Chapter 13 The Kept Word
thirteen
The Kept Word
Miralyte
I woke before the sun had even dared to pry open the clouds, and although it was Gryven’s turn to be my personal guard today, I felt no safer.
If anything, my heart was more restless than ever.
“Good morning to you, too.” I greeted with fake cheer.
Gryven gave me a curt nod. “You’re ordered to rest today.”
“Mm. And I’m ordering myself not to.” I tried to step past him, but his arm shot out, barring the way.
“I have orders directly from the Thunderlord. He said no bloodletting for at least—"
"I know." I cut him off. "I heard you. I'm not going there."
His brows rose, his sharp gaze inspecting my body, as if searching for some hidden weapon. "Where are you going?"
“To visit Pelbie.”
His stare hardened. “Not a good idea.”
“She’s my friend.”
“She’s also a distraction. And you’re supposed to be recovering, not gossiping in the rookies’ wing.”
I folded my arms. “I’ll take my chances.”
His stare hardened. I held his stare and waited, silently daring him to forbid it.
Finally, he stepped back, and I knew I had won. “And by tomorrow,” he said, “another guard will be assigned to you. One less inclined toward lenience.”
I did not look back. “I’ll try to contain my excitement.”
“Do. Perhaps they’ll succeed where I have failed—reminding you this is not a garden path in your mortal villages.”
I smirked. “Maybe they’ll even be less irritating.”
“Unlikely,” he replied, the faintest shadow of a grin buried in his voice.
His silence trailed me like a shadow, his boots falling into step a few paces behind.
I made my way toward the rookies’ wing, passing under the narrow stone arch where rainwater always trickled down the walls, leaving dark veins in the rock.
The corridor bent sharply to the right, opening into the Hall of Stormglass — a long, vaulted passage lined with tall panels of black crystal.
My reflection followed me in those panels, distorted and rippling with each flicker of light.
From there, I took the spiral stair that wound around the outer tower, up and up, until I reached the chamber on the fourth floor. Gryven didn't say anything, but I knew he was still there, three steps behind me.
The door was unlocked, and I pushed it open. "Pelbie?"
Her voice came from within, soft and a little rough. “Mira?"
"It's me." I walked into the bedchamber. Pelbie was sitting up in bed, dressed in a white nightgown that swallowed her frame. Her hair was disheveled, her eyes still hazy from sleep. As soon as she saw me, she gasped and threw off the blankets. "Mira, oh, thank the Mother. Are you all right?"
"I'm fine."
"Liar. Look at you." She sprang from the bed and crossed the room. In moments, she had gripped my hands and pulled them towards her, examining the palms with a scowl. "Blood and bones, what have they been doing to you?"
"It's nothing."
"Nothing?! Mira, have you seen your face? You're paler than a corpse! And you've lost weight. Gods, have they not fed you?!"
"Of course they have. Pelbie, stop fussing!"
She let out an exasperated sigh. "Are you ever going to tell me the truth?"
No. It would only put her in danger. Because the truth would put her life at risk, and hers was all I had left. "Pelbie—"
"You promised you would," she insisted. "You promised no secrets."
I fixed her with a level look. "This secret is for your protection. Believe me, it would be much better if you did not know."
She scowled. "I have never seen you scared by the truth, Mira."
She knew me well enough to know how to reach inside me and find the string tied to every emotional wound I refused to show. But not even she was hard enough to pull that thread.
"Just... trust me, please? As you always do?"
Relief softened her features. "Always." She hugged me once, a brief but tight squeeze, then drew back. "If they're hurting you—"
"They're not." I kept my voice gentle, but firm. It was easier, sometimes, to pretend that this was a world without magic or cruelty, that violence and fear weren't always waiting somewhere just around the corner. "They're just... teaching me."
"If they hurt you, tell me. Tell someone. Do you understand?"
I nodded. "When the time comes, you'll be first to know."
Pelbie nodded, then her expression shifted, a little spark lighting in her tired eyes. “Oh—look what I got.”
She leaned over the side of the bed, rummaging through the small chest tucked there, and came up with a small leather pouch. She loosened the drawstring and tipped the contents into her palm — a set of dice, each one carved from smoky quartz, the pips filled with a dull gold resin.
My brows rose. “How in the realms did you get those?”
Her mouth curved in the faintest smile. “From… a friend.”
I narrowed my eyes. “A friend?”
Her smile widened just enough to be suspicious. “Brond.”
My jaw dropped. “Pelbie.”
“What?” she said, feigning innocence far too poorly to be believable. “He’s nice. And he’s good at carving.”
"Pelbie," I groaned, pinching the bridge of my nose.
She shrugged, the picture of angelic defiance. "It was a gift."
"A gift that will get you both into trouble."
She gave me a flat look. "Oh please. You’re the troublemaker, Miralyte. It’s clear as day that you’re in trouble.."
"Me? How am I in trouble?" I feigned innocence.
"Because," she said, pointing at the door, "there is a fae outside who has been following you for two weeks. And you look awful!"
I scowled. "It's for my... safety."
