Chapter 556 Grateful Heart

If you like music while you're reading, try "I Want You Here" by Plumb. (Weep-worthy song alert!) Although the song is about a different kind of loss, the chorus perfectly hits the tone and heartache of Reth and Elia here, for me. Enjoy (sort of?)

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RETH

Curled together, cradled by the hammock, Reth held Elia, legs tangled, and her head resting on his arm that curled over her.

It had been his one indulgence.

A timer had been placed on his life, on his mate, on his time with her. And so much of that time was going to be spent in flight. He hadn't been able to bear the idea of spending all those hours, just feet from her, but unable to touch or talk. So he'd indulged himself, he'd pulled rank. In the end, they'd given in easily.

He and Elia hadn't been required to take separate hammocks and bird pairs. They'd been loaded into a cargo hammock and were being carried by four birds, together, instead.

In truth, it likely spread the load of his weight a little easier on everyone involved. But strategically, it was a poor choice—they made a larger, more noticeable target. He just prayed that the Creator's plan was such that nothing could stop them from reaching their destination.

And in truth, he wanted to pray they never would.

They'd been in the air for two hours and barely spoken. They'd both been in tears when they first took off, unable to do anything but hold each other and pour out the grief over their hurried goodbyes with their offspring and their mates.

But a part of Reth felt like it had been a mercy. They'd already said all that needed to be said. Dragging out those goodbyes was only going to derail everyone from their respective tasks. And the Protectors who'd chosen to join them hadn't had more time, either. It was only fair.

Yet… when Tarkyn rushed to them and laid out why he was afraid the humans might be closer to the WildWood than they'd originally thought, that it was important to get them in the air and moving as quickly as possible so the birds that were transporting them could report back on any second wave… they'd leaped into action.

But it felt like something had been stolen.

Elia sniffed, her tears finally beginning to fade. Reth jerked back to the present moment and stroked her hair as she wiped her eyes and nose.

"Are you okay, Love?" he murmured.

She shook her head, but swallowed and didn't cry again. "I just… it's just all too fast and too… too final."

Reth had no answer for that except that he felt the same, so he continued to stroke her hair and hold her close.

Then finally, she took a deep breath and pulled her head back a little so they could meet eyes more easily. "I love you so much, Reth. I was going to write you a letter… just in case. Something for you to have…like you did for me when I went back. Do you remember?"

Did he? How could he forget? He'd not only written his heart to her, but she'd left a note for him, as well.

"I know," he said gruffly, then cleared his throat. "I wanted to do something as well. But… we will have to speak it instead, and cement the memories in our heads and hold onto them." He had to swallow.

Elia nodded and looked down. "I did bring something, though," she murmured, looking at her own hand.

Reth frowned. He hadn't noticed because they'd been wrapped so tightly together, but she had one hand clutched around something, the other around his waist.

"What is it, Love?"

Her lips trembled and she closed her eyes for a moment before she spoke again. "When I went across and we couldn't talk… I didn't find your letter until it was almost time to come back. I was so angry with myself. But I think… I think the Creator knew I needed it more than… even more than I would have earlier.

"And then you gave me this, and it was a reminder of exactly that, Reth." She opened her hand and a small, round rock rested in her palm.

Reth's breath caught.

Twenty years. She'd carried this for twenty years?

Taking his hand from her hair, he reached for the stone, smooth and warm because she'd been gripping it for so long. And while he examined it—just a simple, grey, round but mostly flat stone—she whispered the words to him.

"I memorized that letter, Reth," she whispered. "You said… you said you picked this up on the night I came to Anima. In the Circle of the Rite. You said…" she cleared her throat. "You said…" Then she recited and Reth had to screw his eyes closed to hear it without sobbing. "You said 'it was intended to be a marker for me to remember that night—to remind me that the Creator can do anything. That the twists and turns of life as I see them are straight lines to His eyes. Now I pass it to you. I have held this since the night he returned you to me. The most grateful night of my life."

She gave a little choke at the end and Reth gathered her in again. They held tightly, breathing each other's air, and the weight of it all just hit him. But as the wash of emotion and anger and perfect injustice threatened to break over his head, she started talking again, murmuring in his ear, her lips brushing his skin, her breath fluttering in his hair.

"You saw the Creator's hand in bringing me to Anima—and I do too," she said hoarsely. "You said that this stone reminds you that the twists and turns of life are… are straight lines to his eyes. I have to hold onto that now, Reth. I have to. I have to hold onto the fact that if He was right to bring us together, He's right to tear us apart as well."

Reth's grip on her tightened as he resisted those words. He knew they were right. He knew they were true. He knew she had the right eyes on it. And he didn't want her to. He didn't want it to be true. He didn't want to be prepared to do this. He didn't want to believe that something so soul-destroying could be the right thing to do.

He didn't want any of it.

And he didn't want to make her pain worse.

With a groaning huff of pain that seemed to come from his toes, her tears slid down the side of his neck because he gripped her to him so tightly.