They lay together for several minutes in silence, both trying to deal with how incredible that had been.
He gently kissed her forehead. “I love you, Taylor.” He told her softly. “I’ve loved you from the second I was born, I just didn’t meet you until last week.” He met her eyes. “You saved me.”
“I… I love you too.” She told him, rather surprised by the realization. “I… really do.” She blinked in shock, trying to come to terms with that. “Wow.”
He rolled off of her and stared up at the sky. “You’re still far too stubborn though.”
“Next time I’m standing in the way of something that feels that good and right, you have my permission to tell me to shut my fucking mouth, okay?” She smiled, wiping a hand across her forehead. “I think I like this Pyra thing.”
“Indeed.” He reached down to take her hand. “We are together now.”
She glanced around. “Shit.” She looked back at him and gestured to the charred remains of the barn, which looked like a firestorm had hit it. Several small fires still burned in the ruins, lapping at the piles of charred wood which were all that was left of the building. “You just remember that when the owner of this place sees what we did to it, okay? Because I’m not taking the fall for it alone.”
“Don’t worry.” He shrugged disinterestedly and kissed the back of her hand, looking relaxed for the first time since she’d known him. “I’m sure he’s been dead for days.”
“Thanks, that makes me feel a lot better.” She snorted in amusement at his attempt to comfort her, and rested her head on his chest, listening to the comforting sound of his heartbeat.
She was in so much trouble here.
Chapter Seventeen
The next morning, Taylor had woken up afraid.
Not of Dom or anything that happened, just… of everything that happened.
She had promised Ryle and herself that she wouldn’t take advantage of the man, but the night, and his tales of divine matchmaking, and the fact that the man was incredibly hot and amazing, all worked to cloud her mind and make her forget what she needed to do.
She had no regrets, but she still felt guilty.
She was a bad person. Who, ironically, felt really good today. The discomfort she’d been experiencing from the burns was gone, and to hear Dom tell it, that would be permanent. More than that though, she’d awoken in his arms and she’d felt… close to him. And she wasn’t close to anyone, anymore. Everyone she knew was dead.
It was an odd experience to care about someone else again. Well, other than Ryle, but that was different, obviously.
Which was why she’d spent the last fifteen minutes trying to come up with a way to break the good news to her brother, about how she’d ignored his sage advice and decided that mystical mind-controlling objects didn’t control her mind. Or Dom’s. Probably.
She let out a long breath, feeling guilty again.
She was a really bad person.
She’d never been a bad person before. She’d always followed the rules and done as she was told.
She continued to pace back and forth in the street, still debating how to phrase it.
Ryle would be worried, obviously.
But that was only because he didn’t understand. But he would. It was just a matter of coming up with the right way to break him the news, which wouldn’t make it sound so bad. That she hadn’t completely failed to do the right thing. She just had to make it sound like good news, that’s all.
She bit her lower lip nervously, already knowing that her brother would never buy that.
Shit.
She frowned slightly as she heard a series of strange noises behind one of the nearby buildings, and desperate for anything to take her mind off her troubles, she went to investigate.
Behind the building, Taylor was surprised to find Uriah. The man stood in the middle of a forest of wooden poles he’d blithely stolen from somewhere in town and had then stuck into the ground in a seemingly random pattern around himself. It must have taken him hours to set up because at least fifty of them now littered the area behind the building for some unknown reason.
Taylor frowned in confusion.
She had no idea what was going on, but since she didn’t really feel like obsessing about being a bad person anymore—and obviously didn’t want to talk to Uriah—she kept her mouth shut and just watched in silence.
Uriah stood perfectly still, like he was focusing on something. He had removed his shirt, displaying a variety of tattoos of differing artistic merit and questionable content. He turned around to face the poles, revealing that his back was covered shoulder to shoulder with scars from what appeared to be a whip, the edges of which extended from his neck to the small of his back. The large patch of raised uneven scar tissue obliterated the delicate inked image which had formerly decorated his back and made it simply a half-visible jumble of seemingly random lines. His shoulder was marked by what looked like an arrow wound which had never properly healed, blackish looking veins spreading out from its swollen edges.
