Chapter Fourteen
Desire
Sparrow spent the two hours of the carriage ride trying not to make eye contact with Reaver. They traveled in silence, sitting on opposite ends of the carriage, a thick cloud of impending conflict built between them. She wasn't sure what was worse, the threat of another fight or the building feeling of remorse settled deep within her gut.
How could she blame him for the entirety of that situation, after all? She hadn't, in fact, disclosed her past to him. How was he to know, or even care, who Alex once was to her? He'd made things worse intentionally, but in the end, she felt the blame lay with her.
She was well aware of the type of person Reaver was, even before that moment. She should have known that entangling herself with someone of his nature would have serious implications. She allowed that situation to come to pass, and she could have done something about it.
It was done, now. There was no way to change it. She would have to let her anger fall away if there was to be any chance of Reaver sticking to his word in assisting her in the fight against Lucien.
She finally looked in Reaver's direction to find that he was looking at her. His gaze diverted immediately to the view outside of the carriage's small window, and he shifted in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest and throwing one long leg over the other, giving his posture a decidedly closed impression.
She heaved a breath, and she leaned forward, bracing herself on her knees.
"I'm sorry," she said, breaking their long silence.
His eyes flicked back to her, an expression of disbelief sweeping across his features. "You're what?"
"I'm sorry, Reaver," she repeated steadily with a small nod. She fiddled nervously with the fabric of her skirt. "It was unfair of me to shove the blame of the situation onto you. I was upset, and I shouldn't have taken it out on you."
A small smirk of satisfaction crept across his mouth. "Oho! If only I possessed some trinket that could record these words precisely that I may play them back to myself and savor this moment. The great, righteous Sparrow apologizing to me. Why, our fellows would hardly believe it, I think."
"Don't be an ass," she huffed, blowing a stray curl out of her eyes. She wrung her hands together and squirmed slightly in her seat, a feeling of uneasiness spreading to her limbs."This is difficult enough."
More silence, but the smug expression faded from Reaver's face, leaving in its place something that resembled pity.
"I take it that your marriage with that man did not end amicably," Reaver said after a few somber moments.
"No," she affirmed with a shake of her head. "It did not."
"Might I inquire as to why?" He uncrossed his legs, and he leaned forward, making the conversation feel more intimate.
Chewing her lower lip, Sparrow sucked in a deep, shaky breath. For a moment, she thought about lying. She was clever, but so was Reaver.. She had kept everything locked up, but she was in the presence of a thief. To him, a locked door would prove just as good as one that was open. Would he see right through her as no one else had? He had before.
"Come now, ma Moineau," Reaver said, leaning forward even further.
"I…haven't told anyone but Garth," she said aloud, speaking more to herself than to Reaver. She had already told one person she barely knew, but Garth had experienced the horrors of The Spire firsthand. Her eyes became unfocused as she tried to find the words to take her further. "It hurts to think about it…"
He exhaled audibly, but his eyes tried to gain the attention of hers. "Those are the thoughts that need to be given the most attention. Tell me, Sparrow, what troubles you?"
She could feel the beating of her heart in her throat, and she wrung her hands together, the anxiety seeming to crush her. Her mouth felt dry, and she cleared her throat, hoping to be able to speak clearly, to get the words out the first time she tried to utter them, lest she find herself unable to repeat them.
"I wasn't imprisoned at The Tattered Spire," she explained. "But I felt like I was. I had been recruited to work as a guard after my victory at the arena."
"Yes, I'd heard as much," Reaver offered. "My people brought me little tidbits of knowledge about the woman who dared demand my attention. It seems they weren't thorough enough, though…." His face pinched at the inability of his spies, obviously reflecting upon the knowledge he'd gained earlier in the day.
"The Commandant," she said, her skin gathering into gooseflesh at the mere mention of his name. Though he was dead, it seemed he still had the power to inflict fear into her heart. "He was strict on his guards. If we didn't follow his order exactly he…"
Her stomach churned at being faced with the spotty parts of her memory. She remembered pain, and even just reflecting upon it almost made it feel real. She wrapped her arms around herself, and she exhaled a shaky, almost strangled breath.
"He took things from us," she whispered. "Thoughts, abilities, memories."
Reaver, as clever as he was, seemed to catch on rather quickly. His eyes lit up with realization, and his expression seemed to grow rigid with discomfort, as if the very thought of having a piece of himself stolen unsettled him. And it should have. It was, indeed, unsettling.
"I remembered very little of Alex," Sparrow admitted, tears falling suddenly down her cheeks. "And nothing of my own child-a child that I carried, birthed, loved. It was as if she never existed to me, and that is the most wretched thing. She was taken away from me for so long, and yet I still cannot see her, go to her. My duty will not allow me."
"I'd wager it's never occurred to you to abandon that duty," Reaver snorted. "It's never crossed your mind because you've groomed your entire life for this, haven't you? Theresa, she raised you, did she not?"
Sparrow nodded. "I don't see what that has to do with this, Reaver."
"If not for this 'noble quest', you would not have ever set foot in that place," Reaver said. "Omniscient as she appears to be, would she not have known what would happen to you? What would be done to you?"
