Chapter 38: A Private Lake
"Edie?"
Shadows still clung to her eyes, and she reasoned that the demon had simply remembered her name. Tender knitters wound her lashes closed and sang a deadly song as they worked, something of giants throwing mountain boulders to chase kings off their borders. The Shadowman played his games again, rocking the boat and staring from the corner of the room. He loved that corner of the room, loved waiting for a deep lake to drown the dreamer so he could work his careful carving. She felt every stroke that night, heard every voice screaming her name, pleading, encouraging.
"Edie…"
But the dream never ended. She doubted it ever would. She kept floating, surrounded by water but somehow breathing, without a raft to clamber on. Drowning, the most solitude of all deaths, and the one she thought she'd avoid. Water, a great expanse in her mind, falling from great heights into a thunderous pool, yet allowing the still pool to flow kindly, and no force stirred her drift.
She opened her eyes. The candle had gone out, but moonlight reflected a pair of careful, confused eyes trained on her. Edie relaxed her grip on his wrist and knelt on the floor, touching his cheek. "Hey. You're awake." Her eyes drew to the window, where the moon was above the roof. "It's got to be two or three in the morning. You ought to rest more. Sleep, if you can."
The captain's eyes glistened. "You're here."
Her throat tightened. His voice, usually as sure and final as each movement, quavered and scratched. Edie found a canteen on the bedside table and poured a slight stream in his mouth. He swallowed, and his head fell back with a gasp.
"Thank you."
"How are you feeling? Can you move?"
"I'm…" He pressed his hands on his face, and his arms fell above his head. "I've had worse."
"Yeah?" She swallowed and told the water to stay in her dreams. "Worse than a shot in the side?" He grimaced, and she looked at the floor. "Sorry. Bad timing."
"It's fine." He stared at the ceiling. "Erwin…did he send word?"
"In Hange, yeah. She was going to Sina to…well, I didn't ask what she was doing."
"Alerting central command. Zackly needs to know whenever things like this happen."
"Right. Zackly. Of course." Edie patted the mattress. "Well, glad that it was convenient enough."
"I'll be up soon," he murmured. "There's…no need."
"You've still got a nasty fever." She placed her wrist against his forehead and bit her lip. "It's no trouble."
"I've survived dozens of fevers. Water isn't exactly…plentiful. You'd think the builders would find a few lakes before jailing humanity." His voice slurred.
"Yeah, you'd think."
"Really." He put his hand over hers; even the muscles lining his fingers were tight. "I'm alright. You should head home."
"I'm glad, really. I will, but I think I'll wait till morning."
"Hajule must be worried sick."
"Coming home at sunrise might make her more worried. Don't worry, I'll breathe lightly."
Levi swallowed, and his eyebrows curled slowly. "We're not in Ehmrich."
"No."
His eyes widened. "We're in Trost." He pressed both hands over his face again. "Damn it. Hange shouldn't have worried you."
"I'm glad she did. It's…worrying."
"No, it's not." His voice's assurity returned, with only a few quavering notes. "You didn't have to come all this way."
"I know, I…I know. I only wanted to make sure you were alright." She felt it bubbling, like the hot underwater springs, which sent forth stream in earthen cracks. Edie held her head taller and stared at the foot of the bed. "But you are, so I should probably just go and let you rest. Can you—drink water on your own?"
"I'll manage." He shifted and groaned, and his head turned to see her back. "You deserve better. Then hurried reports and half-truths. I…" He choked for a moment, probably just because his throat was dry. "I thought I was being fair, but it was just cruel. Forgive me, please."
He sounded so formal yet sincere. She kept staring at the brass, committing its twisting pattern to memory.
"It's your opinion I care about most," the captain admitted. "Please, say something."
Her hand still rested on the sheet, eyes still trained near the door. He groaned in attempt to sit up. The effort failed and ended in gasps and shooting pain.
"Please," Levi begged. "Even if you despise me, tell me. Edie."
"I'm not weak," she bit. "And I don't despise you."