He began to absently twirl the swords in his hands, as if loosening up for something.
He closed his eyes tightly and slashed out at one of the poles like he was intent on killing it. He cut the log in half with a whirlwind of steel, then began to jump and spin around within the circle, seemingly attacking and defending himself from his wooden opponents like he was trying to fight them all at once, from memory.
Taylor wasn’t entirely certain what was going on or what the purpose of this was, but the man seemed to treat it as something very important. It was obviously a ritual he’d done many times before.
All told, it was quite an acrobatic display, to say nothing of the swordsmanship. She’d grown up near the fort and had spent years fighting a war with the Baselanders, so she’d seen a lot of fighters over the years. But she’d never seen anyone who could hold a candle to how effortless and elegant Uriah made it all look.
He cut the next pole into pieces with one swing of both swords, his movements becoming frantic and less artful as he tried to move faster still. Sweat began to bead on his skin, as the swords spun so quick they became a blur, and more and more chips of wood were tossed into the air around him.
He was losing control now, although many of the poles had thus far remained untouched. He ducked down as if dodging an attack from one of the poles, and swept both swords outward away from his body in an effort to cut down two different poles at once. The swords connected, but one of them stuck in the wood rather than cutting through it, and was pulled from his hands. His eyes snapped opened and he proceeded to chop at one of the poles with his remaining sword for a moment, all artistry now lost and merely using the sharp blade to hack at it wildly like a crazed animal.
“GODDAMMIT!” He screamed, his voice raw and unhinged. The curses became simply incoherent bellows of rage after a moment.
The remaining sword flew from his grip and he turned to wildly punch at the pole which had dislodged his first sword, throwing himself at it like a man possessed. His fist crashed into the top of the pole, smashing the wood to pieces as his body collided into the rest of the pole and knocked it over onto the ground. He raised both fists over his head and continued to punch and beat the splintered wood into the soil, yelling obscenities and screaming in fury.
Taylor had no idea what to do in this situation, but decided that if she didn’t stop him, he was going to break both of his hands, which wouldn’t be good. They weren’t at the Crossroads yet, and personal business or not, if he couldn’t hold a sword, he couldn’t help them against the Baselanders.
She started forward, but didn’t get more than a few steps before a hand came out of the shadows to her right and stopped her.
Ransom materialized from the darkness, somehow having remained unseen all this time. “No.” The girl told her simply, the word coming out with a slight edge to it, as if it were a warning or a threat. “Not yours.”
Taylor wasn’t sure if Ransom w
as referring to some private matter she shared with the man which was none of Taylor’s concern, or if Ransom was telling her that Uriah himself didn’t belong to Taylor. “Well, is he okay?” She whispered, genuinely concerned about the man’s recent behavior. He seemed to be going downhill fast for some reason. Or perhaps she was just finally seeing beneath the mask the man wore. In either case, Taylor was pretty certain the man had deeper problems than anyone realized.
“My partner has a lot of feelings.” Ransom informed Taylor cryptically. “Leave.”
Ransom pushed past Taylor and walked over to Uriah, slowly picking her way through the carnage using her cane, moving slowly so she didn’t trip on the wooden obstacles she couldn’t see. She finally got close enough to gently put her hand on Uriah’s shoulder.
His frantic punches and curses slowed down, then stopped. He was motionless for a moment, kneeling on the ground over his fallen wooden enemy, his breath coming in ragged sobbing gasps.
“Almost.” She comforted, her voice filled with more tenderness than Taylor had ever heard her use before. “Truly heroic effort.” She knelt down beside him and moved her hand to his face. “Truly.”
If it was sarcasm, it was really bad sarcasm, since the woman sounded entirely sincere. Downright moved, in fact.