Reaver's words socked her in the gut, and she leaned back into the minimal comfort of the carriage's seat. She brought her hands to her face, raking slender fingers through her hair, and she stared down to the carriage floor.
"A fool…" she barely managed, her voice cracking with emotion. "I am such a fool."
Reaver's face pulled into an expression of pity, and he moved to sit on her side of the carriage, slipping a long arm around her. He captured her chin with his other hand, and he forced her gaze to meet with his. "Not a fool, ma Moineau. It is not as if you can turn away, now. The course has been set, has it not?"
"Yes," she rasped, her eyes fluttering shut and tears gliding slowly down her cheeks.
He stared at her for a few moments, his face clearly showing his conflicting emotions. He drew her against him, deciding upon tenderness over cruelty, a rare choice for him, but it was done.
She leaned into the crisp-smelling comfort of his chest. She allowed herself to put her arms around him, the embrace feeling more natural than she thought it might. This wasn't an embrace of rapacious passion but one of solace.
Sparrow's heart settled into a less anxious rhythm, and she tried to stem the flow of tears.
"Your memories do not make you who you are, my dear," Reaver said, his voice taking on a surprisingly soothing tone. "They are merely records of who you once were. Take it from someone who has seen centuries pass."
She drew away to look up to him. He didn't look like a man that reveled in her pain, as he might have reveled in someone else's. His eyes were full of a tender scrutiny, and his brows were raised, as if he were waiting for something.
In her heart, something odd bloomed. It was warm and voluminous, but she chalked it up to her infatuation with the Pirate King. She raised a hand to splay across the side of his face she'd slapped only hours ago. Some invisible force compelled her to lean in and touch her parted lips against his in a kiss unlike any they'd shared before.
It felt like the kind of kiss described in the fairy stories she'd been listened to in her childhood at the gypsy camp. The Prince would kiss the Princess and all troubles would melt away because everything else was irrelevant. There would be a distinct flutter in the gut, telling the Princess that this was the man she was meant to kiss for the rest of her life.
With that thought, Sparrow drew away, reluctance written all over her face and some sensation in her stomach flitted about like a bug trapped in a jar. She looked to Reaver, to see if his reaction differed from hers.
His eyes were half-lidded, but the blue orbs were full of dismay. He looked like a thirsty man whose cup had just been yanked away. He reclaimed her mouth, his hand snaking to the back of her head to dissuade her of any notion of pulling away again. He kissed her with a similar softness, but passion bordered the edges of the kiss. He withheld for her sake, it seemed, and that was so uncharacteristic of the man she'd come to know that shock fizzled across her skin.
It felt so odd to be sharing such a raw, emotional kiss with Reaver, but somehow it also felt right. She parted her lips, and when he reciprocated, she deepened the kiss. She reveled in the hitch in his breath, and the decided change in his posture upon this small change to their kiss. He assumed a more passive role, his hands merely stroking idly at the length of her thigh, while hers raked down the front of his chest.
When she needed to breathe, she broke away, but only to lay kisses down his jaw and to the collar of his shirt, feeling his pulse at the side of his neck.
While, at this point, Reaver might have said something witty or simply commented on the fact that she seemed all too eager to tug at the bow in his cravat in order to loosen his collar, he didn't. He allowed his body to relax into the seat of the carriage, and he tangled a hand in her hair. The deep rumble of satisfaction in his chest spoke volumes.
"I don't know why I'm doing this," she murmured against his fevered flesh.
"Does there really have to be a reason?" he questioned quietly. "Can we not do this for the sake of it? No explanations needed?"
She debated silently for a moment, and she decided that she agreed with him. To put any reason to her actions might only prove to complicate her feelings about her current situation. "No, you're right."
"First you apologize, then you admit I'm right?" Reaver chuckled softly. "This is quite a day full of 'wins' for me, isn't it?"
A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, and she replied, "Well, I did get a good smack in there, earlier."
"Oh, ma belle, it was only because I allowed it," he said, his dazzling grin overtaking his face.
She knew it was true, but she didn't argue. She merely covered that smile of his with her own and slipped easily into his lap.
The rest of their journey toward Wraithmarsh was spent cycling between Reaver and Sparrow butting heads on one topic or another and the pair of them making up with vigorous passion. They spoke-Reaver spoke-but Sparrow did not mind listening. His tales were always interesting, if not a little far-fetched, but they were enjoyable enough to endure.
Reaver seemed to delight in having a captive audience, and he even asked for some of her own tales for comparison, of course. She found his laughter intoxicating, and it made her all the more eager to divulge her most ridiculous memories of her younger days.
It wasn't until they drew closer to Wraithmarsh that Reaver's level of agitation spiked. He was tense, and his words soon came in clipped, terse phrases. Something about the place made him anxious, and she was sure she knew what.
"This is difficult for you...the thought of entering Wraithmarsh," Sparrow observed, putting another log on their fire. It had become too dark to travel any further, and they were on the border of Wraithmarsh, a day's journey to their destination if they made haste.
Reaver merely sneered, glancing toward the full moon. He took a swig from his flask, and without thinking, he passed it to Sparrow.
