Chapter 8
The rest of the meeting leaves me just as confused. Syrinx explained that I would first go through an assessment, then I would be placed with the appropriate instructors.
Ziv kept quiet until the end, when he informed Syrinx that he would personally oversee my training. I was definitely more shocked about that than she was. It’s clear he doesn’t trust me, but I’m not sure what he thinks I’m capable of. Maybe if I can figure it out, I’ll stop being helpless. Syrinx alluded to the fact that there have been others like me, so maybe there’s a way for me to find out about them and, in turn, learn more about myself.
I find myself walking with Ziv again, not knowing how I arrived at the door he’s currently knocking on or even what floor we’re on. “Yes?” A male not much taller than me answers the door, wearing a pair of thick-rimmed glasses perched on the tip of his nose.
“We need some uniforms,” Ziv replies, causing the male to look him up and down.
“At least you’re not covered in the student’s blood like last time,” he mumbles and pulls the door open before retreating inside. The comment gives me pause. Why would Ziv be covered in someone else’s blood, let alone a student’s?
“They are not for me,” Ziv protests while ducking his head to follow the man. I stand at the entrance for a long second, wondering how this is my life. “Briar!” he barks, and I somehow get the nerve to join him in the…closet. Well, not really, because the room is far too large to be considered a closet, but the racks of clothing hanging on nearly every available inch make it seem as such. There are several unmanned sewing machines stitching away like mad. The man snaps his fingers, and every one of them promptly stops.
“Oh, I see.” The man scrutinizes me for half a second and announces, “Small, maybe extra small. I may need a new pattern. Spin.” It takes me a moment to realize the final part was an instruction for me. Reluctantly, I turn slowly. “You should eat more,” he states.
“It’s not always that easy.”
“You should make sure she eats more.” He tilts his head down and peers over his glasses at Ziv, who makes a harrumph sound deep in his chest. I don’t know why this guy is blaming Ziv or why he’s allowing it.
“She needs more than just uniforms. Tell him what you want.” Ziv gestures to me.
“Just uniforms are fine,” I reply dismissively.
“You can either tell him what you would like, or I can decide for you, little flower.” There’s no mistaking the warning in his tone, even with the nickname softening the demand.
“I don’t know what I like,” I admit softly. “I usually just take what I can find. Anything that fits will be good.”
“Get her everything she needs… Everything,” Ziv replies for me.
“I’ll need a day or two, but let me see what I can find for now.” The small man disappears behind a row of clothes, and I hear him rummaging around in the back. I’m tempted to tell Ziv this isn’t necessary, but with one look in his direction, I keep my mouth closed. His lips are pinched again, like they were earlier in the room before he flipped my bed, and there’s no mattress around to take the brunt of his anger.
“These will be a little loose on you. I don’t carry children’s clothing.” I reach for the pile of garments in his arms, but he pulls them back to his chest. “Let’s try to make it so I don’t have to. Eat.” He says the last part slowly, like I’m dumb. I feel a hot blush cover my cheeks and nod, just so he won’t say anything else.
To Ziv, he adds, “Come back in a day or two, and I will have everything she needs. I called down to Dalia to let her know you would be along and need some shoes.” He makes a point of looking down at my sock-covered feet then back at Ziv again with his eyebrows high on his forehead.
“I was going there next,” Ziv snarls, nearly ripping the clothes from my arms and giving the other male a glare that would make me pee my pants.
“Good, she’s waiting.” He spins, dismissing us, and the sewing machines buzz back to life.
By the timewe make it back to my room, I’m about ready to crawl under the mattress, just so I don’t have to look at Ziv or anyone else for a few hours. Who would have thought getting a bunch of new stuff given to you would be so embarrassing and exhausting?
After meeting with the tailor, Ziv pretty much just took over, demanding the things he thought I needed from a bunch of people, and he wasn’t even nice about it most of the time. No one seemed fazed, but I still felt bad about it.
“Fuck!” he grouses the moment I open my door. I peer back at him, wondering what could be pissing him off now. “I forgot to get you bedding.” He drops the bags of things he’s accumulated onto the bare mattress—the things he wouldn’t allow me to carry.
