Return (Lady of Toryn trilogy) Read Online Free Page B
Author: Charity Santiago
the stove, barefoot with a suspiciously clean apron over her clothes as she stirred oatmeal in a pot. Aik was lounging in the corner, an empty bowl in front of him.
There was the sound of a door slamming, and a few seconds later Skye came into the kitchen from a doorway beside the pantry. He had on a heavy leather coat with fur lining - reminiscent of the matching coats they had all purchased at the North Camp Inn so long ago.
Ashlyn wondered if it was the same one. Hers was long gone, peeled in shreds from her broken body by a healer outside of Landi on the southern continent. So many battles, so many wounds - if someone had told her eight years ago that she'd still be alive today, Ashlyn probably would have died of frigging shock.
Skye brushed a hand across Restlyn's shoulder as he passed. It was a strangely affectionate and infuriatingly platonic gesture that he'd obviously done a million times before, because Restlyn didn't return or even acknowledge the greeting.
Skye hung the jacket on the back of his chair. "Sit down, Ash," he said to her, motioning towards the empty chair next to his. "I'm glad to see you're still here this morning."
"I said I would be," she reminded him quietly as she moved to take her seat.
"I know, but…well…I'm sure you've changed a lot since the last time I saw you," he replied, grinning, "but eight years ago I wouldn't have trusted you as far as I could throw you."
"Which was probably, like, a mile back then," Ashlyn said automatically, pleased that she could still banter comfortably with another person. Eight years hadn't made her a reclusive dimwit, then . . . that wasn't terribly surprising. She had been kind of a loudmouth anyway, so if the solitude had made her slightly less obnoxious, then it was probably for the better.
She smiled when Skye started laughing at her response. Gods, he was gorgeous. Gorgeous and clueless and tagged with dibs from Restlyn, obviously, but there was nothing wrong with looking, right?
"I wasn't going to say anything," Vargo spoke up. "You have changed, though, Ash. You grew up, gave up the stick figure. Looks good on you."
"Thanks," Ashlyn said. She wasn't really comfortable being praised by Vargo, of all guys, but anything was better than the treatment she'd received from Aaron the night before.
Jackson came into the kitchen then, once again immaculately dressed in a suit. "Good morning," he said tiredly, smoothing his hair as he took the last seat. "How’s the oatmeal?”
"Hell if I know," Aaron spoke up, raising a mug. "But the coffee's pretty damn good. Almost as good as Sara‘s."
A collective grumble went around the table, and Ashlyn hid a smile behind her hand, remembering how annoyingly persistent Aaron had always been when it came to bragging about his girlfriend’s coffee. Clearly some things hadn’t changed in the last eight years.
After forcing down a few mouthfuls, Ashlyn dipped her spoon in her oatmeal and watched the honey drip from it. She knew she was hungry (her stomach had more than proved that), but she didn't know how much more she could swallow. It was still raining outside, and she couldn't shake that caged animal feeling.
"So, Ash," Restlyn said, sitting on a barstool next to the counter with a bowl and spoon in hand. "Have you decided what you're going to do yet? Stay with us or…leave again?"
"Leave?" Trace, the Spartan girl that Ashlyn had seen with Drake at North Camp Inn, repeated. "She can't leave. This war is her fault, she can't walk out in the middle of it!"
"Shut up, Trace," Restlyn said flatly.
"I'm just saying -"
"Yes, we've all heard what you have to say," Skye interrupted. "Now it's time to hear Ash."
"Why is this even up for debate?" Ashlyn said, uncomfortable with so many people staring at her. "She's right - this war is totally my fault. It sucks, but I can't leave you guys to clean up my mess. I'll stay and do
There was the sound of a door slamming, and a few seconds later Skye came into the kitchen from a doorway beside the pantry. He had on a heavy leather coat with fur lining - reminiscent of the matching coats they had all purchased at the North Camp Inn so long ago.
Ashlyn wondered if it was the same one. Hers was long gone, peeled in shreds from her broken body by a healer outside of Landi on the southern continent. So many battles, so many wounds - if someone had told her eight years ago that she'd still be alive today, Ashlyn probably would have died of frigging shock.
Skye brushed a hand across Restlyn's shoulder as he passed. It was a strangely affectionate and infuriatingly platonic gesture that he'd obviously done a million times before, because Restlyn didn't return or even acknowledge the greeting.
Skye hung the jacket on the back of his chair. "Sit down, Ash," he said to her, motioning towards the empty chair next to his. "I'm glad to see you're still here this morning."
"I said I would be," she reminded him quietly as she moved to take her seat.
"I know, but…well…I'm sure you've changed a lot since the last time I saw you," he replied, grinning, "but eight years ago I wouldn't have trusted you as far as I could throw you."
"Which was probably, like, a mile back then," Ashlyn said automatically, pleased that she could still banter comfortably with another person. Eight years hadn't made her a reclusive dimwit, then . . . that wasn't terribly surprising. She had been kind of a loudmouth anyway, so if the solitude had made her slightly less obnoxious, then it was probably for the better.
She smiled when Skye started laughing at her response. Gods, he was gorgeous. Gorgeous and clueless and tagged with dibs from Restlyn, obviously, but there was nothing wrong with looking, right?
"I wasn't going to say anything," Vargo spoke up. "You have changed, though, Ash. You grew up, gave up the stick figure. Looks good on you."
"Thanks," Ashlyn said. She wasn't really comfortable being praised by Vargo, of all guys, but anything was better than the treatment she'd received from Aaron the night before.
Jackson came into the kitchen then, once again immaculately dressed in a suit. "Good morning," he said tiredly, smoothing his hair as he took the last seat. "How’s the oatmeal?”
"Hell if I know," Aaron spoke up, raising a mug. "But the coffee's pretty damn good. Almost as good as Sara‘s."
A collective grumble went around the table, and Ashlyn hid a smile behind her hand, remembering how annoyingly persistent Aaron had always been when it came to bragging about his girlfriend’s coffee. Clearly some things hadn’t changed in the last eight years.
After forcing down a few mouthfuls, Ashlyn dipped her spoon in her oatmeal and watched the honey drip from it. She knew she was hungry (her stomach had more than proved that), but she didn't know how much more she could swallow. It was still raining outside, and she couldn't shake that caged animal feeling.
"So, Ash," Restlyn said, sitting on a barstool next to the counter with a bowl and spoon in hand. "Have you decided what you're going to do yet? Stay with us or…leave again?"
"Leave?" Trace, the Spartan girl that Ashlyn had seen with Drake at North Camp Inn, repeated. "She can't leave. This war is her fault, she can't walk out in the middle of it!"
"Shut up, Trace," Restlyn said flatly.
"I'm just saying -"
"Yes, we've all heard what you have to say," Skye interrupted. "Now it's time to hear Ash."
"Why is this even up for debate?" Ashlyn said, uncomfortable with so many people staring at her. "She's right - this war is totally my fault. It sucks, but I can't leave you guys to clean up my mess. I'll stay and do
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