CHAPTER EIGHTEEN #2
My blindfold was suddenly yanked off my head. Blinking my eyes open, I expected a guard to be standing before me, hand on the pommel of their sword lest I breathe the wrong way.
But only Kodhan stood to my right, jaw clenched so tightly I was surprised his teeth didn’t shatter.
He didn’t so much as look at me, his gaze fixed on the person making his way towards us with a train-cart lined with our meals.
“You will not be wearing one of these again. Is that understood?” he muttered.
Surprised, my eyes fell to where he was slowly wrapping my blindfold around the knuckles of his right hand.
Much like those who fought in darkened alleys. Who bound their fists before beating their opponents senseless.
“Yes,” I breathed.
I knew better than to think he didn’t see me watching him. But it was from Theia’s scrutinizing stare that he hid his fist from, shuffling a few steps closer to me as he angled his body away from her.
“You have five minutes to consume your meals, so make them count,” the food-guard announced, taking the metal lids off each plate. Soup. Every one of them, all the same pasty red color.
It took less than three minutes for it to disappear.
My stomach growled in earnest. Not enough.
“Blindfolds will no longer be needed,” he said, retrieving his silverware. “And all guards are to return to his Eminence." More complaints rang out from other guards. “His Majesty has changed his mind. His orders, not mine.”
They left without a second to waste, swearing and grumbling over the clatter of the train-cart.
It was when the four of us were back in Theia’s room that Kodhan grabbed my wrist, spinning me around to face him. My fingers brushed his chest as he applied pressure on my pulse with his thumb, forcing my hand to splay open. My bloody hand.
The low tenor of his voice sent shivers down my spine. “When did this happen?”
“What does it matter to you?” I tried to yank my wrist free. He held fast.
I shot Theia a hopeful look. But she, too, was preoccupied by the crimson staining my palms and fingers. Brannon was no help, either. The curiosity washing over his features betrayed his urge to step closer and take a better look for himself.
Kodhan gathered my other wrist so he could examine both palms. “Did the guard do this?”
A fresh dribble of blood leaked over my left hand, a drop of it splattering to the floor by our feet.
“Answer me.” A soft, lethal command.
My gaze slowly wandered upwards, then stopped to study his lips.
“He didn’t do this,” I said, quieter than I intended. “I did.”
“Why?” It was easy to follow the curve of his mouth when he spoke. Easier to study his slow, controlled breathing. Or at least, he was trying to control it. It was too thin. His exhales equally sharp.
But it was the pure violence lacing his tone that reminded me exactly why I had bled on purpose.
Gathering all my strength, I pulled hard enough that Kodhan stumbled forward a step, my wrists slipping free of his grasp at last.
I met his burning stare, uncaring of the fact that his attention flew to my cheeks. Surely, he would dismiss the scarlet tint as anger.
But then his eyes drifted to my mouth. To the fluttering pulse point in my neck.
Surely.
I hardened my voice as much as I could manage. “It doesn’t matter.”
The shadows cast by the flickering sconce seemed to disagree.
They stretched out from their source, pressing closer and closer until it felt like their teeth snapped at me from all angles.
It was like that one moment before Strength—no, worse—because I was starring right at them. Or, rather, they were staring at me.
Theia stifled a yawn. “At least let one of us clean it for you. It could get infected.”
I blinked once, and the shadows retracted.
As if they’d never moved to begin with. “You’ll do no such thing,” I snapped.
“And if you go snooping through my head, I will never forgive you for it.” Lack of sleep.
Hunger. Stress. If the hallucinations weren’t going to devour me whole, those would do just fine.
Theia’s face fell. The sight of it felt as though she’d scooped my heart out of my chest only to smash it against the wall repeatedly. “I would never, I just…” she began. Brannon bumped her shoulder with his arm, shaking his head slightly.
He gave me a tight smile, one that resembled more of a grimace. He dutifully avoided the second splatter of blood. “A strong soldier nurses their own wounds. Right?”
I’m sorry, I wanted to say. But my lips were sewn shut, bound by thread stronger than any chain. Those two words burned at the back of my throat, clawing and shredding until they died there, buried forever.
It was Brannon’s turn to stifle a yawn. My own limbs sagged as I turned away, drifting over to the foot of the bed and perching on it like a skittish bird. I couldn’t look any of them in the eye.
Coward, a small voice whispered in the back of my mind. Mine. It was my voice.
Coward. Coward. Coward.
“If you’re going to parade about with open wounds, that’s fine by me. But don’t get blood on the sheets,” Kodhan bit out, unmoving from his spot by the entry.
He starred absently at me—no, through me—like I was as non-corporeal as the shadows dancing across the walls once more. I was bare. Exposed. His fingertips brushed together absently before clenching into a tight fist.
Theia wordlessly made her way back to her spot on the floor, Brannon following closely behind.
I would find a way to apologize. I had to. But my body weighed several tons, bones creaking with every breath. Without thinking, I laid across the sheets, bloody hands and all. My eyelids drooped closed on their own. There was no use trying to force them open, they were melted shut.
The soup, that small voice screamed, horror cascading down my frozen limbs with a violent tremor.
The soup had been poisoned.