“Who needs bedding when I have all of this to cover up with? Besides, I’m still getting used to sleeping on an actual bed. It’s a far cry from some hay and scraps of fabric on the floor.” I intend for my comment to sound dismissive of his concern and thankful for the things I’ve been given, but when I glance over in Ziv’s direction, he doesn’t look happy. His lip is curled up in a sneer that allows me to see the tips of his sharp teeth. “I’m just saying I don’t need or expect all the luxuries.” My tone is much softer, more appeasing—a trait I picked up from dealing with my father on his bad days, or any day really. Mostly, I just tried to stay out of his way when my presence wasn’t requested.
“Bedding is not a luxury.” Ziv enunciates each word slowly. “Did your father have a mattress?”
“I didn’t go into his room,” I snap back, humiliated by even the idea. No daughter should know what her father’s room looks like, not even for the promise of being more comfortable. I spin away from Ziv’s prying eyes in a bid to hide my shame. It’s true I don’t know what my father’s room looked like, but not because he didn’t want me to.
The door to my room closing is my first clue that Ziv left. His retreat, other than the click, was completely silent. I’m relieved to be alone, but his departure makes me question if I overplayed my hand with my reaction. The queasy feeling in my gut tells me I did, and Ziv knows the things my father tried, maybe even thinks he succeeded in.
My head is too full of thoughts and memories I can’t face, so I plop down on the bed and untie the leather string holding my plait together. Working out the tangles in my hair will give me something to focus on, and the pain may just be enough of a distraction. Using my fingers, I slowly work from the bottom all the way up to my scalp, getting out most of the snarls in a familiar pattern until my arms are sore. Once that’s done, I don’t allow myself to slip back into useless thoughts. Instead, I sort through the items Ziv got for me, making neat little piles until everything is organized, and then I set about finding places for all the things.
The dresser will easily hold three times as much, but I still don’t put everything in the drawers. I find little nooks around the room to stash a few of the things I like best, so if someone comes in to take it back or steal it, I won’t be completely empty-handed. This kind of plan doesn’t always work. I had similar hideaways at home, but there wasn’t a way for me to bring those things with me. I was lucky to get out with the carved stone in my pocket.
As I’m looking around the room for one last spot to hide something, I remember the loose floorboard under the bed. Before getting on my belly, I tiptoe over to the door and engage the lock. I probably should have done that right after Ziv left, but I wasn’t thinking clearly. I debate finding something to cover the window in the door, but then I decide it could be pushing my luck. If they wanted it covered, it would be, so doing it now might draw too much attention.
It takes some finagling to get under the bed far enough to reach the hideaway and lift the board. It might not even be possible if I wasn’t so thin. I’ll probably have better luck moving the bed next time. Just as I’m about to reach into the darkness to see if anyone else left something behind, I hesitate. Anything could call the dark space home, including a poisonous creature, or it could be a trap. That’s exactly the kind of thing Philip would love to do.
Bolstering my courage, I hold my breath and plunge my arm into the hole, swish my fingers around, and yank it back out as fast as I can. With all my fingers still intact, I reach in again, still cautious, but slower this time. When I touch the cool floor below, I find it empty, so I inch around, realizing the space is much larger than I anticipated. Using the edge of the hole, I pull myself closer until my face is right over it, and then I peer inside. It’s too dark to see much, other than some cobwebs at the mouth of the cavity, but I don’t think there’s anything that was left behind, not unless some giant rat came along and ran off with it.
I only place my stone inside before replacing the board without putting anything else in it just yet, but I decide it will be the perfect place for an emergency stash. It will take time to accumulate those things.
The doorknob twisting while I’m still wiggling out from under the bed startles me, and I smack the back of my head on the bed rail. “Damn it.” I wince from the pain but finally work myself out from under the bed.
I have a few precious seconds to get myself together, since I was smart enough to lock the door, so I wipe at the front of my clothes, knowing they are too dark and stained to really show any new marks anyway.
The polite knock that comes soon after surprises me, making me think it isn’t Ziv at the door. He doesn’t seem to have the patience for something as mundane as knocking. I think about getting the chair to check who it is, but decide I’ve already taken too long and open it.