She accepted it, savoring the burn that went all the way down to her belly. "This was once Oakvale, was it not? Home of some of the greatest Heroes."
"Myself included," Reaver said, snatching the flask back for himself. "In case you were wondering, yes, my deal with the Shadow Court made this lovely sprawling wasteland as it is now and no I do not wish to talk about it any further."
"I suppose I can always come to my own conclusions," Sparrow taunted softly.
"Conclude away, ma Moineau," Reaver said before polishing off the flask. "You'll not wrench the truth from my lips on this night."
"Come now," Sparrow said, a playful lilt stretching out her words. "I only ask because I care." The moment the word left her mouth, she regretted it. She sealed her lips tightly, and she folded her hands together nervously.
"Care?" Reaver asked, the gravity of her words seeming to go over his perfectly coiffed head. "If you cared, you'd leave a weary man be."
Sparrow felt relief churn through her. "I suppose you are right. I should not prey upon the weaknesses of old, weary men."
His eyes filled with fire, and he sprung on her suddenly, like a rabid animal, pinning her arms to the ground. He demanded, "You take that back-right this instant!"
She almost laughed, for she didn't feel as if she were in any immediate danger. If he'd been serious, he'd have drawn a pistol. " The part about your weakness or your age?"
He snorted angrily, and he growled in response, "Both!"
Sparrow couldn't contain her mirth any longer, and she started to laugh."For such an old man, you are such a child!"
Her laughter seemed to be contagious, for Reaver was soon chuckling softly. His ire burned out, and his grip on her loosened. He pulled her to a sitting position, but he drew her against his chest, cradling her between his long, lean legs.
She leaned back into him, resting her head in the crook of his neck.
"You are beautiful in the moonlight. Your pale hair looks almost white." He stroked his long fingers through the length of it. "Like strands of molten silver, more like, but soft as silk."
His hands worked their way through the ends of her hair, combing it through his fingers, bringing order to the mess of waves until they were near perfection, and his fingers caressed her scalp, sending chills down her spine.
She reveled in the display of affection, but her mind wandered, as it usually did. What would happen once they'd procured The Dark Seal? Would things snap back into their rightful place? Would they continue to share this odd yet profound connection, or would they drift away from each other like two passing ships in the night?
"This place brings out a strange sort of sentimentality within me," Reaver murmured, his fingers seeking to intertwine with hers. "When I remember what once was...I feel empty, but full all at once."
She twisted slightly to glance up at his face. It was a mask of solemn reflection, his eyes staring off into the deep, dark distance.
"When this place was destroyed, I thought that my whole world had been reduced to cinder and ash," Reaver continued. "But after a few centuries of contemplation, I know that there was truly nothing for me here, not even those to whom I thought I owed love and devotion."
Sparrow's brow wrinkled with confusion, but she said nothing, her face inquiring wordlessly.
"Would it shock you completely to learn that I once had a wife?" Reaver asked, but he didn't await an answer. "Now I know that Josephine was as vapid and greedy as I have grown to be, but she had captured me-my devotion, my love. I was not as wise as I am now. I sought endlessly to please her, but nothing was ever enough. She always wanted more."
She blinked softly, and she was truly shocked by his sudden outpour of information. She would never have guessed that he would give away the details of his past so freely. "Did she love you?"
"No," he said in a wistful breath. "She did not. She loved the power that my blood contained. I was a trophy to her, I believe. She wanted it for herself, I am sure, but the legacy that you and I both carry cannot simply be transferred, so she was determined to find another way to gain power."
Reaver's mouth tightened into a thin line of bitterness. "I uncovered traces of The Shadow Court, and I found a way to summon them, to grant her what she wanted most. When the time came, The Shadows did not deem her worthy, but they saw my knack for servitude and my overwhelming fear of death-an end to my life with Josephine." He scoffed. "I was such a pathetic whelp, and they could smell it on me. They wanted me instead."
"That is not what I would have imagined," Sparrow admitted quietly.
"It is not how I would want my becoming to be perceived," Reaver returned. "It's really quite embarrassing. In all my years, I have never divulged this information to anyone else."
"Why tell me then?" she asked, suddenly aware of the heavy thumping of her heart. She gulped deeply, and her stomach twisted into a bulging knot of anticipation.
His mouth twitched into a small smile. "Because when you told me of your dark past, I felt such an acute need to make love to you. I thought perhaps hearing of my unfortunate beginnings, the same need might wash over you."
That response sounded hollow-a wall to keep back what he truly felt, but Sparrow could not decipher what that might actually be. She turned to kneel in front of him, her mouth finding his with an eager tenderness. Her fingers combed through his hair, and she held him close.
His hands went to the small of her back, pulling her in as close as he could have her. As he pulled away for breath, she sought the column of his throat, peppering tender kisses there. He sighed with pleasure, leaning back onto their shared bedroll.
Whatever he felt, whatever he assumed she felt, she did, indeed, feel the need to make love to him right then and there.
A/N: I hope you guys enjoyed this one! I will be working steadily on the next few chapters, so expect updates, even if they are a little further apart than I might like.