Chapter 24
Twenty-Four
Ivy
My head spins in the darkness. Then hands grip the edges of the sack by my shoulders.
I already know what’s coming, with a lurch of dread in my gut. I’ve been here too many times before.
The sack wrenches away from my head. I find myself staring into Stavros’s searing gaze, his mouth curved into a vicious sneer.
He reaches for the hangman’s noose—
And I manage to jerk myself out of the dream before I have to face the horror of the rope tightening around my neck.
I exhale raggedly into the dimness of the room I’ve woken up to. A faint stinging lingers at my throat—how much from the nightmare and how much from the memory of a very real rope that pressed against it a few days ago, I’m not sure.
Ever since Stavros’s test in the equipment building, that unnerving dream has come for me every night. No matter what he says or how much he apologizes, my mind doesn’t totally believe him.
As I sit up on the sofa, trying to shake off the awful images, a hazy but urgent muttering filters through the bedroom door. It’s followed by a harsh rustle of sheets.
It sounds like neither of you is sleeping well, Julita remarks.
I let out a rough laugh under my breath. “We make quite a pair, don’t we? Giving each other nightmares while we’re sharing the same quarters.”
I’ll bet Stavros never bargained on this development when he insisted I stay in his rooms.
A grunt reaches my ears, muffled but clearly uneasy. My fingers curl around the edge of my blanket.
My ghostly companion must be able to tell what I’m considering from the tensing of my body. I wouldn’t disturb him. He’s survived worse than a bad dream or two. After the way he reacted last time… But I suppose I don’t really know what to make of his behavior anymore.
I grimace. “He obviously doesn’t know what to make of me. I never meant for anyone to find out.”
Of course you didn’t. But better you did than let Wendos finish his wretched plans. If Alek and Cas can accept you, he should be able to too.
“I’m guessing they didn’t lose anyone they cared about to someone like me.”
Julita lets out a huff. Whatever murderous villain killed Stavros’s friend, they weren’t like you at all. I’ve had to live with someone who was merely trying to become an evil sorcerer, and I can assure you, you’re leagues better than even that.
My mouth slants into a crooked smile. I wish I could appreciate Julita’s reassurances more.
There’s a soft thump, as if Stavros has struck the mattress. I wince.
It might not even be about you, Julita adds. I can’t begin to imagine how many horrifying things he must have seen during his days on the battlefield.
That’s true, but the next sound that filters through the door comes in perfectly distinct words. “Ivy. No.”
My stomach lurches. Before I can think better of it, I’ve sprung to my feet.
As I stride to the bedroom door, Julita lapses into silence. She must be able to tell there’s no point in arguing with me now.
I can’t bear to just sit there knowing he’s trapped in a dream with me doing who knows what despicable things.
I push open the door and hesitate on the threshold. Stavros is sprawled on his side on the bed, the sheets tangled across his torso and thighs, his face half buried in his pillow. His brow is furrowed, his hand clenched tight.
I don’t think I want to get within striking range.
“Stavros,” I say, carefully quiet. When he only hisses through his teeth, his eyes still squeezed shut, I raise my voice. “Stavros! Wake up!”
With a flinch, he rolls onto his back. He swipes at his face and stares at me blearily through the faint moonlight.
I’m abruptly aware of the fact that I’ve got nothing on but the chemise and drawers I normally sleep in. Not that Stavros hasn’t seen me in a similar state of undress before.
The sheet has fallen far enough on his chest to reveal some of the sculpted muscles that fill out his massive frame. The brand of Sabrelle’s sigil marks his light brown skin with a darker, ruddy shade low on his sternum.
I have the sudden, ridiculous urge to find out what those muscular planes would feel like under my fingers.
Heat trickles through my veins, but I clench my hand against the thought, resting the other on the doorframe. At least the former general isn’t yelling at me.
So far.
He pushes himself into a sitting position, his arms tucked in front of him—his hand of flesh cupping over the stump left by his sacrifice.
“Did I wake you up?” he asks with a hint of a rasp in his voice.
I shake my head. “Already had my own nighttime terrors taking care of that.”
His mouth sets in a grim line. “I’d say ‘good,’ but that isn’t really good at all.”
“It meant I was awake to disturb your sleep in a less discomforting way,” I say with forced brightness. “I’ll let you get more rest that’s hopefully better.”
As I start to turn, Stavros leans forward. “Ivy—wait.”
I glance back at him. “What?”
Now that he has my attention, he looks as if he’s groping for something to talk about. “You haven’t had any further contact from the scourge sorcerers?”
“I’d have mentioned it if I had. Nothing since the last trial four days ago. But I suppose making me stew might be a trial in itself. There were a few days between their first and second tests anyway.”
I pause with an uncomfortable pang through my chest. “Or maybe they realized something was odd about my magic that night after all, and they’re deciding what to do about it.”
Stavros gives a guffaw derisive enough to be weirdly comforting.
“Whatever they might speculate, it won’t be the truth.
There’s no way at all they’d imagine I could tolerate hiring a riven sorcerer or that you could have been in my presence so long without my realizing it.
The riven generally avoid notice by staying away from anyone who’d want to execute them, not prancing around in plain sight. ”
I smile tightly. “Yes, it is pretty bizarre that I’m still here. Although I suppose that might change, given that you do know what I did to that guard.”
Stavros blinks at me. His next words come out careful but firm. “I don’t think that had anything to do with you being riven.”
It’s my turn to stare. “What are you talking about? It was my blasted magic that knocked her off the wall.”
“Yes. Your magic. Which probably would have done the exact same thing if it’d been the typical kind of magic that no one would think of hanging you for.”
