Light of the Outsider by Matthew Wayne Selznick

Author:Matthew Wayne Selznick
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Publisher: MWS Media
Published: 2020-06-18T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Sixteen

Dennick

Dennick and Agane's perfect mid-morning view was marred by a thin wisp of smoke across a finger's breadth of sky, the last exhalation of castle fire embers.

They sat side by side on their favorite reed bench in the shade of the vine-crawled wall of their home. Agane's semi-wild garden spread tangled before them. All morning, Dennick had behaved as if unsettled thoughts were not tangled between them.

It had been a painful day for Agane in all ways. He'd had to carry her to the garden, and she found it difficult to breathe.

"How goes," she said at last, voice constricted, strained, and tinted with bitterness, "the hunt?"

Dennick invested his sigh with contentment, but he could not entirely veil his exasperation. He plodded on despite the flash of irritation on her face.

"The day," he said, "is more beautiful than this city deserves. Let us not speak of bleak things just yet."

Her reply was more polite than he deserved. "The night comes soon enough…" She had to pause to breathe. "…and you'll be about your business well before then." He saw stiffness in her face; the suppression of pain. "I expect," she finished.

Agane's hand nearest Dennick slid a finger farther away. Her gaze fixed on the overgrowth before them. Once, it had been the epitome of her tranquil creative expression.

"So," she took a deep and labored breath. "Let us be clear as this lovely sky of yours, and true as this unfettered garden of mine."

Shame dipped Dennick's head. He was loath to bicker with her, especially now, and had only inspired her to spend precious energy on a response appropriate to his selfish reticence.

His next sigh was sincere.

"The trail is clearing," he said. "Fareye and Bentwing are watching someone. I have a runner, and eyes, ready where the messageflites cannot follow."

Agane still opted not to look at him. "Hm."

She pursed her lips; blinked. More pain.

"Something like this… the flites are loyal, of course…" A quick breath, and another. "Can you trust your Shadow District proxies?"

Dennick shrugged. He could only hope so. "They know no more than whom to watch, and what activity to report, should it occur."

Agane's grin was sharp. "Your patron," she invested their code-word for Vuldt with syrupy acid, "has tokens enough to surely counter any…" A breath. "…inquisitive ambition." A breath to fuel sarcasm. "I am sure all will be well."

Dennick frowned. "I cannot be everywhere, Agane. I have to sleep." He brushed her hand with his fingertips. "And I wanted some time with you."

Her face softened to sadness for a blink before tidal pain restored her stony distance.

"Agane," he said, "I will find a way through this. You… I must know you believe that."

She turned her head away from him, but it clearly hurt too much. It seemed relative comfort denied her desire to hide from him. "From the day you shared all your selves with me," she said, "I knew we would come to this place."

Her arms trembled, answering to her illness, and she scowled. "We could not know…" She glanced at her jumping limbs.

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