Chapter 17
Briony’s words echo in my mind as I make my way to Eldrion’s chambers, my heart pounding in my chest. The hallway stretches before me, dimly lit by flickering candles, and I can’t help but feel a sense of unease wash over me.
As I round the corner, I nearly collide with Eldrion himself. He’s dressed in a black cloak and riding boots, his dark hair swept back from his angular face. His eyes, piercing and intense, rake over my body, lingering on my hips for a moment too long.
“Come with me to the stables,” he commands, his voice low and authoritative.
I glance back at Briony, who watches us with a dejected expression as Eldrion dismisses her with a wave of his hand. I want to reassure her, to tell her that I’ll be all right, but the words stick in my throat as Eldrion strides away, expecting me to follow.
The stables are warm and musty, the scent of hay and horses filling my nostrils. Eldrion leads me to a large white horse, its coat gleaming in the dim light. He mounts his own steed, a magnificent black beast, and we set off into the night.
As we ride through the streets of the citadel, I can’t help but notice the way people shrink back into their houses at the sight of Eldrion. Even with my empathic gates firmly shut, the fear he invokes is palpable, hanging heavy in the air like a suffocating fog.
We arrive at an inn on the outskirts of the citadel, a weathered wooden building with a faded sign hanging above the door. Inside, the air is thick with the scent of ale and sweat, and the low murmur of conversation fills the room. Eldrion orders two pints of ale and leads me to a table in the corner, where we sit in silence, seemingly waiting for something.
As the night wears on, the inn begins to empty, until we are the only patrons left. The innkeeper, a nervous-looking man with thinning hair, approaches our table cautiously. “Lord Eldrion,” he says, his voice trembling slightly. “Can I fetch you some more ale?”
In a flash, Eldrion is on his feet, his hand slamming down on the table. He draws a knife from his belt and plunges it into the innkeeper’s hand, pinning him to the wooden surface. The man cries out in pain, his eyes wide with terror.
“What do you know about Vysoryn?” Eldrion demands, his voice cold and menacing.
The innkeeper pleads with him, tears streaming down his face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, my lord. Please, I beg you, I know nothing of this demon.”
Eldrion turns to me, his eyes boring into mine. “Drop your gates,” he commands. “Tell me if he’s telling the truth.”
I hesitate for a moment, my heart racing in my chest. But I know I have no choice. I let my barriers fall away, and close my eyes. Taking off my gloves, I reach out and place one hand on the innkeeper’s wrist. He flinches. His skin is cold and clammy. I inhale deeply. I do not need to touch him to know what he’s feeling, but it helps. It grounds me.
Immediately, I’m overwhelmed by the man’s fear and desperation. It swells inside me, tightens on the inside of my throat, claws beneath my skin. It is all-consuming. It makes me whimper. “Ask him again,” I whisper.
Eldrion complies.
Again, the innkeeper says, “My lord, I swear, I don’t know the word Vysoryn.” His fear surges once again. Thick and black, like smoke coiling around his entire body. But then... beneath it all is the unmistakable flicker of deceit.
He’s lying.
I open my eyes and meet the innkeeper’s. Fear turns to terror as he searches my face. I tap his wrist lightly with my fingertips and sit back. Then I look at Eldrion. As I meet his gaze, I find myself saying, “He’s telling the truth. He doesn’t know what you’re asking him.”
For a long moment, Eldrion stares at me, his expression unreadable. I brace myself for his anger, for the accusation that I’m lying to him. But it doesn’t come. Instead, he yanks the knife from the innkeeper’s hand and sheathes it at his belt.
“We’re done here,” he says, his voice flat and emotionless as the innkeeper falls back in his seat, cradling his hand.
Outside, he jumps onto his horse and I do the same, swinging up instead of using my wings because it has always felt right to ride this way.
Stroking the horse’s mane, I thank her for waiting for me.
Eldrion glances at me, his icy eyes shining in the darkness. Without speaking, he taps his horse’s side and trots across the cobbles back towards the castle.
As we ride, I can’t shake the feeling of unease that settles in the pit of my stomach. Eldrion trusted me, even when I lied to him. But why? Why would he trust me when I have every reason to deceive him?
