CHAPTER 11
I awoke in a panicked fever, sweat trickling down my nape. I stared around my room, but it was pitch dark. When I closed my eyes again, I saw gleaming yellow eyes and blood on my hands.
I pried my eyes open. My legs were tangled in the sheets. Yanking the covers off, I crossed to where a sphere of artificial light the elven seemed to favor over candles – orblight, I’d learned it was called – sat in a sconce. I ran my hand over the cool globe and soft light filled the space.
No arrow-tailed lancer. No blood. Just white sheets, a nondescript dresser and Calendula, curled up on the side of the desk, fast asleep.
My stomach gave a loud grumble. I couldn’t go back to sleep. Not when my mind was so agitated. I needed a walk. A midnight snack or a glass of warm milk with honey, like Umma used to make when I could not sleep.
I glanced down at the pajama set I wore – a soft flannel top with matching bottoms – before deciding that I didn’t care if anyone saw me. I doubted anyone would still be up and roaming the corridors in the middle of the night, anyway.
I slipped quietly from the room, careful not to disturb Calendula, and made my way to the mess hall upstairs.
As anticipated, it was deserted. The benches stretched out through the space, orblight floating dimly above them. It was eerie, standing in the empty hall with nothing but my thoughts for company. I shrugged off the feeling as I took a seat at one of the tables and waited.
Usually, the food appeared before me. As if it knew I were there, waiting. But now, nothing happened. I tapped a foot against the stone and envisioned warm milk. My nose scrunched in concentration and my eyes squeezed shut. Still, nothing.
I didn’t know exactly how the food situation worked here. I was annoyed at myself for not caring enough to figure it out. Perhaps meals were only delivered at designated mealtimes. In which case, I would have to just suck it up and go back to bed.
“What are you doing?”
I swiveled around to stare at the door.
Kilian leaned against the threshold, one ankle casually crossed over the other. He was not dressed for bed. But he did not look ready for battle like usual either. He wore a deep black shirt that hugged the contours of his frame and dark pants. Heavy boots completed his ensemble.
My cheeks burned as I remembered our earlier encounter. I doused my embarrassment in irritation. “Why are you everywhere I go?”
He raised a brow. “In my own home?”
I rolled my eyes. “I forget, sometimes, that this is your house and not a prison for us mortals.”
He scoffed. “Good one.”
I watched as he uncrossed his ankle and strode toward me. Unhurried. Unbothered. Unaffected.
I swallowed as he took a seat beside me, facing the opposite direction. He leaned his elbows on the table behind him and stared up at the ceiling. I gazed at the broad column of his throat and wondered what it would taste like.
I tore my eyes from him as quickly as the thought flitted through my mind.
He looked at me like he knew exactly what I had thought. Thanks to the link, he probably did.
“What do you want?” I asked, resignation chafing my words.
“I want to know what you’re doing up here this late at night when you should be resting.”
I sighed. “If you must know, I had a bad dream.”
He nodded, understanding, or something akin to sympathy, in his eyes. It was an expression I was unfamiliar with.
“What happened in it?” he asked.
I dug my nails into my palms, unfurled my fingers slowly, repeated the motion.
“The arrow-tailed lancer… I watched it kill Anama, just as it had during the first Trial. And then I watched it devour Moric. And drown Lana.” I shut my eyes against the flashing mental images, grainy and hazy now, but in the dream, everything had felt so real.
He placed his warm, callused fingers over one of my hands, enveloping it. His thumb ran along the inside of my wrist. “It was just a dream.”
I nodded, hastily scrubbing my free hand across my cheek to swipe at the errant tear that had fallen.
I hated how emotional the dream had made me.
I hated that I was being this vulnerable around him.
That he was comforting me, likely out of pity.
I tried willing shields of ice and rock around me, but I was too tired tonight. My heart hurt too much.
So, I let him hold my hand, his thumb stroking gently along my skin.
“I have bad dreams too,” Kilian said gently.
I looked at him then. Really looked at him. I saw the dark circles beneath his eyes, the haphazard mess of his hair, the shadow sprouting along his jaw. Tonight, he looked like he had seen several centuries and carried the weight of the world on his shoulders.
“What do you dream about?” I whispered, half-afraid he wouldn’t tell me. Half-afraid he would.
He tipped his head back up to the ceiling and released a breath. “Gods and monsters.”
“That doesn’t sound too bad,” I said, a halfhearted attempt to lighten the mood.
“No. I suppose it doesn’t.” He turned back to me, pressed his lips together like he was debating what he would say next. “You know, I am sorry. About your friend. And for being an asshole about it after the challenge.”
I blinked. “Did you just… apologize?”
He shrugged. “I understand it wasn’t the appropriate time to discuss the odds of survivability then.”
I shook my head. “It wasn’t about that, though.
The way you treat us… it’s like we’re pawns in a game of chess.
Like our lives matter less than yours. It’s how you expect me to perform in these Trials.
To forsake my morals, the friendships and loyalties I’ve formed here.
To let others die while I continue to live.
I cannot carelessly absolve myself of the guilt as easily as you can. ”
He gave me a level stare. Quiet rage scraped at the boundary of my mind.
“You think my guilt doesn’t eat me alive?
That I go to sleep at night at peace with what I’ve had to do?
Trust me, my guilt has not been absolved by a long shot.