Ziv’s head jerks back when he sees me, as if I’ve stunned him, but he recovers quickly, barging into the room so fast that I end up backing up against the wall so he doesn’t bowl me right over.
Once he shuts the door behind him, he reaches out and grabs a thick chunk of my hair. I’m not used to people touching my hair. One, I usually keep it braided back, and two, I try not to let people get that close to me, but Ziv pushes right past my boundaries. I very much doubt gods entertain limitations anyway.
When he takes a step closer to me and brings my hair up to his nose, I feel a riot of things. First and foremost being I probably stink. It’s been days since I bathed. Then, more blatantly, I wonder if he will somehow know I was under the bed. Why else would he be sniffing me?
His unnerving silver eyes lock onto mine, but he makes no attempt to move back or even drop my hair. I almost confess to finding the hiding spot, but I can’t seem to make my mouth work at the moment, especially not when he looks down at my lips as if he knows I’m trying to say something.
“We have a problem, little flower.”
“We do?” I chirp.
“We do,” he replies, but he doesn’t elaborate further, nor does he give me an inch of space. If he loses his shit now, I’m done for. One hit is all it would take.
“How do I fix it?”
“You can’t,” he deadpans and steps back abruptly, leaving cool air to replace the space he occupied. I don’t feel any sense of relief though, because it’s as if his absence only amplifies my unease.
When he turns his back on me, I pull my shoulders off the wall and take a deep breath. Ziv eats up the space in my room with a stride or two and takes a hold of the mattress, pulling it up from the bed frame and setting it on its end. I glance at the floor to see if there’s any evidence of the loose board, but everything seems to be in place. I shift my attention to Ziv and notice he’s trying to put linens on the bed and failing miserably.
“Here, let me,” I offer while moving closer to him. He peers over his shoulder skeptically but releases the fabric. I give him a second to put the mattress back in place or move, but he doesn’t, so I work around him, knowing I’ll have to tuck the material under when the covers are in place.
“I thought you didn’t have a bed.”
“I didn’t, but that doesn’t mean I’ve never made one.” I smooth the fabric with my palms. “If you put it down, I can finish.”
Ziv drops the pad into place and backs up a step, giving me a little more room. When I can’t see him, it’s easier to talk to him, so I take the opportunity to ask, “Are you going to tell me what the problem is or leave me to ponder when the consequences will come?”
“How do you know there will be consequences?” He sits on the bed once I finish making it, taking up entirely too much space.
“Problems always have repercussions.”
After mulling over my response, he finally says, “I haven’t decided yet if I’m going to tell you.”
“Why not? Maybe I could fix it,” I say, knowing it’s probably not true. I don’t have a lot of experience fixing things, but at least I would know what it was, and it might help me avoid causing more issues.
“Only death would fix this,” he intones, and my stomach drops.
“Cryptic and ominous.” I try to make light of his words, but I’m pretty sure it falls flat, so I get to the point instead. “Let me guess, it’s my death that would resolve the issue?”
Ziv doesn’t deny it. In fact, he doesn’t respond to my question at all. He just continues to sit on the bed, watching me like I’m the one with the answers.
Exhaustion settles on my shoulders. Worrying about death isn’t new to me, but I don’t think it’s something you can get used to or get comfortable with, at least I can’t. However, there is this strange acceptance that happens at some point. I don’t know when it happened to me, but it did, I think I just forget it sometimes. I drop into the desk chair across the room from Ziv and meet his stare. I figure if I’m about to die, I might as well make it worth my while.
There’s a notable shift in his features. It’s not profound, but the slight widening of his eyes and softening of his expression are obvious. “Little flower?” he questions, probably wondering why I have the nerve to meet his gaze.
“Why do you call me that?”
“I thought it was obvious—your name,” he answers.
“Right, but it’s not my name. My name is Briar.”
Ziv shrugs, and I know I’m not going to get any more out of him.
The shift in Briar’s demeanor is blatant. One second, she’s cowering against the wall, and the next, she’s staring at me with defiance. I can’t pretend to understand her. We are far too different for that. I grew up without fear, while it seems she has always known it. It colors her every interaction, and I’ve done nothing to ease it, all because I can’t seem to get a handle on my emotions.
