His only answer was silence.
She was taut as a drawn bowstring behind him, locked up in some inner struggle he could only guess at. Regret? Perhaps; she had never seemed like one to wound intentionally. Anger? Maybe, though at what he didn't know. Perhaps she would've preferred it if he hadn't meddled, sought to smooth over the snagged skin, just hiding the wounds from sight because he was too tired to deal with his friends hurting each other after what he had just endured.
It was selfish of him, and he knew it. The world was not put on hold just because he suffered insults and threats. It spun on without him, reckless and unforgiving, and this was just another symptom of it. Still, it was like grit in his eyes, silt in his veins, and had he been any less aware of the fact that they, too, were human beings with needs and feelings it was possible he would've snapped at them to save it for later.
The silence was killing him. He could feel Amalia's presence even though she leaned away from him. It tightened something uncomfortable in his gut, made him feel sick just to be exposed to it. He swallowed, remained sitting without her support, his stomach muscles tense to keep him from falling back.
She was still silent, and Jigano slithered from his lap. Rory made no attempt to stop him. If what he had said hadn't been enough to fix this, he didn't know what would be. If rationality failed, what was left? Time, to let the emotions run their course.
He didn't know what to do.
Then Jigano's arms found their way around Amalia, around him, tugging him close to the baker again.
His first thought was very out of place: he felt a little cheated out of the possibility of having had human Jigano suddenly in his lap.
But after that, he didn't think much at all. He listened to Jigano's voice, and when it brought Amalia back to life, making her twist in his grasp, Rory fell away from them. His back found itself across the border between Amalia's cloak and the cold spring ground, his eyes tracing patterns in the sky. She said what he felt, though she was honest about it in a way that he was not. She said that she was scared, and he was, too, and the words of the Northaveners bit into his mind again. Were they fighting so hard to keep the Spire unbreached, the Voice contained, out of fear of change? Or were they fighting this losing battle for the Old Gods?
He brought his hands up, watching his fingers against the backdrop of the blue sky. Family. He still hadn't seen Karlia since before Long Night...
He wanted to say something, like, family doesn't abandon you, or family forgives, but it sounded pretentious and turned to ash upon his tongue. His mother had walked into the barrier (effectively abandoning both him and his sister), and his sister .. well. He chose not to think about it.
"Let me know when you're ready for more bad news," he said after a while, his voice a distant, complicated thing, still a little thick and rough from his earlier crying.
She was taut as a drawn bowstring behind him, locked up in some inner struggle he could only guess at. Regret? Perhaps; she had never seemed like one to wound intentionally. Anger? Maybe, though at what he didn't know. Perhaps she would've preferred it if he hadn't meddled, sought to smooth over the snagged skin, just hiding the wounds from sight because he was too tired to deal with his friends hurting each other after what he had just endured.
It was selfish of him, and he knew it. The world was not put on hold just because he suffered insults and threats. It spun on without him, reckless and unforgiving, and this was just another symptom of it. Still, it was like grit in his eyes, silt in his veins, and had he been any less aware of the fact that they, too, were human beings with needs and feelings it was possible he would've snapped at them to save it for later.
The silence was killing him. He could feel Amalia's presence even though she leaned away from him. It tightened something uncomfortable in his gut, made him feel sick just to be exposed to it. He swallowed, remained sitting without her support, his stomach muscles tense to keep him from falling back.
She was still silent, and Jigano slithered from his lap. Rory made no attempt to stop him. If what he had said hadn't been enough to fix this, he didn't know what would be. If rationality failed, what was left? Time, to let the emotions run their course.
He didn't know what to do.
Then Jigano's arms found their way around Amalia, around him, tugging him close to the baker again.
His first thought was very out of place: he felt a little cheated out of the possibility of having had human Jigano suddenly in his lap.
But after that, he didn't think much at all. He listened to Jigano's voice, and when it brought Amalia back to life, making her twist in his grasp, Rory fell away from them. His back found itself across the border between Amalia's cloak and the cold spring ground, his eyes tracing patterns in the sky. She said what he felt, though she was honest about it in a way that he was not. She said that she was scared, and he was, too, and the words of the Northaveners bit into his mind again. Were they fighting so hard to keep the Spire unbreached, the Voice contained, out of fear of change? Or were they fighting this losing battle for the Old Gods?
He brought his hands up, watching his fingers against the backdrop of the blue sky. Family. He still hadn't seen Karlia since before Long Night...
He wanted to say something, like, family doesn't abandon you, or family forgives, but it sounded pretentious and turned to ash upon his tongue. His mother had walked into the barrier (effectively abandoning both him and his sister), and his sister .. well. He chose not to think about it.
"Let me know when you're ready for more bad news," he said after a while, his voice a distant, complicated thing, still a little thick and rough from his earlier crying.