But… I do value the lives of mortals. Far more than you will ever realize. ”
My lip curled distrustfully. His words sounded sincere, but his actions proved otherwise. And it was giving me a headache, staring at him as if I would be able to see the answers to all my questions if I simply looked hard enough.
“You do realize you can just let us all go, right?” I suggested. “If you feel so bad about the Trials.”
“I said I valued mortal life, not that I disagree with the necessity of the Trials. The two are mutually inclusive.”
“Have I told you how much I hate it when you speak in riddles?”
He looked like he was thinking. “Hm. You’ve told me how much you hate me, so I gather it’s included in that package, but if you want to go into specifics on what it is you hate about me, then please, by all means, continue.”
Fine, I could go into specifics.
“I hate your house.”
He looked around the mess hall, brows drawn. “Why? What’s wrong with it?”
“It’s too big. Too minimalistic. There’s no personality to it.”
“Why does it matter whether there’s personality to it? It serves its purpose.”
“Yes, but it’s not a home.”
“I never claimed it to be one.”
“Why do we all have to live here?”
“As opposed to…? Where else would you have me put thirteen mortals where I can simultaneously monitor their treatment and ensure they’re training adequately?”
I rolled my eyes. “I hate how argumentative you are.”
“Some might call it banter.”
“Banter is supposed to be fun. It’s not supposed to feel like banging your head against a wall.”
“Speak for yourself. I’m having fun,” he said dryly. His face was a blank mask, his body all serious lines and unrelenting edges. He didn’t look like he’d know the definition of fun if it smacked him in the face.
“I hate the link.”
“That I do know. But it did save your life in the caves, so a little gratitude might be nice.”
I clenched my teeth. “After you put me there.”
“Irrelevant.”
“I didn’t mean to draw from it.”
“But you did. And you enjoyed how the power felt.”
I glared at him. “Those are private thoughts and feelings.”
“They belong to me now.”
Anger hissed inside of me like a whistling teapot. “You can’t just do that. It’s not fair, and, in fact, it’s emotionally manipulative. You’ve already kidnapped me. You can’t also follow me around and demand I talk to you, listen in on my thoughts or kiss me in hallways.”
He raised his brows, amused now. “That wasn’t a kiss. I could provide a demonstration if you’d like to do a comparison?”
My cheeks flushed, interest stirring inside of me at his suggestion. “No, thank you,” I said primly. “My point is, I’m in a vulnerable position and you’re using the situation to take advantage of me.”
“It’s not my fault you’re not using the link to your advantage. I keep telling you, it’s reciprocal. Maybe if you let me train you, you might be able to find out some useful information. Maybe then there wouldn’t be so much of a power imbalance.”
“It won’t be that easy and you know it,” I insisted.
“You’ll never know if you don’t try,” he said in an infuriatingly self-explanatory way.
“Or you could just tell me what I need to know,” I said firmly.
“But then you’ll never learn how to properly channel the magic.”
I considered it. All the extra hours we would have to spend together for any meaningful training to occur.
Just him and I, nothing but his scent, his voice, his eyes, his all-consuming energy.
I thought of his lips on my jaw, how much I’d enjoyed it despite the multitude of reasons why I shouldn’t have, and decided that I vehemently did not trust myself around him in a hallway, let alone in dedicated training sessions.
Training with him might save my life, but it would not be without a cost. And my heart was too high a price.
I sighed, officially giving up on this exhausting game of tug of war that had no good ending for me.
He tilted his head toward me. “You hate me now, but I think…” He paused, and it was the first time I had seen him struggle for words. Eventually, he said, “I think if you had met me in a different time, in a different place, far from here, you might have actually liked me.”
“Maybe,” I said. “If you weren’t intent on putting me and my friends in jeopardy for Trials you cannot tell me the purpose of.”
He gave a grave nod. “Maybe then.”
I slanted my head, mirroring his position. “Since we’re talking fictional worlds, what else would happen?”
A soft smile caressed the corners of his lips. “Am I elven in this pretend scenario?”
“Oh, no. You’d be mortal.”
He snorted. “Okay, sure. Well, if I were mortal, I’d live every day like it were my last. I’d feel my fleeting mortality.
I would relish in every single second of it because there is magic in having your days numbered.
There is a gift in knowing that you must spend your time wisely and do the things you truly want to because your days are limited.
Immortality strips you of that sense of time. It desensitizes you.”
I chewed on my lip. “You’re right. In this make-believe world, I might have liked the mortal version of you.”
“I knew you would.” Kilian released his grip on my hand.
I had been so absorbed in our conversation that I had forgotten he was still holding my hand. The absence of his touch left my skin cold. With it came stark realization.
What was I doing, sitting in the mess hall, entertaining a conversation with him, listening to him talk about how things might be if he were not elven?
He was elven. And I was mortal. There was no other version of life. No alternative reality where he was not the villain in my story.
“I should go.” I stood, my hunger a distant memory. All I wanted now was to leave this hall, to get away from his piercing gaze that saw too much.
He gave a reluctant nod. “You should get some rest.”
I didn’t look back when I left. I didn’t want to see if his gaze followed me through the hall, or if he had returned to staring up at the ceiling, looking as troubled as I felt.
When I reached my room, I collapsed back in the sheets, my thoughts churning over our conversation. When I finally drifted off to sleep, I dreamed of silver eyes and a soft smile.