I thought I would be able to resist her, that I was old and strong enough to defy the mate pull, even for a little while, but I feel like my insides are being plucked like the strings of fate, resonating with demands I’m helpless to ignore, and I hate it. I hate that anyone has this type of power over me, yet I wouldn’t give her up even if the world depended on it, which brings me full circle. It’s too much and not enough.
“Little flower?” I wonder what has changed in the last few moments that allows her to look at me like an equal.
“Why do you call me that?”
“I thought it was obvious—your name.” The lie sounds defensive.
“Right, but it’s not my name. My name is Briar.” Her golden eyes narrow with suspicion. She may act like a scared little rabbit, but she’s smart and picks up on cues I’ve seen novices much older than her ignore. I suppose it has something to do with her upbringing. She learned to be cunning and resourceful, and that will serve her well here.
I lean forward, placing my elbows on my knees, only closing the distance between us by inches, but it still relieves something within me. “What changed, Briar?” The use of her name is intentional.
She doesn’t pretend not to understand my question. “If I’m going to die, I might as well do it with dignity.” Her flat, dismissive tone speaks volumes. She really believes I’m going to kill her. I think back on what I could have done in the past five minutes, and the reason is simple—I told her we have a problem, she asked how she could fix it, and I told her she couldn’t. It’s the truth, there’s nothing she can do about it, but she has come to the wrong conclusion.
“I’m not going to kill you, little flower. You are safe from death. It’s what I can’t save you from that worries me.” My hands tighten into fists at the thought of someone else hurting her, and her gaze darts down, catching the movement.
When she moves her eyes back up, she doesn’t meet my gaze, and that’s no longer acceptable. “First lesson, you are an equal here. There’s no need for you to avert your eyes from anyone.”
Briar brings her eyes up, heeding my words, but counters, “I’m not looking to challenge anyone and lose a fight.”
“Then don’t lose, but eye contact rarely results in a real challenge.”
“Easy for you to say—you’re a god,” she mutters under her breath.
“And you’re impervious to magic. I’d say that’s pretty damn extraordinary.”
She blinks several times, and her cheeks tinge a pretty pink. “That doesn’t help when one hit from you could kill me.”
“Which is exactly why I will train you to protect yourself, in case I’m not there to do it for you.”
“Training me for what?” She chooses not to acknowledge the fact that I said I would protect her, and that’s fine with me—for now.
“Combat.”
A laugh erupts from her mouth, and she quickly tries to hide her smile with her hand, but it’s too late. Her eyes are still crinkled at the corners, and I don’t think it’s a sight I could soon forget. Her entire face lit up, even the gold in her eyes brightened. “Sorry, did you say combat?”
“Why do you find that so funny?”
“Oh gods, you’re serious.” Her face falls in dread. “I’m much better at running than fighting.”
“When I’m done with you, little flower, you won’t run from anyone.”
Her gulp is audible. I should let her be, allowing time for the information to sink in, but I don’t. “We’ll get started tomorrow, so get a good night’s sleep.” I grab the blanket I took from my bed from the floor, where it landed earlier, and toss it at her as I rise instead of placing it directly on the bed. There’s some part of me that needs to see her holding it, knowing she’ll be surrounded by my scent. Her arms struggle to grasp it, but at least I didn’t tag her in the face like last time. I watch her fingers sink into the soft fabric when she squeezes it, and I imagine what those same fingers will feel like digging into my back while I sink inside her.
She inhales deeply, taking in the scent emanating from my skin that’s made to appeal specifically to her. Fuck,I need to get out of here, or she’s going to know exactly what’s going on. I’m surprised she doesn’t already.
“Lock the door,” I instruct before slamming it behind me. I know the demon will be there to protect her tonight while she sleeps, but it’s still hard to leave. My only solace is knowing he has no idea what she’s capable of and would never risk laying a single finger on her if he thinks it will kill her. I could have told him she’s a void, that magic doesn’t affect her, but I didn’t. There’s no way I’m willing to test her ability against him.