Chapter 18 #2
Tears threaten to fall again, so I keep them in by squeezing my eyes shut, but I nod, and the first swipe with the warm, soapy cloth feels like the touch of an angel.
“What happened, Nate? Why did he do this?”
Is he blind? Even random elves at the tavern commented on my shadow, and it was the reason why Gloombane didn’t want me in the first place!
“What do you think?” I snap, forcing sound through the rock in my throat. A tear rolls down my cheek from the humiliation of it all. “I was useless to him with a shadow this pale. He said… he said if he can make me suffer, it would darken.”
Tristan’s eyes widen. “That’s… despicable. And clearly hasn’t worked!”
Way to rub it in. It would be funny that I care about how dark my shadow is if it wasn’t so tragic.
For all twenty-six years of my life, I didn’t spare my shadow much thought, only for it to become a life or death obsession in the past weeks.
Because yes, I did yearn for it to darken so my torment could end.
Every night that it didn’t, I sobbed in frustration until I had no more tears left.
But it was all for nothing.
It’s so plain to see.
“I won’t let you try anything else. Just take me home,” I say, increasingly shaken as intrusive thoughts penetrate my brain.
Tristan might be unwilling to use physical force, but what’s stopping him from giving me hope just to stamp on it for the desired effect?
What if the way he’s stroking me with the sponge is already an attempt at seduction?
He knows I was easy to charm two months ago.
“Your shadow is safe with me the way it is.” But he won’t look into my eyes, which immediately makes my suspicions spike. Still, for now I need his care, so I clear my throat and change the topic to something less abrasive.
“How is Lady? Is she all right?” I whisper, pressing my cheek to the sponge, which releases warm water against my skin.
Tristan lights up as he treats me ever so gently.
“Oh yes! Nate, she’s grown so much, and is rambunctious but learning to obey very quickly.
You will see for yourself when we get to the castle.
I’ve been following your book, and she’s with me every day.
I…” His smile falls as quickly as it appeared.
“That’s actually what finally made me suspicious about the letters.
I realized you would have asked about her.
” He won’t look into my eyes as he strokes the sponge over the eel on my chest. He might have as well stabbed me.
“I’m not going to the court,” I say, angry that my voice sounds weak rather than firm. “I told you. I want to go home. This place only brought me misery. I want nothing to do with it. Or you.”
I hate that I fear how he might react. Over the weeks with Gloombane, I learned to anticipate his bad moods. It might have not led to comforts, but sometimes I received more food, or got left alone.
Tristan swallows, silent for a while as he moves the sponge over my shoulders in soothing circles. “I understand. Rest for now. Maybe I’ll be able to bring Lady to you at a later time.”
How dare he act so sad when it was me who got dragged through hell for a mistake he made? Nothing he says could make any of this better.
I don’t want him to leave, because in this insane world he is the closest I have to stability, and even now, I despise myself a little for being so angry with the man who came to my aid.
But it’s always been this way—no matter how badly I hurt, I struggle witnessing the pain of others whether they deserve my pity or not.
I have to swallow the need to apologize for snapping at him, because he could have picked me up long ago. He could have saved me earlier.
When he rubs the sponge over the dried blood on my hands, pink rivulets drip into the bath and I dread to think about what I did. Gloombane deserved my fury. But even in his death, I didn’t get peace. He tainted me. With the eel now stuck on my chest, with the blood, and by making me a killer.
Me. A killer.
After twenty-six years lived in adherence to the principles of honesty and kindness.
I push Tristan’s hand away. “Leave me alone now.”
He hesitates a moment, but then gets up with a nod.
I can’t bring myself to look at him, because despite all this anger, and the desire to be alone, it’s a struggle to be a disappointment.
I hear him linger and shift his weight, as if there was anything more to say, but he eventually steps behind the door separating the bathing room from the rest of our quarters.
My sore muscles, or whatever’s left of them after all the starvation, only relax once I’m on my own.
I’m exhausted, but while everything aches, and a part of me wishes to doze off, I fear dreams might just take me back to the dungeon. And I want to stay in the cozy tavern, among walls covered with beautiful frescoes depicting prancing unicorns.
Next to the bath, on the window sill, a neat pile of booklets invites me with a woodcut cover with yet another picture of the mythical beast.
I need to distract myself from the thought that I’m soaking in Gloombane juices, so I grab one and start reading.
I’ve not been given a single book in the past two months, and the very first sentence reminds me how pleasant it is to sink into a fantasy world and let reality melt away.
It’s a good thing I’m nearsighted because Gloombane threw my glasses into the sea, and if I couldn’t read right now, I’d probably cry.
The whole thing is more of a short story than a novel and tells the tale of the founder of the tavern.
Sohan of the Stormy Gates, who was a knight and hero before settling down here, made the mistake of promising his firstborn to a vile sorcerer. He thought he could kill the monstrous elf before he had a child, but he didn’t understand that when he made his oath, it was written in the stars.