Chapter 58: I Want to Swim
Nathan served himself a second portion of soup.
He looked at Ilena, who was still against the wall.
Then he spoke, in a tone specifically different from someone who’d finished the diplomatic part of the conversation and now wanted to address the part that mattered to him personally.
"Ilena."
"Yes, Hunter Voss?"
"Halden told me you were the one who applied the fruit to Liaraen when she arrived."
"Yes. With what was left of my Sareth ability."
"How much did you have left?"
"Not much. Enough for this time."
"I see."
"The fruit did eighty percent of the work. I did ten. Halden did the other ten with physical handling. It was teamwork."
"I appreciate the modesty. But I also appreciate the specific skill."
Ilena inclined her head.
Nathan turned to Halden.
"Halden."
"Yes?"
"I want to thank you. Both of you. Formally."
"It’s not necessary, Hunter Voss."
"Yes, it is."
Nathan set his spoon in the bowl.
Wiped his hands on the cloth Ilena had left on the table.
Turned to Liaraen, who was eating with her aristocratic posture fully restored since arriving in Marren.
And with an unexpected gesture—
Nathan extended his right hand.
He placed it on Liaraen’s head.
And ruffled her hair.
With the energy an older brother would have given a younger sister of about eight years old. A broad, controlled, deliberately informal movement. Liaraen’s braid partially came undone. A green lock fell out on the left side. Her eyes widened with the surprise of someone who hadn’t anticipated that gesture at all.
"Nathan," Liaraen said quietly.
Nathan didn’t look at her.
He looked at Halden.
And with the broadest cynical smile Halden had seen from him in their two encounters:
"I hope this little sprout didn’t cause you too much trouble," Nathan said.
Halden stood still for half a second.
Then he let out a laugh. Short. Genuine. The first laugh Halden had audibly produced in front of guests in recent years, by any reasonable estimate.
Ilena, against the wall, brought a hand to her mouth to cover a similar smile.
Liaraen maintained her posture for another second. Her cheeks, imperceptibly at first, then more clearly, flushed slightly red. Her eyes closed for a moment with the resignation of someone who had accepted that this was the deal she’d gotten with this human.
Then, with her always-careful voice but with a barely contained hint of complaint:
"Nathan."
"Yes, Sprout?"
"I am in the presence of elders. With Seals. In a formal diplomatic situation."
"Yes."
"Really?"
"Really."
"I do not authorize the gesture."
"I know."
"Withdraw it."
"No."
Nathan ruffled her hair again.
Liaraen sighed.
Then, in the depths of her eyes, something appeared that Nathan didn’t pretend not to notice.
A small satisfaction.
Which was, precisely, the reason Nathan had made the gesture.
Halden inclined his head toward both of them.
"Hunter Voss. Lady Sael’thoryn. Whatever you’ve done to arrive at the relationship you have, apparently it’s worked for you."
"It’s a process," Nathan replied.
"It continues to be a process," Liaraen replied.
Halden laughed again.
"Eat. Rest. You continue tomorrow."
---
After dinner, they went upstairs to the room.
The same room with two separate beds they’d used the first time they were in Marren, three days earlier. Nothing had changed in the room. Everything had changed in them.
Nathan sat on the edge of one bed. He took off his boots with the specific clumsiness of hands that still hadn’t regained all their strength. Lay on his back. Closed his eyes.
Liaraen sat on the other bed. She undid her braid, which Nathan had partially unraveled at dinner. Ran her fingers through her hair to separate the strands. Took the small wooden comb from her personal bag. Began brushing slowly.
Nathan opened his eyes.
Watched her.
Said nothing for a moment.
Then:
"Sprout."
"Yes?"
"Let’s review the route."
"Alright."
Liaraen set the comb on the table beside the bed. Took the map from the bag. Unfolded it on the blanket. Nathan sat up again to see it.
She pointed with her finger at the current position.
"Marren."
"Marren."
"We lost approximately a full day with the detour. We could make up time if we take direct routes, but that means official roads that are more dangerous due to exposure."
"Let’s not make up time. Let’s follow the original Veil route."
"Nathan."
"Yes?"
"That’s a significant mindset change compared to three days ago."
"Yes."
"Why?"
Nathan thought about it for a moment.
He looked at the map. Looked at the points marked in green. The Veil settlements. One after another toward the north. Approximately six days of travel if they took it easy. Five if they pushed.
