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Imryll huffs, obviously annoyed with himself. “After you had already fought him off. We should have been there before he attacked. Every time this happens, failure weighs on me. What kind of soul am I that cannot protect my own heart?”
“Protection is not what I need from you.” I frown, squeezing his hand before I release him. “When I do things like that—when I’m forced to take life, it is you who brings me back from the dark abyss. I need you to bring me back to me. That is what you always do, and what I always need from you.”
“That is not near enough what I need to be doing for you.”
My frown deepens even as I try to wave him off. “Your role is critical after these things happen, Imryll. You give me hope. I don’t need protection, though I do appreciate the thought behind it. You must remember, I can’t die—”
“You appreciate the thought behind us trying to keep you out of danger?” he interrupts, his tone low and slow as if he didn’t hear me properly and wishes to confirm.
“Yes,” I simply state, shrugging as I struggle to articulate what I want to say.
“Is that supposed to make me feel better—make this better?”
Now, I’m the one getting annoyed.
“I’m not looking for safety, Imy. Your ego may want to protect those you care about, but as I stated earlier, that is not what I need. Your healing ability is there to fix what’s already damaged.”
He places his hand on his chest as if I’ve injured him, though I suspect he may just feel a tad emasculated. I can’t help him with that. I don’t have the time or energy to worry about his self-esteem.
I need him to be the strong, confident man I know he is, not this simpering lover who can’t stand that his girlfriend can protect herself from the bullies of the world.
“Then what is it you want?” he asks as if I haven’t just spent the last five minutes saying it.
Jesus, Neptune, and Osiris.
I sigh and pray for patience. “Just you. Just Imryll Stoneheart, quiet and patient, with his glittering green eyes and—”
“And what, Ada?” Imy cuts in.
“And you make me feel safe when I’m feeling vulnerable,” I explain. “You might not realize it, but you do.”
“You—who doesn’t need to be protected—are vulnerable?” he growls.
I contemplate violence for the very first time with Imryll. Rocks or a sharp punch to the throat so he’ll be quiet long enough to listen and comprehend what I’m saying.
“I’m not scared to fight, but I’m scared of myself—scared that I lose a little more of myself in every battle. But you—you look at me like I am your soul, and I tell myself that I am the woman I see through your eyes. You speak, and my spirit finds peace. You touch me, and I find my hope.” I grasp his face and look deeply into his eyes. “You’re never late because it’s after the battle when I need you most.”
“But—”
“Fucking stop.” I shake my head, his frustration mixing with my own as I repeat, “I need you to make me feel like me again. There is nothing more important in the world or the next than that. I promise you. Because I cannot imagine who I would be if I were this powerful without a conscience, without you here to make me remember that I am a good person worthy of love and protection.”
Imryll studies me, and for the first time since I met him, I see a flash of uncertainty in his grass-green eyes. It’s almost as if he didn’t believe he meant something to me until this moment, and now, he doesn’t know what to say.
“Look, the point is, you’re allowed to be angry at yourself and the situation,” I whisper. “But I can’t take any more time and energy trying to comfort and convince you of what you mean to me. Not right now. Not when I need you to comfort me.”
“Why am I the one you choose to find comfort in?” he asks.
“That’s the role you’ve been playing for me since day one. You heal what’s damaged and broken, and I was so broken when I got here. You’re not on the front line. You pick up the pieces. And that’s all I need you to do. Just talk to me, make sure I’m okay.” I give him a sad smile. “You’re a healer first, and mine second. I don’t expect you to put me above everyone else. It’ll drive you crazy. Just be here for me when it’s all over.”
It’s a shitty thing to do, though I try not to think about it as I turn away from Imryll and walk down the corridor of the catacombs toward the palace entrance. The conversation has sapped what little energy I had left, and I can’t keep beating this dead horse.
Either he gets it, or he doesn’t.
Perhaps I just don’t have it in me to say the things he needs to hear. I know my tone will only convey a bone-deep weariness that will do neither of us any good.
Imryll’s footsteps echo through the corridor as he rushes to catch up to me. “Where are you going?”
“I just want some space,” I tell him as the exhaustion sets in. “I’m going to my room.”
