The Chronicle of the Worthy Son

Crow's Rest, pt. 2

Able inhaled too sharply for his sore ribs and had to hold his breath a minute while he worked feeling into his stiff body and blinked in the light. The world through the window glistened white and pink like a pearl.

"What are you doing over there?" Lark was still lying on the bed, only now he was facing Able and rubbing his eyes. His skin somehow glowed with honey warmth in the cold morning light.

"Didn't think I could sleep," Able muttered then carefully worked around the kinks in his limbs to find his feet.

"Yeah, me neither," Lark groaned and rubbed his temples.

Able would have liked to take over that task for him, but it wouldn't be all that helpful. "There's still water in the pitcher. You didn't drink it all."

"Yeah, I remember," Lark snorted but did not sound annoyed. He fussed his rumpled curls back with a long sweep of his arm, and they fluttered around his shoulders as he got up to take care of himself.

A heavy longing sank through Able's chest and arms, threatening to drag him back to the floor. He turned his gaze back to the window. "...do you think Red's coming?" Did he want reassurance or a reminder that things in the dark don't vanish in the dawn?

Lark crossed to the window and set the pitcher down so he could run his fingers around the panes and the lock. "Not through here. Not quietly, at least." He turned to Able with a wry smile. "And no one downstairs is screaming, so, probably not through there either."

"...is that meant to be reassuring?"

Lark's smile gave out. "I don't know what to tell you, Able. I...don't know who Red is without a directive from Constance. I have no idea what she'll do without her, and I—I hate that I'm hoping she's still hanging on this morning so Red will stay put a while longer." At this he punched the wall—not hard, as if he realized what he was doing and restrained himself.

"It was because of me." Able was still, tired, but resolved. "You shot Driver because you thought you had to. Because I was there. Because of what I had done. It's my fault."

"You don't have to do that to make me feel better," Lark grunted.

That wasn't why Able had to say it. "I have too much influence over you. I brought my emotions into it and it clouded my—no, both of our judgment. If I had just...let it be, and respected at least her experience..."

"If I go back to crying, will you go back to being the rational one? Is that how this works?"

Able took a long breath and let it out again, trying to send all his sorrows with it. That didn't work, so he closed his eyes and mumbled, "Sorry."

"Shit—I didn't mean that," Lark sounded horrified. "I didn't. Please don't stop confiding in me, Able. What's bothering you?"

Able opened his eyes and saw Lark's hand hovering near his shoulder, uncertain about touching. He turned to meet Lark's worried gaze. "She was correct; I am an idealist with little experience and a tender stomach. She had the experience and willingness to make hard choices. I don't think I can replace her for you."

"I don't want her replaced." Lark seemed to be struggling to find the right tone and posture for this conversation, but he was hardly alone in that regard. "And I didn't k...kill her because of you, okay?"

The cold spikes prickled through Able's chest anew. He could forgive Lark for protecting him, he thought. "That...that might be less okay."

"Well not—not entirely, anyway." Lark rubbed his face but couldn't displace his agitation any more than Able could his trepidation. "Yes, I was certain, no matter what they said, they were going to find a way to control you, and therefore me. But if that was the only thing I intended—escape, I mean, wouldn't I have shot her in the leg?"