My arms come around to hug myself. “I’m not sure why you’d think that.”
Stavros’s tone turns a bit dry. “I’m not sure why you wouldn’t.
You told me yourself that they went as far as cutting off your finger to bolster your power.
They’ve constantly talked about how people should give in to wildness and violence.
Unless you’ve been misportraying the scourge sorcerers, it’s sounded to me like what you did is exactly what they meant to happen if you’d had a regular gift. ”
I open my mouth and then close it again. I hadn’t considered the situation that way.
You know, Julita murmurs, he does have a point.
Maybe so, but all the same— “It was riven magic, though, because that’s the closest thing to a ‘gift’ I have.”
Stavros lifts his shoulders in a subtle shrug.
“Does the source of the magic matter if the end result was the same? If any person, including myself, would have trouble controlling our gift in the same situation, then I don’t see how you can blame the riven part of you for it.
Or really blame yourself at all. And even with all that going on, you mastered it the moment you realized someone had been hurt. ”
“Someone did get hurt all the same,” I can’t help saying.
“Ivy, I’ve seen trained soldiers with gifts stumble in the face of unexpected attacks more times than I can count. The fact that you regained control so quickly in a situation you’d never experienced is impressive, not anything I could call weakness.”
I swallow thickly. I had no idea he was thinking about the situation this way.
I don’t know if I can too.
My voice drops to a whisper. “I hate it. I hate that I did it. I hate that I lost control for even a few seconds.”
A shadow crosses Stavros’s face. “I know. I could see it when you told me. That’s the other reason I didn’t think I needed to be concerned. Unless you’re concerned that it’s gotten too much—if you want to put an end to this whole recruitment scheme—”
“No,” I interrupt. “It’s not as if I even could at this point.”
He considers me with total seriousness—and a twitch of his head that tells me how intently he’s studying my expression.
“You could. As far as they know, you have no idea who any of them are, so they might leave you alone regardless. But even if we feared they wouldn’t, we’d find a way to extricate you and keep you safe. If that’s what you want.”
He sounds so certain I believe him. But the idea of fleeing from this mess doesn’t budge the resolve balled inside me.
“I want to know we don’t have to worry about these psychopaths hurting anyone anymore. I’m getting closer—they’re showing themselves to me more. I’m not abandoning ship now.”
A small smile crosses Stavros’s face. “That’s exactly what I assumed you’d say, Lady Thief. I just wanted you to know you have the option. I mean it.”
The emphatic words and the affectionate nickname he hasn’t used since he found out what I am set me off-balance. I don’t know what to say other than, “Thank you.”
He snorts. “I should be the one thanking you. You’re taking on the lion’s share of the risk.” He hesitates. “And I should definitely let you return to bed.”
Something about the way he says it and the fact that he doesn’t adjust his own position as if he’s going to lie back down hold me in place. “Are you going to be able to get back to sleep all right?”
Stavros chuckles faintly and rubs his forehead. “Nights like this I’d normally read something light to settle my mind. But the reading is more of a stress than a comfort these days.”
He glances toward the bookcase beyond his bed—the one I looked over when I found myself in this room a few weeks ago, after I was stabbed.
One corner of my mouth quirks upward. “Is that what your adventure stories are for? To put you to sleep? They mustn’t be very thrilling ones.”
The former general looks a bit sheepish. “There have been nights when the tactic backfired and instead I was up hours longer than I’d have preferred. But they’re comforting in a way—all the action and excitement without the pain and the grit you’d have if it were real.”
“And you hide those tales away in here because…”
He fixes me with a look that’s only mock-stern. “Even a former general has certain appearances to keep up.”
I can’t restrain a laugh. And then, for reasons I couldn’t totally explain if asked, I find myself saying, “I said before that I could read to you. If you won’t take it as an insult, the offer still stands. It might help settle my thoughts too.”
I tense automatically, half expecting him to snap at me like he did before. But Stavros simply goes still as if taking the suggestion in.
“All right,” he says finally, his voice a bit stiff in a way I can’t decipher. “Only for a chapter or two. Close the curtains so you can put on the light without being seen from the window. I’ll pick out a decent story.”
I keep behind the heavy folds of fabric as I drag the curtains across the high window. By the time I’ve lit the lantern by the chair in the corner, Stavros has set one of the slim leatherbound volumes on the corner of the bed.
I pick it up and settle into the chair, tucking my legs on the seat beside me. With the former general’s gaze on me, I feel abruptly awkward.
Flipping the book open, I focus on the pages rather than the man across the room from me. “Charlster’s Journey: A heroic tale of the mountain kingdoms. Chapter One. It started with a fire in the stables.”
I read on through a typically spirited beginning about an intrepid stablehand saving a countess’s prized horses and being granted the responsibility of carrying an urgent message across the mountains to the realm’s king. As my voice carries through the room, Stavros sinks down on the bed.
He doesn’t interrupt. From the corner of my eye, I notice when his head starts to droop.
I pitch my voice gradually lower, not wanting to interrupt any impending slumber. Around the point when the stablehand encounters robbers on the mountain path, I glance up and see Stavros’s eyes have closed. A slow breath rasps from his slightly parted lips.
An unexpected twinge of affection runs through me. I set down the book and douse the light.
The floor doesn’t so much as creak beneath my stealthy feet as I creep back to my sofa. I’ve just bundled myself in my blanket when a prickling sensation digs into my palm, sharp enough that I think it’d have woken me if I had been sleeping.
I jerk my hand up. The words gleam briefly against my palm.
50 paces into the woods. Alone. Now.