Uriah kept staring at the wooden splinters scattered around him on the grass, like he was seeing something else entirely. His mouth hung open, his eyes wide. “It just… There were too…” He mumbled, his eyes cutting to the uninjured poles around him. “…I…I am so sorry…” He opened and closed his mouth like he was struggling to put something into words but couldn’t. “…I...I just…” He finally whispered, his voice breaking and a tear tracing down his cheek. “There were…”
“I know.” Ransom nodded in understanding, gently caressing his back. “Steady.” She rested her head on his shoulder. “It’s okay. It’ll all be okay. I’m here.”
Uriah looked at her, his face awash with guilt and shame. “…I… I just couldn’t do it. I tried so hard… but I just couldn’t get them all.”
“I know.” Ransom told him tenderly, reaching under his arm to help him get on his feet. “No one could have.”
“Bullshit!” His face lost its emotional quality and regained its usual self-confidence and barely restrained anger. He used his foot to flip one of his swords back into his hand and then elegantly cut two of the remaining poles diagonally in half with one smooth continuous stroke. The move would have made any master swordsman in the world jealous, but he performed it as if it were nothing. He tossed the blade back down to the ground and turned to his partner. “I’ll do it!” He vowed, his voice dead serious and his face darkening until he looked more and more like the terrifying cutthroat pirate he was reported to be. “I swear to all the gods and devils there ever were: I will know how it could have been done.” His voice rose an octave. “How it should have been done.” He pointed at her. “I will know why I failed!”
“Because it can’t be done.” Ransom told him simply as if that was all the explanation which was required. “Move on. Please.”
“Bullshit, Ransom!” He yelled again, pointing at the poles like they held the answer. “I NEED TO KNOW!”
“It. Can’t. Be. Done.” She carefully accentuated each word, like he was just not understanding her, and then started to stroll away. “It’s eating you up. Let it go.”
“I refuse to accept that!” He called after her. “I just need to move quicker! More training! Different weapons!” He pointed at the poles, his voice a solemn oath again, his eyes still glistening. “I will do it until I get it!” He started to yell louder so that she could hear him as she walked away. “One day, I’ll show you what I did wrong and how I should have adjusted for it! What my mistake was! I swear on my life, my soul, and the seas themselves: one day, I will WIN that fight! One day, I’ll show you that I’m not a failure when it counts!” He swallowed. “Not anymore!”
She stopped at the door to the tavern and hesitated a moment like she was going to say something, then simply walked inside.
He looked down at his feet, still breathing hard. “One day.” He repeated softly to himself in a ragged voice, like a promise. “One day.”
Taylor decided that this was personal stuff and that she had no business here, so she moved to leave. Unfortunately, her foot made too much noise on the gravel path and Uriah’s head whipped around to glare at her.
A brief flash of embarrassment washed over the man’s face, but was quickly replaced with his usual calm smug confidence. “Ah, the last protector of the loveless and unfriended.” He bowed his head in greeting, wiping his eyes and face with his palm. “Good morning to you.” He arched an eyebrow. “I hope you enjoyed the latest tragic episode of the satirical burlesque which is my life.”
“None of my business.” She declared simply. “I just want to get to the capital, I don’t care about your personal stuff.”
“Excellent.” He nodded. “My sentiments exactly.” He smiled. “Which is why I won’t mention your little ‘walk of shame’ this morning to anyone.” He gave a thumbs up. “I had a good feeling about you two, incidentally. And I have an excellent sense about people.”
She rolled her eyes. “Oh, shut up.”
“Not to change a subject which I know you feel like discussing,” he cleared his throat, looking awkward again, “but I think I owe you an apology. I was out of line last night. Please know that my frustrations and disappointments are my own, and unlike the other men of my profession and race, I will not make them yours.”
“I’m not worried.” She told him seriously.