She folded her arms, and her eyes narrowed. "Mira, is there something you want to tell me?"
"Yes, actually. Did you know that there's a secret tunnel hidden in the west hall, the one with all the portraits?"
"No." She didn't look impressed.
"Well, there is. And—"
"We're not escaping, Mira," she cut me off. "It's impossible."
"You don't know that."
"There's a hundred guards on these walls. A thousand, probably. We have no weapons, and we don't even know how to get back home."
"We'll find a way. We'll figure it out."
"No, we won't. Even if we got past the guards and the wards and the sentries, and we made it back through the portal, how would we hide? How would we keep my family safe?"
I opened my mouth, then closed it. Pelbie was right. Even if we went back, we’d end up with a lifetime of running; and it would be hard on her family.
She gave me a knowing smile. "Exactly. If we make it home, they will kill us. There's no place to hide. Nowhere to go. So I'm staying here, and so are you."
"No. Just... trust me. I'll find a way."
"Don't. Don't even try."
"What are you so afraid of?"
"Losing you!" Her voice rose, echoing off the stone. "Mira, can't you see what's happening? They're not just training you, they're breaking you. They're turning you into a weapon. For what? Why do they care so much about one human girl?"
"Pelbie—"
"And the way you're acting? The secrets, the lies? You're not the same anymore."
"You don't understand," I insisted. "It's not like that. It's complicated."
"Complicated? I don't care about complicated. You're not yourself. And I'm tired of being lied to."
I sighed. "Pelbie—"
"No. If you want to talk, tell me the truth. Why are they treating you like this?"
I couldn't tell her. The more she knew, the more dangerous it would be.
But she didn't back down. "I deserve to know. I'm not stupid, Mira."
"Fine." I crossed the room and sat down on the edge of the bed, then drew my knees up, wrapping my arms around them. "There's... something about me. Something different."
Her eyebrows rose. "Different? What do you mean?"
"I can’t explain it either."
"You're being vague."
I took a breath. "I don't know. My blood has healing properties, or something. They use it for medicines."
Pelbie frowned. "Your blood heals?"
"Sort of. Not completely. But, yes. It's not exactly the same as normal blood."
She blinked, slowly. "How is that possible?"
"I don't know."
"Is it magic?"
"Maybe." I lifted one shoulder, the movement a little awkward.
"Why didn't you tell me before?"
"Because it makes me valuable. It's not safe to know. The less you know, the better."
She sighed and shook her head, but she didn't push the subject any further.
"So, tell me about Brond. I guess your lessons are going well, aren't they?" I nudged her with a teasing smirk, glad to have the spotlight off me.
"He's..." She opened her mouth, then closed it. "He's like no other man I've ever met."
Something about the admission struck me as deeply earnest, the kind of honesty only an almost lover was allowed to hear.
"Why?"
She blushed. "Let's just say... he's skilled at more than just swords."
"Pelbie! You did not sleep with him!"
"Of course not!" She feigned shock. "But, ah... I may have... allowed him certain liberties."
I raised my brow.
She glanced down at her hands, hiding her sheepish grin. "We might have kissed."
"Just kissed?"
"Twice."
"Pelbie!"
Her smile was infectious.
I laughed. "I didn't think you had it in you."
"Neither did I. But apparently, I've been missing out."
I shook my head. "Just... be safe."
Pelbie's ears went pink, and she fumbled with the dice in her hands, dropping them back into their leather pouch. "Don't worry. I won't get caught with him under my skirts."
I let out a soft laugh.
Pelbie cinched the pouch shut and set it on the table beside her, the soft clink of the dice fading into the low crackle of the fire. I smiled, but my mind had already wandered.
Intimacy. The word felt strange in my head, heavier than it should be. I’d only ever shared my bed with one person before. The baker’s boy from the lower quarter, with his calloused hands and easy smile.
Tomos.
He had always smelled of beeswax and fresh bread, the flour on his hands catching in my hair, making it itch.
We had snuck him into my tiny bedchamber nearly every day after the bells had rung, when the sunlight melted like butter into the cracks between the cobblestones. Did I love him? Perhaps. Or perhaps I had simply wanted the life we once could have had, before he was taken as a Vessel.
After that, I’d promised I wouldn’t let anyone close enough for it to matter again. Promises are easier when you have nothing left to break.
Love meant weakness, and weakness was something I couldn’t afford.
Pelbie shifted against the pillows, breaking me from my thoughts. “Well,” she said, her voice carrying that stubborn spark again, “if you’re going to sit there brooding, we might as well do something useful.”
I arched my brow. “Useful?”
She patted the table between us. “Let’s play a round. Dice. Just to see if I can still beat you.”
I smirked. “You’ve never beaten me.”
Her grin widened. “Then I’ll enjoy changing that.”
She loosened the pouch again, the dice tumbling into her palm with a soft, satisfying click. They caught the firelight as she set them down, gold glinting in the carved pips.
“The winner gets… bragging rights,” she declared.
“That’s all?” I asked.
“For now,” she said, rolling the dice into the center of the table, the sound sharp against the wood.
I reached forward, already planning how to make her regret challenging me.