Chapter Ninety Daje #2
A mob had formed near the inn, and while they spot us as we run towards the stables, I am relieved to find that at least the horses have been left alone.
Once we mount, we race out on a dirt road that follows a small stream, the scarce moonlight flooding in through the trees guiding us as we put as much distance as possible between us and them.
The sun is beginning to rise when we finally slow the horses hours later, leading them to the spring to drink and then to a small meadow to graze.
Intent with removing as much blood as possible from my person, I return to the stream, my movements slow.
The balance of using my magic during the fight means that it needs time to recover now, a process that annoys me nearly as much as the exhaustion that feels heavy in my bones.
I spot Elora farther down and kneeling in front of the water, and I announce my presence once I’m a few feet behind her. “Wanting to clean up too?”
“Trying to,” she says, a little breathless as she looks at me over her shoulder.
“Do you mind if I…?” I pause and tug at my top.
“Nope. Go ahead.” I wait until she turns back towards the water before pulling it off, grimacing.
We’ll be able to buy all new supplies and clothing when we reach Bragos.
All except for the books Elora had brought.
Unfortunately, those were priceless. She had remained utterly silent as we rode away, her body stiff as a board.
Even now, her movements are jerky as she scrubs at her hands beneath the water.
“You know what’s funny?” she says as I kneel next to her, dipping my shirt into the water.
“What?”
“We are trained for most of our childhood and into adulthood to fight. To defend ourselves. We choose a weapon as our specialty. We have mock battles and sparring sessions with our peers. In theory, we are taught how to take a life without ever assuming that we’ll actually need to.”
I tilt my head to the side, cleaning my shirt as I ponder that. “I suppose that is true enough, though—”
“But what we really should have been training for is what happens after the fight.” She sucks in a breath, a desperate laugh coming from her as I glance her way.
“All this time spent on preparing for the action. On besting your opponent, and yet no one tells you that after you do just that, you feel different.” My eyes move to where she is scrubbing at her hands in the water, the skin on the backs of them bright red.
“Isn’t that funny? Someone tried to kill me, tried to kill my friends, yet I’m the one who is left to feel bad.
I’m the one who is wondering if this has changed who I am fundamentally as a person.
If I’m now like them and have no regard for someone else’s life and—”
“Elora.” My hands close around hers, jolting her out of her spiral and forcing her eyes to meet mine.
They’re rimmed in red, a sheen to them suggesting that she’s either been crying or trying her very best not to.
Her bottom lip trembles as her breaths flit in and out of her, a blush rising to stain her cheeks.
Swallowing, I look down at our hands in the water. My darker ones cradling her fair ones as I stroke my thumbs over the raw red marks left by her nails. Carefully, I lift them from the water before resting one hand on her thigh and inspecting the other.
“The fact that you’re asking these questions proves you are nothing like them.
That your compassion is still very much intact.
” I keep my gaze on her delicate fingers, rubbing my thumb over each one as I check to see if there is any blood remaining.
“What we had to do back at the inn was a matter of life or death. You did what you had to in order to protect not only yourself but Cass and I. And you did. You protected us.” Laying her hand down, I gently pick up the other one, beginning my examination of it.
“Feeling conflicted about ending another’s life just means that you value it.
But those men did give us a choice: kill or be killed.
And while I hope we don’t have to experience anything else like that again for the rest of our days, I can say confidently that you made the right choice.
” I hold her hand longer than I need to, longer than necessary as my gaze rises to meet hers.
She stares at me through her glasses, the cadence of her breaths softer now.
“Your hands are clean,” I tell her, gently laying the other one down.
“Thank you,” she whispers, the words just barely audible as they pass her lips.
Her hand lifts, cold fingertips brushing near the angry purple skin at the front of my shoulder.
“This must have hurt.” I watch as her gaze travels down my exposed skin slowly, nerve endings that have nothing to do with the bruise there burning brightly at the way she is looking at me.
Something fragile and heated stretches taut between us when our eyes meet again, my throat working with a swallow as she bites down on her bottom lip.
“Friends, you’re lucky I’m fabulous at everything I do! First time hunting, and I’ve caught us a worthy meal!” Cass’s voice snaps us out of the moment, Elora blinking quickly and adjusting her glasses before pushing herself up to stand.
“Thanks for—”
“Of course.” I give her a small smile and return to scrubbing my shirt, listening as Cass excitedly recounts his hunting tale to Elora.
I force myself to focus on the next task at hand—getting to Bragos.
From there, we’ll be within a few hours of the northern fae beaches and be able to cross the Spell.
The events of earlier are only a stark reminder that I need to keep my head—and emotions—in check.
At any moment, death could be lingering around a corner waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike. I can’t afford any distractions; none of us can.