Their apartment on Mulch Road is . . . honestly, it's too generous to call it an apartment. It's barely a room. It's barely a closet, even—tiny beyond miserable measure, forcing them to squeeze around each other in a miserable box of four walls that do little to keep out the damp and the cold and miserable fucking rain. The windows, kept permanently shuttered against the elements, let in only slivers of the gray dawn light.
Aeran rolls over on his makeshift bed, the wooden floorboards pressing hard against his shoulder through the thin layers separating him from the floor. Their room, much like their last six months in Rona, is dank and cold and miserable, miserable, miserable, and—
And less than an arm's length away—their sleeping pallets overlap when spread out for the night; that's how ridiculously tiny their stupid closet is—Sana lies on her side facing him, her breathing slow and gentle in the soft dark.
And—
Even here, where the damp seeps in through the waterlogged walls and the stench of muck and decay permeate the air and a fatal deadline hangs over their heads; even here, in this wretched hellpit of a city—
—even here, she still glows like the sun.
. . . And that's the stupidest thought he's had so far today, and it's barely even morning, so he's got plenty more time to think of something even stupider, which is itself not an encouraging thought.
And he is, regrettably, something of a dreamer in the early hours before the sun rises.
And she is still wearing his pendant.
Got it as a bonus on an assignment, he'd told her, one of the rare occassions they'd crossed paths. Don't really have a use for it besides selling it. Thought maybe you'd like to have it.
Which was—true, to an extent.
But the reality was this: he'd been offered his pick of trinkets and treasures—ruby rings and emerald pins and diamond diadems worth twice their weight in gold—
And underneath it all he'd found a simple golden necklace, probably the cheapest of the lot, with a small piece of polished amber set into a pendant wrought in the shape of a sun. And as soon as he'd seen it, he'd thought, Oh.
Sunny should have this.
So he'd taken it and carried it around in his pocket for . . . a year, maybe more, until they happened to bump into each other in some backwater town beplagued by some unmemorable beast.
"You're giving me a necklace?" she'd asked, bewildered, the golden chain dangling from her fingers as she'd examined it.
"If you want it," he'd said, shrugging all nonchalant, and gods, he'd felt so young in that moment, stupid and reckless and hopeful all at once.
(He was young. It was before the Spire fell.)
"What for? Does it turn into a backup weapon? A lockpick? Can I open it up and hide poisons in it?"
He rolls his eyes, so stupidly, unbearably fond. "It's a necklace, Sassy, you wear it and look pretty, or whatever."
"Excuse you," she'd said, grinning. "I am already the pinnacle of beauty and grace, thank you."
And he'd laughed, warmth bubbling something ticklish in his chest, and his answer had come from the heart: "Of course you are, Sanni."
And they'd parted ways, like always, and then the Spire fell and the world went to shit and stayed shit until he'd found her again, his Sunny, and she'd still been wearing the necklace.
"Did you ever get to do anything with it?" he'd asked. "Maybe hide a poisoned needle in it or something?"
She'd touched the pendant briefly where it rested over her heart. "Still thinking about it," she'd said, and grinned. "But it does make me feel pretty and fancy."
And somehow, years later, she still has it. Honestly, it's something of a miracle that she hasn't lost it yet here in Rona, with all the pickpockets who'd steal a tin can if it was shiny enough.
(And here's another stupid thought: Maybe those kinds of tiny miracles will be enough to see them through.)
Sana stirs beside him, finally, cracking an eye open just as the daylight outside gets bright enough for her human eyes to see properly. It's their last day in Rona, for sure. Whether or not they find the Count's chalice, they won't be staying here longer than they already have.
"Hey," she says, a sleepy smile quirking her mouth.
"Hey."
"Big day today."
He snorts. "Long as it ends with us out of this shithole, I'm not complaining."
"Careful what you wish for," she says, stretching out on her pallet with her arms above her head. "But come on. Best get an early start."
He watches her out of the corner of his eye as they prepare to head out. She still looks so damn bright.
(Guess he hasn't completely shaken off his early morning dreamer, yet.)
"Are you coming or do I have to leave you behind until your brain wakes up?" she asks, with one hand on the doorpost and a foot already out the door.
He snaps himself out of it; slipping easily into his waking Wayfarer self, casual and collected and very much not in love with his best friend, thank you. He slings his bow across his back and smirks. "As if you could get rid of me so easily."
And she snorts, amused, before she tilts her chin up, a smug smile tugging at her mouth, and says, "As if I'd want to."
The look on his face must be something to see, because she laughs, and winks, and then disappears down the hall.
And Aeran stands there for a moment, stunned, before he allows himself a wild, dreamer's grin, and follows her out the door.
8 notes
·
View notes