Chapter 7 #2
She froze. She didn’t even know there was a such thing as that.
It made sense if the library branched out into different rooms and accommodations for research and magic development, but she hadn’t even considered that; wasn’t that what the mage towers were for?
But maybe the emperor wanted certain research to be done in the heart of the palace, where it was most secure.
Nikator squeezed her hand, not to the point that it was painful, but close.
“You just dropped off from the mage’s training ledge, where they practice flying and levitating.
If I didn’t catch you, you could have landed terribly and shattered your legs.
But you don’t even seem to know where you are.
What are you planning? And where are your guards? ”
Ash filled her mouth. Her earlier predicament came to light again; she would be tortured, interrogated, executed …
She tried pressing the blade against his neck again, but he twisted her wrist and wrestled it away from her, no longer in the mood to play around.
She gasped as he tossed it aside like it was worthless.
His fingers grazed her neck, and before she could even blink, his hand wrapped around her throat.
Not tightly, and not exactly threateningly, but …
but the implication wasn’t lost on her. He could kill her if he chose to.
The fight drained from her body. She couldn’t hurt him, she couldn’t chase him away, and she couldn’t stop the inevitable.
The moonlight bathed half his face in silvery streaks, and the shadows of night coalesced on the other side. His eyes appeared heterochromatic in light and shadows; one with a silver, violet sheen, and the other a deep, dark blue.
“I … I was lost,” she whispered, hoping that the half-lie, half-truth, would make her sound innocent.
She was lost and had had no idea she’d stumbled in the mage quarters, but she hoped he wouldn’t press for more details.
She hoped … there was a way out of this.
“I didn’t know where I was heading! Please, you have to believe me.
I … escaped from my guard. He was sleeping. ”
“And what were you trying to do?”
His fingers were still wrapped around her neck. She shuddered as another shiver racked through her body. “I was trying to run away.”
“With only the clothes on your back? Surely, someone as intelligent as you would know to pack and be prepared.”
“It was spontaneous,” she whispered, the lies flowing from her easily.
“I was looking for my cat Jade. I opened the door to ask the guard to let her in if he saw her, but then I noticed he was sleeping, so I didn’t want to lose the opportunity, and so I ran before he could stir!
I would have been far away already if I hadn’t stopped to look for Jade!
Believe me, please. I have no intention of causing trouble. I just want to be free.”
He stared at her, hard, and she somehow held his unwavering gaze. Her heart pulsed violently, and she could feel it against her neck, her chest, and her whole body—as if it was vibrating all over her, thumping to a wild beat, knowing her doom was near.
She could see it all over his face—he didn’t believe her.
Something wilted within her.
Her lower lip wobbled and she couldn’t stop the shallow inhales that followed, the way her chest rose and fell in quick succession, as panic settled over her.
“Please,” she whispered in a half-broken, half-strangled sob.
“I don’t want to be here anymore. I just want to be free from all of this.
I don’t want to be a prisoner anymore. I just want—” Sobs wracked through her quivering, cold body.
A body that would soon be six feet under, she thought with another fierce cry.
Nikator flinched like he hadn’t expected her reaction, and he retracted his hand from her neck. A look of pure discomfort, shock, and uncertainty played over his face. All in a split second, so fast she almost missed it.
“Stop,” he said, doubt making his brows pull together. “I’m not going to kill you.”
He sounded almost … offended.
Which shouldn’t have been possible. He had murdered her family members in cold blood. He had helped the vicious emperor usurp the throne from her father. He had blood on his hands from the countless people he had killed. He wasn’t supposed to be merciful at all.
He was wicked.
He shouldn’t have cared.
And yet, her tears made him uncomfortable.
Biyu could see it all over his face; whereas he normally masked his emotions, shuttered them out from the world with a mask of indifference, of loathing, of pure coldness—here he simply seemed like he couldn’t.
He tried to, he certainly did by the way his expression kept shifting, but the more he stared at her, the more that mask cracked, revealing his discomfort.
His revulsion to whatever she thought he was going to do to her.
“I’m not going to kill you,” Nikator said, rougher this time, his teeth seeming to grind together like he couldn’t believe he was wrenching the words out of his icy, dead soul.
Biyu winced at the sharpness of his words without meaning to, because even if he didn’t intend to kill her, he would inform the emperor, toss her to the mages, and be a bystander to her execution.
His face twisted again, his disgust clear. “I will not harm you, princess.”
And then, at last, he pulled himself to his feet and held his hand out to her.
As if he was chivalrous. As if there was even a single courteous, civil bone in his body.
Under normal circumstances, she would have laughed at his attempt of chivalry, at his mockery toward manners, or lack thereof.
Because, simply put, he wasn’t even allowed to touch her.
But something compelled her to slip her hand in his and allow the monster to haul her up.
A cry fell from her lips and she keeled over, her knee throbbing painfully.
She had ignored it for the most part during their whole conversation—or maybe the shock and rush of panic had veiled everything from her—but with her realization that she wasn’t immediately going to die came the awareness of how much her body ached and pulsated viciously.
Nikator grabbed her by the biceps, holding her steady while she inadvertently grasped the lapel of his tunic to keep herself upright, her eyelids fluttering shut as she withstood the waves of pain.
She hadn’t even meant to, but there she was, being held by the villainous man who had murdered her family.
She couldn’t forget who he was, even in a moment like this.
“Let me go,” she breathed when she could bear the soreness. She recoiled from him, but he held onto her biceps tighter than before.
“You’re hurt.”
“Let me go.”
“Where did you hurt yourself? Your leg? Was it when you fell?”
Her eyebrows pulled together. Why did he care?
“I’m fine,” she bit out, pushing his hands away. “Don’t pretend like you have a heart. It doesn’t suit you—this … this tenderness you’re pretending to have.”
A muscle on his jaw feathered, the only indication that he had heard her, and he turned away, his emotions disappearing until there was only stony apathy. He motioned behind her. “We should get going.”
Panic swelled in her chest, and she finally looked around herself, seeing everything for the first time.
It was a courtyard, of sorts, with training dummies lining one far wall, and various obstacles—hoops and pillars and standing rings—scattered throughout.
She didn’t even want to imagine what the mages practiced here.
Torture through target practice? Flaming their opponents?
Research on how to best kill their enemies?
Above, at least three or four stories up, was the overhang they had catapulted from; thankfully, they had landed in a squelchy pile of mud, which had no doubt softened their landing, but she paled to think that things could have ended much worse.
The height of their fall looked even more daunting now that she was staring up at it; although terrifying, it hadn’t felt like such a drop.
How had Nikator endured the fall? Although her knee throbbed and ached painfully, it probably wasn’t as bad as the fall he’d taken. And yet there wasn’t a limp in sight, or even a grimace on his stony face; he appeared uninjured.
How strange, she thought.
Nikator clucked his tongue, his voice sharp. “Let’s go.”
She jumped at the sound, wincing as a jolt of pain shot through her injured knee.
He turned his face away, the shadows of the night collecting on his form. He waved to one of the walls, where a set of doors with metal, inlaid dragon carvings that shone in the moonlight were, and he said, softer this time, “I’ll escort you back to your room.”
Biyu hesitated. The rain, which had been softly dousing them, increased in pace and intensity.
The skies lit up with threads of lightning, the sound of thunder cracking a moment later.
She licked her dry lips, tasting the splatters of rain and mud coating her, and wiped it with the back of her hand a moment later—further smearing mud over her face.
“Come on now.” Impatience laced his tone.
With a reluctant sigh, she limped behind him.