then relaxes, and remains. Waiting.
But he looks away, giving me space to breathe again. “My grandfather is on the council. He had high hopes for me. After my parents . . . left, he sent me to the dorms. He said he wanted me to learn people. He meant for me to learn to lead them.
No, that’s not quite right. More like: how to work them, to make them do what I wanted.
“So I learned. I studied and I tested and I discovered how to give people what they needed to make them like me, to make them want to follow me. And then, when the time came to step forward and lead them, I said no.
“My grandfather is not a bad person, Cole. He wants what all the elders on the council want: to protect our people. To grow our strength. To restore our world. But he cares more about the outcome than the path, than the cost along the way. He’s willing to sacrifice anything, anyone, to get there. Including my parents. Including my team. Including me.”
Now he’s the one avoiding my gaze, his arm tense, as if he wants to pull back, to curl into himself protectively as I have.
I’m not sure what to expect. He seems hurt, which means he’s likely to lash out. That’s what Ravel had done, the moment he realized I had glimpsed his vulnerability. And right now, I can’t even retreat into the dreamscape if Ash decides to turn on me.
“I want to think there’s a better way,” Ash continues, before I can decide whether it’s safer to stay where I am or back away slowly. “I want us to do better. To save everyone and make each other and the world around us better without tearing ourselves apart along the way.
“I almost became the leader he wanted me to be, just so I could prove I could do it better my way. But I’m so afraid I’m just as bad as him, because when it comes to what I want, when it came down to achieving my goal, I was willing to sacrifice anything, or very nearly, to reach it.”
I stiffen, ready to dart out of his way. The hurt in his voice doesn’t bode well for what will come next.
“I’m so sorry, Cole—and Cady, you too. Sorry I didn’t come for you sooner. Sorry I couldn’t make everyone safe. Sorry I made you leave. But I promise you—I haven’t given up on your friends. On your city. No matter what happens when we get to Nine Peaks, I will do everything in my power to help them.”
He lifts his hand from the mud, tense but open, palm up. Invitation, not rejection. Not accusation. Not lashing out.
I’d give a lot to be able to reach out for it. But that is a stretch too far for me to make.
So, instead, I uncurl, just a little, and move my hand from its sheltered spot next to my body to place it, palm up, where his had been only a moment ago. The earth is still warm.
Ash tilts his head, considering, and finishes what I can’t, taking my still-healing hand in his own with the smallest of sighs.
“You shouldn’t have kidnapped me.” I measure my words, holding very still in case they run away on me. “You shouldn’t have made that decision for me. But—but I think I’m starting to understand.” My face and neck seem to catch fire. “You keep helping me. I don’t deserve it.”
“Okay, we get it,” Cadence interrupts. Our hands spring apart. I stumble to my feet, flushed heat notching up a level higher. I’d forgotten about her. “Everyone forgives everyone else for making their life impossible. One big happy family. Can we get going already? We’re losing daylight.”
She launches into an unusually dirty new verse of the marching song at top volume. Ash shrugs, and lifts his knees comically as he marches back to the bike. He leans into it to get it rolling out of the mire.
Feeling left out, Cadence?
Instead of responding, she just gets louder and further off tune inside my head.
It’s fine. We need to keep moving, anyway.
Maybe it’s because we haven’t made much progress today but, somehow, despite the unrelenting downpour and the caked on layers of mud, my feet feel lighter.