Underlord (Cradle #6)(61)

Eithan was waiting for his opportunity. He was going to burst in.

That would be a relief. Lindon wouldn't have to figure out what to say, and it would be Eithan's fault.

Tell him to wait, Lindon said. He couldn't use the Underlord as an excuse. He had too much to say to Yerin, and now was the time. If he didn't say it now, he wasn't sure he'd ever get the chance.

Dross projected something to Eithan, and Lindon could feel Eithan's surprise. The Underlord didn't enter immediately, which meant Lindon had his moment. He had to say something now.

“Yerin,” he said, “this won't stop us. You're going to be fine.”

It wasn't what he needed to say.

He could feel it, and so could Yerin. She forced another smile, pulling her hand back. “Couldn't beat me this easy.”

The silence after her words seemed to stretch. His hand sat dead and heavy on the sheets next to her.

[I don't know what the right thing to say was, but that was wrong.]

The entrance bulged inward.

Lindon stood up and sent a pulse of unshaped pure madra at the entrance. “Stop!” he shouted.

Eithan slowly retreated, the flap sliding back into place.

Yerin was frowning at the entrance, but Lindon sat down and grabbed her hand in both of his. He thought he might have been better off using only his real hand rather than his Remnant replacement, but there was no turning back now. If he lost his courage, he'd never regain it.

“Yerin, I don't know what I'd do if you were gone. When I think about the future, you're in it.” He didn't know what he was trying to say, but the more the words spilled out, the easier they came. “I don’t care if we go home, or stay here, or end up wandering in the wilderness, as long as you're with me.”

He was surprised to realize that his eyes were hot. “Please…I don’t want you to leave me behind.”

He was shaking, and every word had felt wrong. He had messed it up, and now he couldn’t read her expression, so he didn’t know how badly. She hadn’t pulled away from him yet, so maybe he’d have another chance.

“Well,” Eithan said from behind him, “I think—”

One of Yerin's Goldsigns emerged from her back, pointed at the Underlord. “Eithan, keep your teeth together or I will skin you like a deer.” She looked back at Lindon. “I want to meet your family,” she said. “And I want to see the parts of Sacred Valley that aren't trying to kill me.”

Hope sparked inside him, and some of his nerves faded. Her gaze was intense, and her grip on his hand was slowly getting tighter. “I've never seen much of it outside the clan.”

“I don't care. And I want us both in this tournament. Wishing for top eight might stretch the heavens, but top sixteen would be a gem and a half.”

“…out of how many?” he asked, but she was already moving on.

“And I need you to be an Underlord. Get your brain spirit to dive around in there and dig up whatever you need, or I'll be squeezing your soul for secrets myself.”

“You first,” he responded seriously.

She gave him a lopsided grin, and the old Yerin was back once again. She squeezed his hands one more time, then released him. “You’ve grown some kind of spine, if you think you’ve got room to worry about somebody else.”

Lindon felt something and turned to see Eithan leaning over them, his fingertips pressed together, smiling like a madman. “Yes,” he hissed. “Good, good, very good.”

[You know, it’s nice to see someone with such a positive outlook on the world,] Dross said. [Positivity, that’s what you need.]

Would you call that positivity?

A second Goldsign emerged from Yerin. “I thought you put a higher price on your skin.”

Eithan recoiled. “Not my skin! It's my second-best feature!”

Lindon still felt at least a dozen presences waiting outside, so he stood up and pushed open the tent. It was something to do to distract him from thinking about the fact that Eithan had heard every word he’d said. If he dwelled on that too much, his shame would burn him up from the inside out.

“If you don’t mind me asking, who are all these people?”

A long train of servants in dozens of different colors wove throughout the rows of medical tents, each of them carrying a tray piled high with food. Some of them pushed carts.

Eithan followed him out of the tent, holding it open so Yerin could see. “I was hoping to pop in with a surprise. On our way out, I came across an Underlady from the Seishen Kingdom who had been preparing herself a personal feast from the bounty of the Night Wheel Valley's forests. After we had a little talk, she kindly donated it to our cause.”

Lindon felt a silent moment of pity for the unknown Seishen Underlady.

“It is time, everyone!” Eithan announced, directing the servants one-handed as though he were conducting an orchestra. “Come, come, these people are hungry!”

Servants slid between and among the wounded, handing them plates of food. Lindon expected the healers to protest, but he could sense the spiritual weight of the food himself: slices of meat rich with strengthening blood aura, crystalline vegetables woven with healing strands of life, shining fruits that nourished the soul, jugs that emanated the feel of elixirs.