With each swipe of the blade, Flynn apologized. Not just for looking through her bag the second time but for everything he’d done. It was as if he’d been thinking about what he would say for days, because he repented of his numerous sins against her.
The problem—and it truly was a problem because Octavia wanted to hate Flynn for what he had done—was that the witch truly sounded contrite. Octavia had spent enough time around assholes that she could recognize them easily—and Flynn didn’t strike her as one.
When he cut away the vine gagging her, she flexed her jaw and asked, “Why?”
That was the real question. Flynn could apologize all he wanted, but she needed to know the truth of the matter. If he couldn’t give her that, then it didn’t matter if he was contrite or not because it wouldn’t work between them.
Flynn sucked in a deep breath, sawing at the thickest vines tangled around Octavia’s feet.
“Did I ever tell you about Amyla?” he asked quietly, his eyes on his work.
Octavia stared at the witch. It seemed she’d been doing that a lot since he emerged from the woods. “No, you never mentioned her.”
She would’ve remembered a beautiful name like that.
“That’s what I thought.” Flynn’s voice was soft and carried traces of wistfulness. He worked silently for a few minutes, his eyes glazed as though he was remembering something from long ago.
“Last one,” he murmured. “Hold still.”
She was as still as the logs around her as he sawed at the largest vine holding her down. When it snapped, she exhaled, a feeling of relief washing over her.
She was free.
Flynn clambered to his feet and reached out a hand in offering. After a moment, Octavia took it, and he helped her stand.
“Amyla is my youngest sister,” he said.
“Youngest?”
He nodded. “I have five. Amyla is… well, she’s not yet Mature, and she’s… naïve.”
Octavia drew her bottom lip through her teeth. She wasn’t exactly sure where Flynn was going with this, nor how it pertained to him trying to steal from her, but she was willing to hear him out. “Oh?”
The witch picked up Octavia’s walking stick and handed it to her. “About a year ago, Amyla got caught up with some bad people.”
A pit formed in Octavia’s stomach. She had a sense of where this story was going, and it wasn’t good. A large part of her wanted to tell Flynn to stop, to keep the words to himself, but she didn’t. Somehow, she knew she needed to hear this.
Flynn looked over at Octavia, and darkness flitted through his eyes. “Amyla should’ve known better than to get involved. I warned her. So did my parents. But sometimes?—”
“People make bad choices,” Octavia finished his sentence.
After all, she was familiar with those. She’d made quite a few when it came to Flynn, but she couldn’t seem to stop. She was drawn to him.
“Yes.” Flynn nodded, taking Octavia’s elbow and leading her away from the fallen Earth Elves. “We should go. They’re not dead, but they’ll wake up with the headache of their lives and no memory of the last day.”
Gratitude was a river of cool water running through Octavia. “Thank you,” she said, realizing she hadn’t done so yet. “For coming, for saving me…”
“Don’t thank me,” he said gruffly, running his free hand through his hair. “I shouldn’t have… I didn’t… don’t. Just don’t.”
Octavia frowned, but she didn’t argue as Flynn guided her out of the clearing. They hiked in silence for several minutes as the crashing of waves against rocks grew louder. Soon, the deep blue, almost purple, water of the Indigo Ocean was visible through the trees.
“So your sister…” Octavia glanced at Flynn. “What happened?”
“She got entangled with some extremely dangerous people.” Flynn sighed. “She’s in over her head, and I’m trying to buy her out. The thing is, it’s very expensive.”
Understanding was dawning on Octavia. “I see.”
She stopped, reaching into her bag. Her fingers closed around the emerald. She took a deep breath, hoping she was doing the right thing, before pulling out the object. Glimmering in the light of the afternoon sun, the flower fit perfectly in Octavia’s palm. It hummed faintly, carrying traces of powerful magic.