8. The Unwelcome Guests #3
And Malec knew it. He watched her silently, his fists clenched at his knees, hating this night, hating these leeches that circled her but most of all hated the world that dared to grind her fire into ash.
Surian's house rolled into view as the carriage rattled down the gravel drive, the torches along the gates flickering in the night wind.
Servants had already lit the path, waiting to usher them home, the glow of fire catching on the black stone walls.
The wheels ground to a halt and the butler pulled the door open, bowing low.
His polite greeting faltered when he saw their faces, weary and drawn with defeat.
Most of all, he noticed the Canariae, eyes dulled, her body hunched as though the weight of the evening pressed every bone down into her skin.
Malec was the first to move. He reached for her, his large hand hovering near her elbow, an instinct to anchor her, to shield her from even the walls that bore witness to her exhaustion.
But Allora pulled away, her skirts brushing past him as she bolted through the doorway, up the stairs with a speed that startled the servants. She did not look back.
Malec turned, ready to follow, already imagining the way she would fold against him, the heat of her forehead pressed to his chest, her tears dampening his tunic.
But Surian's touch stopped him. A gentle brush of her hand across his arm.
"Give her time," she whispered. Her calm presence held more command than the words themselves.
His chest grew heavy as he looked up the staircase, a sigh trembling from him.
Every part of him screamed to go after her, to take her pain into his own body. But he remained.
A hand clapped his shoulder, grounding him.
"Come on," Luko said, his grin softer than usual, lacking its normal lilt of mischief.
"Let's have a drink in the parlor. Clear the head.
" Malec might have refused, but Luko pulled insistently, his familiar warmth tugging him away from the stairs.
Surian followed with quiet grace, her presence the tether between them all.
Allora collapsed onto her bed and let it take her weight. She was still shaking, her breathing ragged and shallow in a way that said more than she wanted it to. She was not okay.
Rage churned inside her, black and blistering, refusing to cool. This world was a godforsaken trap, and she was the feral animal caught in its teeth. Tonight had only proved what she already knew: sooner or later, she would be sold, stolen, or killed. She could see no other ending.
Her fists clenched around the blanket, and with a guttural cry she buried her face into the mattress, screaming until her throat burned.
The sound was swallowed by the sheets, but her fury pulsed through every thread.
When her voice gave out, she rolled onto her back, chest heaving, her eyes raw with exhaustion.
Kirelle's words tangled with thoughts of escape, with the venom of betrayal she already smelled on the woman's breath.
Could she trust it? Could she trust anyone?
She didn't know anymore. All she knew was that she was slowly fraying, unraveling at the seams, and each day drained more of her strength.
Sleep tugged at her, heavy and unrelenting, when the sound reached her ears.
A buzz, quick and delicate, the flutter of wings.
Familiar. Too familiar. The vibration carried through the bones.
She jolted upright, lantern flame sputtering as she lit it.
And there it was: a dragonfly. Its iridescent wings glimmered under the lantern light, colors shifting from emerald to sapphire, its body glistening.
It perched delicately on the back of a chair, watching her as though it had purpose.
Allora narrowed her eyes. "What do you want?" she muttered, voice hoarse from her earlier scream. "Do you want something from me too? Like everyone else in this fucking place?"
Her rage bled through the question, thick and bitter.
Malec had stolen her world from her, chained her in luxury like a dragon hoarding treasure.
The luxury wasn't the issue. It was the intent behind it: to make her complacent, to soften her into accepting slavery wrapped in silk.
That was what pissed her off, what drove her to fight back even in the smallest ways, like refusing to wear those goddamn dresses.
But she had reached her limit. The rules, the guards, the constant watchful eyes had ground her patience to dust. Once she had been free, mixing chemicals with her own hands, drinking with her squad, lovers tangled through beds and battlefields, the rush of missions, the reek of gunpowder, war drums pounding in rhythm with her heart.
Family. Her people. All of it gone. And now she stood here, staring at a goddamn magical bug.
Her lips twisted. "You're nothing," she hissed.
