He’d been fussing with the gauntlet for what seemed like forever.
He couldn’t get it on right. First, it was too loose and slipped right off his wrist, then it was too tight and nearly cut the circulation to his hand off. It was maddening.
The chainmail jingled with his every movement, the rest of his armor made noises as he moved because he hadn’t fastened them yet. In truth, he felt like an idiot. Well, even more than he already did.
“What are you doing?”
He looked up and saw Aria standing at the entrance of the tent. She was already wearing her armor. The black of the metal glistened in the sun, and the red shone through as well.
“Trying to put my armor on,” he told her. She rolled her eyes. She did that a lot, specifically about him. “What?”
She walked toward him, setting her bow down against a pole. “You’re putting your armor on like a fool.” She grabbed his arm and adjusted it properly, and did the same with the other arm. And the rest of it as well.
“What made you want to help us?” he asked suddenly. “Other than preordained destiny. Why did you help us when you could’ve easily walked away?”
Aria was quiet for a second as she finished with the armor. She walked toward her bow and picked it up. Still quiet. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “But I do know that Ashiver deserves better. And I know that we can make the world a better place.”
“Why didn’t you want to be High Queen?”
“Because,” she shrugged. “I’m a warrior. And... I’ve done things that I’m not proud of, so, I figured that someone with pure intentions should rule. Someone like Eight.”
“So, you’re thinking of redemption?” Alex inquired.
“Yes,” she replied. “I will have to do more than kill Seraphina to fix what I broke.”
The black-haired boy nodded. “And there’s only a night left.”
“One,” Aria confirmed. “Make it count, right?”
“Yeah,” he breathed. His hand went to the sword again, he saw her gaze flicker to it as well. “I will.”
She licked her lips. “I’ve heard so many stories about that blade. All of them, really. But in all the legends when they speak of the great king who wields it, it sounds so fake. Like a fairytale to tell in the dark. They make this great king sound like an old man.”
A smirk breached his features. “Well then, you must be so satisfied to know that your great king of the tale is a young man. And a handsome one at that.”
“You are too big for your shoes,” she told him. She reached up and knocked on the side of his skull. “Bigheaded.”
“Yeah,” he spoke. “But at least my hair isn’t changing colors.”
She sent him a glare that he thought must have been sent from hell. But he kept the amused look on his face nonetheless as she huffed. “I’ll have you know that my hair is supposed to look like this, I think. You know what? It’s none of your bloody business.”
“Relax,” he chuckled. “I’m just teasing you.”
She rolled her eyes. “And I pictured a blade piercing your chest but yet, here we stand.”
He didn’t think that she understood what he meant, but he only shook his head at her. “Well, thanks for your help.”
“I can’t very well have you walking out onto the battlefield looking like an idiot,” she grumbled. “Fogdream would have my head.”
He laughed at her. It was weird to laugh, but he was sure that Omdrus would have wanted them to have some happiness.
Happiness before the hell that is war raged upon them.
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