The captain gave up and relaxed in his hospital bed. His eyes closed, and he pressed his hands on his face again. "How careless of me. Here I thought—but that's wishful thinking." He breathed out, long and slow. "You're one of the strongest people I know."
"Well, I have to be, don't I? It's either fight or drown." It came out a bit too fast for her taste, and she took a breath to calm down. She turned her head further toward the wall, out of moonlight. "I won't forgive you. You have nothing to be sorry for."
"Edie, come on. My ridiculous accident dragged you halfway across the country in the dead of night, for nothing but—"
"I've watched people die before," she interrupted. "I've sat beside them, hundreds of times, and seen their eyes flutter close, and felt their tampered skin." A lump closed up her throat for a few seconds. "I've watched blood drip on the floor and felt grips grow loose, until there's nothing but an abandoned body left." She snorted but resolved to breathe from her mouth. "It's never the quiet slip that all the poets describe, where the soul floats up to heaven as everyone around the bed praises the heavens for the wonderful life they lived." Her free hand gripped her skirt till her knuckles turned white. "And it's always a bed, they're always crowded in an oval around a bed. Why do people always die in beds?"
"Edie," Levi pled, his eyes trained on the ceiling. "Forgive me."
"And I'm not an idiot. I know what your work is, and I know how dangerous it is. I know how many Scouts never come home and how many names are etched on those stones. I know what it does to the people who are left behind, how it wrecks years after the burial. And that's why you have nothing to apologize for, because you never promised, and you never said that you'd be safe. You had well wishes, but I…I got cocky, listening to how amazing and great Captain Levi is, and how lucky I was to be dating the one Scout who would always come home. And I liked that lie because it was easier than clutching each letter as if it were the last. People always told it, because when you came around, they gave that I-told-you-so glance, but…but you never lied. You never sold yourself too high, so that's my fault. And it's my fault that I took an injury that Hange rightly reported, as this mortal wound. So, no, I don't despise, but…you're right, I shouldn't be here, and I should just…go home."
As she strained to stand, dead legs buckling to the wood, Levi pulled himself forward, gasping the whole way, and putting his right hand on her shoulder. Her torso spun around, and he saw the rivers on her face, sparkling in the moonlight.
"Edie—"
She touched her cheek, surprised at the moisture. Her head shook on its own. "You don't have to say…anything. I'm s—I'm sorry, I don't know what's—I'm fine." She wiped her face wildly, in vain, and suppressed a cry. "You're—you're fine, you're going to be fine…"
Tears sprung in his eyes, and he gripped her arm. "Come here."
Trembling and nearly falling onto the mattress, Edie melted into his chest. The fire dancing on his scarcely clothed chest burned her cheek, but she held on and bore it, willing some of her cold to still his fever. She held him a steady trunk amidst a flood, her eyes squeezed shut, ignoring all the debris and dirt swirling past. She held to him as a valiant knight, deftly doing battle with the patient Shadowman.
"You're not allowed to die," she managed, and broke into sobs with it. "I—I couldn't stand it. Couldn't take it." She realized he was stroking her hair, gripping her long locks with equal ferocity. "You're not allowed to do it."
His voice cracked. "You know—"
"I know the risks. I know the odds. I'm not—I don't—"
Her voice weaned, and she buried her face in his chest. She found him enveloped around her as he turned, moaning in pain, until his arms circled her, surer as she did him.
"I'm sorry," he whispered.
"Promise it, then."
"I can't."
Snot dribbled down his shirt. "I know."
His neck crested over the top of her head, and he shook. "You ought to have better. Better than days alone, than wondering if…if the person you care for will come back."
"It makes no difference," she surrendered. "It's never been any different, no matter the person or the place. There's never any assurance."
"All the same." His voice, full of gravel, fell as the foundation failed. "I should have—never—should have—"
Edie held him tighter, hearing how his shuddered breaths caused his side to contract. "Just shut up and hold me."
The captain, who excelled at following orders, stopped mid-sentence and exhaled.