"Because I realized today," Nathan said, "that rushing is exactly what drains me. And now I have one hundred HP. One hundred. Not a thousand. One hundred. I don’t have room to exhaust myself from urgency. And even though HP restores over days, I learned that arriving late and alive is better than arriving early and dead."
"That’s a sensible lesson."
"I learned a lot today."
"Apparently."
Nathan propped himself on his right elbow on the bed and kept looking at the map.
"Sprout."
"Yes?"
"After the next Veil settlement. Which one comes next?"
"After Marren comes Sareth. Three days away. Then Halloch. Two days. Then Rendel. One day before the Aelthoren border."
"Is there a river somewhere on the route?"
Liaraen looked at him.
"A river?"
"Yes. A river. Moderate current. Deep enough to swim but not dangerous enough to be risky."
"Why are you asking?"
"Because I want to stop for more days."
"More days?"
"A day. Two, maybe. At some point. When we’re far enough from the dungeon that no one’s following us and close enough to Aelthoren that the urgency has dropped. At an intermediate point."
"And what do you want to do during those days?"
Nathan lay back again. Looked at the ceiling with its wooden beams.
"Swim."
"Swim?"
"When I was a child at the Crossing, there was a small stream behind the house. In summer, when business slowed down and my father gave me an hour free, I’d go swimming with Aren. It wasn’t a big river. It was a stream. But enough to swim in. And at the bottom there were flat stones where you could sit underwater for a few seconds. It’s one of the few specifically good memories I have from that time."
Liaraen was quiet for a moment.
"I didn’t know you knew how to swim."
"I learned there. With Aren."
"After Aren died?"
"I kept swimming. Alone. But it was different. When you’re a child and you swim alone, it’s colder. The memory loses something."
Silence.
Then Liaraen leaned over the map. Looked at it carefully. Traced with her finger the route from Marren to Sareth. Searched for markers. Found two.
"Here," she said, pointing. "Between Sareth and Halloch. The route crosses a river that Selene marked with a safe ford symbol. The river is Arren. Moderate current. Width of approximately twenty meters. Variable depth. In some points, it allows swimming."
"Perfect."
"We could spend two nights at the ford. There would be enough tree cover not to be visible from the official road."
"Perfect."
"Nathan."
"Yes?"
"Are you seriously proposing that we interrupt a transcontinental diplomatic rescue journey to swim in a stream?"
"I am seriously proposing that."
"It’s not a statistically reasonable proposal."
"No, it isn’t."
"And you’re still going to do it."
"And I’m still going to do it."
Liaraen looked at him for a moment.
Then, very slightly, she smiled.
"Acceptable."
"Really? No argument?"
"No argument."
"Why?"
Liaraen folded the map slowly and set it beside her bag. She sat on the edge of her bed. Looked at Nathan for a full moment.
"Because I’ve never swum in a river," she replied finally. "Never. Not in Aelthoren, not on any ceremonial journey, not on any occasion in my life until now. Baths are taken in controlled heated water rooms. The river is seen. One doesn’t enter it. And it always seemed to me like an arbitrary rule specifically designed to separate noble house daughters from one of the things that’s probably the most fun in the world."
"You want to swim?"
"I want to try."
"Good."
"With the condition that you don’t tell this story in Aelthoren."
"Acceptable."
"Not my father. Not my sister. Not the court."
"Acceptable."
"Not even Selene if she comes to visit us."
"Selene is already going to know we did things technically outside protocol. We can’t avoid that."
"Acceptable."
Liaraen lay back on her bed. Looked at the ceiling. Nathan lay back on his. Looked at the same ceiling.
Silence for several seconds.
Then Nathan said, specifically to the ceiling:
"I hope there are no more problems before the river."
Liaraen replied, specifically to the same ceiling:
"Me too."
"Because I’m tired."
"Me too."
"And I want to swim."
"Me too."
Silence again.
Nathan closed his eyes.
And a few seconds later, specifically without planning it, he said the last sentence of the night:
"Good night, Sprout."
Liaraen replied, also without drama:
"Good night, Nathan."
They both fell asleep at approximately the same time, in separate beds in a communal house room in a Veil settlement that officially didn’t exist on the kingdom’s cartography, with the specific feeling of having survived something neither had expected to survive, and with the pending promise—specifically concrete—of swimming in a river in two more days.
Which was, honestly, all Nathan needed at that moment.
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