“Good.” He nodded, putting his shirt back on. “Some people don’t react well to being yelled at by a pirate with very literal blood on his hands.” He shrugged. “Cowards.”
She snorted in amusement.
“I’m sure there’s an explanation as to why you’re half-dressed and bothering my mate, Pirate.” Dom growled, stepping around the building. “But I’m thinking I don’t even care enough to give you the time to explain it before killing you, you sonofabitch.”
“Words hurt, you know.” Uriah reminded him, feigning indignation.
“It’s fine.” Taylor held up a hand. “He was just apologizing for last night.”
“Oh, jeez.” Uriah made a face, looking upset. “Do you have to tell him that?” He sounded serious. “I have a reputation, you know.”
She rolled her eyes and started to walk back towards the tavern with Dom, leaving Uriah to do whatever it was he did with his days when he wasn’t being an asshole to innocent people.
“He’s going through some stuff.” She whispered to Dom. “I don’t know what.”
“I don’t care what.” Dom retorted. “I’m still planning on killing him as soon as we get to the Crossroads.”
“You can’t kill him.” Taylor shook her head. “That wouldn’t be right.”
Dom gasped in genuine horror. “But you said I could!”
“Well, that was before I knew him!”
“Spending time with him has just given me more reasons to want him dead!” He argued, sounding incredulous.
“He’s just… difficult.” She decided. “But he doesn’t deserve to be murdered simply because we don’t like him.”
“I can’t believe that my mate is the one human in the world who doesn’t want to kill mindlessly.” He rolled his eyes. “This is the Mountain testing me again. I can tell.”
“Oh, hush.” She swatted at his arm. “We’ll get to the capital, the king will pay him, and then we never have to see him again.”
“If the king pays him.” Dom corrected. “I remind you that that aspect of the plan hinged on not caring if he lived or died. There was never any intent to actually pay him, only string him along until we got where we were going, at which time we’d cut him loose and turn him in.”
“Shush!” Taylor quickly put her hand up to stop him. “Didn’t we have that talk about things we weren’t supposed to talk
about because people might overhear?”
“Yes.” He nodded. “But that is only in regards to the Mace of the Kings—which incidentally, will not be the souvenir that pirate takes home from this adventure—not to the fact that the plan calls for us to double-cross him and…”
“Hush!” She swatted at him again. “Just don’t mention either! I’ll figure it out, okay? Just don’t talk about it anymore.”
He nodded. “Very well.” He sounded equal parts annoyed and amused. “May the profane human Gods continue to bless the holy plan and the poor bastards forced to follow its sacred words.” He said sarcastically, winking at her.
She made a face at him. “You’re getting to be as negative as Ryle, you know that?”
“Me?” Ryle looked up at them from his chair as they walked into the tavern. “What about me?”
“Nothing.” She waved a hand in dismissal. “It’s just Dom being difficult, that’s all.”
“Ah.” Ryle nodded. “I thought…” He trailed off, a frown forming on his face. He looked at Dom, then at her. His eyes widened. “Oh, shit! You didn’t!?!” He threw his arms up in exasperation. “We just talked about this, Taylor!”
******
It took them until the late afternoon to make it to the Crossroads, and most of the trip was spent trying to calm Ryle down and listening to his unconstructive negativity.
She loved her brother dearly, but sometimes he just refused to see reason.
Yes, there was magic at play here. But that didn’t mean that the magic was controlling them. The magic could be doing something else entirely, and it made no sense to obsess over it like crazy people.
It would be fine.
Ryle, however, did not think it would be fine.
He was worried that she’d end up hurt somehow in all of this, either because she wasn’t feeling what she knew she was feeling or because Dom wasn’t.
But Ryle was wrong, as usual.
She leaned against a large rock as Ryle continued to quietly obsess about it several yards away. Their discussion had grown… heated. Not rising to the level of “fight” but close enough to leave them both upset.
Travels With a Fairytale Monster Page 25