"Just another reminder I'm trapped in this twisted circus.
" She grabbed the nearest pillow and hurled it with force.
The dragonfly lifted, wings slicing the air in perfect arcs, evading the blow easily.
It darted once around the lantern light before slipping out through the open window, vanishing into the night.
Allora dropped back against the bed, tears burning behind her eyes though her body refused to let them fall.
Exhaustion crushed her. The endless games, the suffocating rooms, the monsters who called themselves kings—all of it had worn her to nothing.
She refused to be their tool, their possession, their commodity.
She stared at the ceiling, her breath ragged, her heart pounding. She was done with this world and all the goddamn drama it demanded of her.
Sleep pulled Allora under like a tide, her body giving in the instant her head touched the pillow. This was not the light, restless sleep she had grown used to in this gilded cage. It was heavy and deep, drawing her into a dream so vivid the line between dream and reality began to blur.
She found herself in a forest of white birch trees.
Yet not a true forest. This place looked staged, artificial, like a constructed set.
The plants were too perfect, the grass impossibly even and green.
The bark of the trees was bone-white, smooth and without flaw, stretching endlessly around her.
Above them, the sky burned in a strange, unnatural blue, glowing as though a great neon sign had been lit across the heavens.
Beautiful, but wrong. A beauty that made the hair at the back of her neck prickle.
Her boots sank into the ground, the soft grass strange beneath her soles, like walking on fur.
She trailed her fingers across the black leaves of the trees as she moved deeper, and they crumbled soundlessly in her hands, dissolving into shadows.
At the heart of this uncanny place, the trees bent and bowed inward, their pale trunks arching until they formed a vast dome, an organic cathedral shaped like an igloo of wood and darkness.
Orbs of light floated beneath its ceiling, slow and buoyant, swaying like tethered balloons.
They cast the chamber in a pale glow, as though she were inside the lungs of some living creature.
In the center stood a child.
Small, still, waiting. Its skin was white as paper, not the pale of flesh but the color of unfinished clay, as though it had not yet decided what it wished to become.
Its features were incomplete: a faint nose, small ears, enormous black eyes, but no mouth or hair.
Those eyes fixed on hers with such intensity that she could not move.
"I found you."
The voice slid into her mind, though no lips had moved. It came from nowhere and everywhere at once, chilling in its echo yet strangely familiar.
Her throat tightened. "Who are you? Do we know each other?" she asked, her own voice faint against the vast dome.
Padding closer on silent feet, the child wrapped its thin arms around her waist. Its touch was cold, weightless. "I know you," it answered. "And that is what matters."
Despite the eerie sight, those unblinking eyes and void of a face, Allora felt no fear. Her gut told her this being meant no harm. Its presence hummed in her chest, unsettling yet oddly comforting.
"Well," she said after a beat, her lips quirking as sarcasm crept into her tone, "are you friend or foe, then?" She half-expected no reply.
Tilting its head in an oddly precise, birdlike movement, the child spoke. "I am yours."
Allora stiffened, her hands falling to her sides as she stared down at it. The words rang in her head like a vow, weighted and curt, too heavy for such a small, incomplete body to speak. She took a step back, yet the child did not follow. It remained rooted to its spot, gaze never shifting.
"I don't know if I like where this is going," she muttered, forcing a brittle laugh. Still, she played along. "If you're mine, does that mean I can command you? Do tasks for me?"
Another tilt of its head, those endless eyes fixed on her as if trying to peel her open, searching for the truth of her question. Long moments passed before it answered.
"I am here for you."
"All right then," she said dryly. "Get me the hell away from that goddamn troll so I can go back to my world."
No words came. The child only stared, those vast black eyes unblinking, its stillness stretching like a held breath.
"Oh perfect, another cryptic asshole in my life.
You gonna give me three wishes too, or just stand there looking like an unfinished action figure?
" Allora shook her head. "I'm literally arguing with a kindergartner made of Elmer's glue in my own nightmare.
My therapist is gonna have a field day with this one. "