“You took my gloves from my cabin.” I turn and look at him through the darkness.
He does not look at me.
“They were in the bottom of my trunk at the foot of my bed. I know they are mine. The ones my mother gave me.”
Eldrion makes a hmm sound deep in his throat.
“You knew who I was before you bought me at the arena.” It is a statement, not a question, but he does not correct me. “How?”
This time, he does look at me. Arms loose at his sides, riding as if he can command his horse with only the grip of his thighs, he drags his gaze from my eyes to my lips.
Although I have shut off my empathy once more, I see it still... The way he trusts me. But there is something else, too.
Fear.
And suddenly, I know it was not just the innkeeper I felt; it was Eldrion, too.
He trusts me, but he is afraid of me, and I have no idea what that means.
Although Brionyclearly wants to talk to me about what happened, I ask her for some time alone, shut my door, strip off my clothes and my gloves, and lie down on the bed. The fire blazes in the grate. It is too hot in here – always too hot – and the heat is emphasised by the fact my body is trying to regulate itself after using the magic I so often keep guarded.
I stand up and throw open the window. Finally, there is a cool breeze outside, and I stand for a while, allowing it to calm my skin.
Vysoryn. Eldrion asked the innkeeper what he knew about Vysoryn.
I have never heard the word before, but whatever it means, it was important enough for him to take me out of the castle.
As my temperature descends back to something closer to normal, I take my robe from the back of the chair and slip it on. I examine the wound on my thigh. It healed perfectly just a day after Finn treated it, which – I have to admit – was disappointing because I had hoped he might come to check on its progress.
Perhaps Finn would know what Vysoryn means. He spoke to me in the old tongue when I met him at the centennial, and he is older than me – even if just by fifty or so years.
But what excuse can I find to see him again? Unless I get sick, it seems we are destined to simply stare at one another while he performs for the court.
I stride over to the fire, pick up the poker that sits beside the grate, and hold it in the flames. When I lift it out, I stare at its white-hot spike for a moment before snapping myself out of my madness and tossing it to the floor.
I should ask Briony. She would help if I asked her to. But somehow, it feels like my relationship with Finn – if it can be called a relationship – should be kept hidden.
Should be kept safe.
Just for me.
Thinking of him, trying to drag my mind away from Eldrion and what he wants from me and how I might use his trust to my advantage, I sit down in the armchair and close my eyes. I drift back to the waterfall. I see his blood-red mask, and feel his fingers tracing gently up my thighs.
Slowly, I run my hand down my neck, then open my robe. I moisten my fingers and then move them to my nipple and sigh as I pinch lightly.
My other hand is moving across my stomach when there is a tap-tap-tap on the door that jerks me back into the room.
“Briony, I asked to be alone.” I stand, pulling my gloves roughly back onto my hands, and stride over to the door, annoyance stiffening in my limbs.
But when I open the door, it is not Briony on the other side – it is the jester.
Without speaking, he gestures for me to let him in, and I usher him silently inside. When the door closes, he stares into my eyes, grabs my waist, and kisses me. It is a deep, searching kiss, our mouths colliding as though they have been waiting for this moment for years instead of days.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” I breathe as I pull back and stroke the side of his mask.
“You weren’t there tonight. I was worried. Briony said Eldrion took you somewhere.”
I don’t need to be an empath to see the worry in his dark brown eyes. I brush my thumb over his lips, then let him kiss my knuckles. “He did, but I’m all right.”
“You don’t have to tell me about it.” Finn is stroking my arm. “But you can if you want to.”
I shake my head, and reach up on tiptoes to kiss him again. “Not now.” I take his hand and lead it to the opening of my robe. “For now, I need not to think, or talk. I just want to feel.”
Finn’s lips curl into a delicious smile. It sends lightning rods of pleasure down my spine to settle in my core and, not for the first time, I wonder how he’s capable of doing that with only a look. Just a look.
“Do you think you can entertain me, jester?” I ask playfully, combing my fingers through his dishevelled hair.
Almost purring in response, Finn grabs my waist and tugs me into his chest. With his lips close to my ear, he whispers, “You’re in luck, si’thari – entertainment is my specialty.”