Within These Wicked Walls(72)

He held up a waterskin, and I could practically hear his eyes narrow as he said, “What are you after, girl?”

This was never going to work if he suspected me. “Nothing.”

Great answer, Andi. Not suspicious at all.

Jember sighed. “It’s hot out here, Andi. This is good-bye.”

I rushed in front of the horse and held its thick neck. “Please come in. Just for a minute.”

He reached down and shoved my hands away. “Stop acting like a child before I beat the whining out of you.”

“Is this really how we’re going to part ways?” I blurted. “After fourteen years of having no one but each other? You have to say something other than threats and ‘good-bye.’”

“What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know…” I adjusted my bag, trying to sort my anger and this strange, sad feeling of loss. My plan had been to get him to stay, but this … this was something else. Something so unexpectedly genuine it scared me. “Something not based on survival habits, for once.”

“Fine,” he said with a heavy sigh. “I’ll miss you. Is that what you want to hear?”

I threw up my hands, barely holding in a scream of frustration … frustration concealing something that hurt so much worse. “You truly are heartless. Do you even care whether I live or die?” My blood rushed through my veins, and I gripped my fists to try and take back control. “Am I nothing to you?”

He kissed his teeth and looked away, and that one small sound was enough to make my stomach twist on itself. “You care too much about what people think of you—”

“I care about what you think of me,” I snapped. “You. Because you’re my—” I choked on an unexpected sob. “You’re the closest thing I’ll ever have to a father.”

He didn’t respond, but didn’t move, either. I wished he wasn’t wearing that mask. I wished I could’ve seen that he felt something. Anything.

Instead I turned away toward the door so he couldn’t see my emotion get the better of me. He wasn’t going to say he cared for me. That he … loved me. Because maybe he didn’t. I mean, he’d never sent a note back to Saba. Maybe he didn’t know how to feel that sort of thing anymore.

And maybe … maybe my new survival habit needed to be that I didn’t care.

The creak and screech of wood against stone sent my nerves into panic mode, and for the briefest moment I reached for my knife. But my muscles relaxed when I saw Saba in the doorway. Her eyes were red, dried tear streaks on her cheeks, and she wore the same bloodstained clothes as last night. I tried to speak, but a painful lump blocked my way.

“What happened?” I asked, finally, as she stepped out onto the sand.

She touched my cheek, almost tenderly, as she walked past. I turned just in time to see Jember stiffen on the horse. And, because loyalty made people foolish, I felt protective of him. I ran ahead of Saba, holding up my hands to ward her off. “Saba, don’t touch his skin—”

If it had been anyone else, Jember would’ve pulled his knife. Would’ve thrown a punch. Or rode away before she could reach him. Something. Instead, Saba held the horse steady around the neck with one arm and grabbed Jember’s leg with the other.

“Let go,” Jember said, his warning even more threatening in the dead muting of his mask. He had two hands free to go for his knife, but he didn’t. He didn’t try to pull away.

And, I think, if it had been anyone but Saba, they would’ve let go. For a moment she stared wide-eyed and brimming with tears at the metal leg she gripped. Then she closed her eyes and shook her head, and when she looked up at Jember her gaze was steady, glaring as much as imploring.

To be honest, I couldn’t decide who to root for, so I took a few steps back.

He attempted to kick away from her incredible grip, pausing when he couldn’t. “Let go, Saba.”

I rocked between taking a step closer and another away. His voice had carried an edge I was familiar with. On the brink of something like panic. Like me, he had survival instincts that were switched on when he was restrained.

Saba gripped her heart, her face speaking nothing but anguish as she pointed to the castle.

I gasped. “She’s asking for your help, Jember,” I translated.

“I don’t care,” he said, jerking his leg from Saba’s grasp. “Don’t look at me like that, Saba. You’re the one who left, so don’t act like I owe you anything now.”

Saba gaped slightly, brows pulled in. And then she shoved Jember over, horse and all. The horse squealed as it fell, and Jember’s cry of pain followed, along with a string of curses. I let out a single laugh, God forgive me, before realizing the horse had fallen on his missing leg.

I stumbled, trying to avoid getting kicked as the horse bumbled to its feet and ran off a little ways, keeping clear of us as I ran over to Jember. So much for my new survival habit.

Saba had been heading back to the house, but tripped to a stop. She rushed back to us, crouching in front of Jember and reaching for his leg.

“Don’t touch it,” he said, panting.

Saba’s hand trembled, hovering above his leg. She looked at him with such painful understanding it made me want to cry. She reached out, carefully removing the mask and dropping it in the sand beside him. Jember squinted for a moment, but whether it was from pain or the glaring sun, I couldn’t tell. Her fingertips touched his chest, tentative, spreading slowly until her entire hand was resting against his heartbeat, the contact, even over his shirt, making Jember wince. But finally—finally—I saw a remnant, a spark in his face of the look Magnus gave me sometimes. Hopeful, pleased, wanting to be adorable and adored, but all too muddled by the familiar anger Jember would never let go of.