Chapter 25
Arax
The previous night was the only thing on my mind the next morning.
Penelope had corralled everyone into her room, and I had been deliberately excluded, so whatever it was had to involve me to some extent.
I wasn’t blind or naive enough to not see that.
What the issue was exactly was still a mystery to me, a mystery I was hell-bent on solving now that it was a new day.
I thought back to the dinner table, the rage on Konstantine’s face, Drake being thrown backward, and his anger when he got up.
I had my assumptions. Konstantine had viewed me as an intruder before, and I suspected this view to hold true still.
Maybe he was furious at Drake for bringing me back—and annoyed at his sister for inviting me to stay.
I hated the thought that I could be the cause of so much conflict.
I got up and dressed in a soft hoodie and jeans.
After lacing up my sneakers, I headed out of my room, vaguely remembering how to navigate around the castle until I reached the front doors.
It was midmorning, so I started walking, hoping to find someone I recognized so I could get some answers.
I had no idea where I was going, so I wandered aimlessly for a while, enjoying the beauty of the castle. There was so much of it to enjoy too.
Last year, when Nurse Annalee had spoken of it, she’d said the castle had been built into the mountain.
That wasn’t quite accurate. It was carved out of it.
I could see it for myself, now that I was standing on the side and looking at the main structure.
Outside, stairs and paths of various heights wound around either side, connecting somewhere in the back.
The stonework was covered in vines, ivy, and moss, blending flawlessly into the surrounding landscape.
With the castle carved following the organic formation of the rock, it left everything around it undisturbed and in its natural state.
The flora had free will do as it pleased, winding tightly into the gaps and curves of the bedrock.
It stood out against the obsidian outlines of the castle, glowing a deep green, as though the castle was cauldron brewing a portion that spilled along its sides.
There were delicate flowers and plants everywhere.
I kept walking and every so often, I’d come across seating areas with tables and benches, shaded by archways that filtered out sunlight.
The smell of freshly cut grass and spring flowers hung in the air, most notably hyacinth, which I had always associated with this time of year.
It would adorn every nook of my childhood home as my family celebrated the arrival of the vernal equinox.
To smell it again created a conjunction between past and present.
I had missed this place; that I knew for sure.
Despite my previously short stay, the tunnels of this monolith had a calm and understated elegance that I hadn’t known anywhere else.
It wasn’t until several flights of stairs and many twists and turns later when I found myself on an elevated walkway overlooking what I assumed to be some kind of exercise facility with an adjacent outdoor arena.
It was filled with people. I recalled Konstantine mentioning training on my last night the prior year.
From the looks of it, the session wasn’t over yet.
Dozens of men and women were engaging with each other in hand-to-hand combat.
I’d only started taking martial arts classes myself, but I’d accompanied my brother to several competitions over the years.
However, I’d never witnessed technique like this.
The maneuvers were executed with precision.
Each roll, tackle, and punch had skill and power behind it.
These people did not hold back. Most were shirtless, even the women, clad in only sports bras and shorts.
Sweat rolled down their bodies as they moved seamlessly from one action to the next.
I fell into a trance, watching the display of strength and artistry in front of me, kind of wishing I could join in on the excitement.
“Enjoying the show?” a gruff voice said from behind me. Cyrus shot an accusatory look my way before coming to stand next to me.
“I don’t even know what I’m watching,” I replied, raising an eyebrow at him.
“Training,” he said, flat and monotone, as if that explained everything.
“Yes, I figured that much out on my own. Training for what?”
“The Olympics,” he answered, not missing a beat.
“The Olympics? Really? That’s the best you can do?”
“You ask too many questions,” he said in the dismissive tone I’d come to expect from him.
“I asked one,” I replied.
“One too many.”
“Last night…” I said.
“Nope,” Cyrus immediately replied.
“What do you mean ‘nope’?” I asked, a little too forcefully.
Cyrus’s eyebrows went up and he rolled his eyes. “I’m not getting involved in all that.” He shrugged. “And you shouldn’t either. It’s between Stan and Drake.”
“This bruise says otherwise,” I said, pointing at my shoulder. “I have a feeling it has something to do with me.”
He looked me up and down and grinned. “I see you still think quite highly of yourself.”
“No I don’t,” I snapped. Then I backed down. I knew this trick. I’d used it on my brother all the time when we had been younger and butting heads.
Cyrus was trying to distract me by pissing me off.
“Why can’t you just tell me what it was all about?” I asked, making my voice less demanding and a little more charming. It was fruitless; he didn’t fall for it.
“Hmm, let me think.” He tapped his chin, making the gesture more exaggerated than necessary. “Oh, right, because I don’t want to.”
“Afraid you’ll get in trouble?” I sneered, resorting to mocking him as though we were kids on the playground.
“Yup!” Cyrus slowly walked backward, entertained by whatever I tried to throw at him.
“Scared to be put on time out?”
He clutched his chest. “Wouldn’t want that!”
He laughed heartily at my expression, which must have been a satisfying mix of frustration at not being able to get a rise out of him and angst at receiving no answers.
He peered out over the side of the walkway.
“Go back inside, Roxie,” he said. “Training is over, and the men are putting their shirts back on. Nothing more to see out here.” He tossed me a carefree grin, then turned away.
“Guess which finger I’m thinking of!” I yelled to him.
“This one?” he yelled back and held it up without turning around. Advantage, Cyrus. That was on me; I’d walked right into it.
I obstinately stayed where I was until he was gone.
Blowing a puff of air out from my lungs, I pivoted to look down at the grounds.
Training was indeed over. The crowd was thinning, and I saw a shiny head of straw-colored hair amid the stragglers.
I hadn’t been sure it was him, but now that he was standing with his back toward me and his shirt was still off, his dragon tattoo was a dead giveaway.
My eyes followed Drake as he turned around and walked with a few of the men.
I hurried down, retracing my steps back to the castle entrance. It was busier there, with the athletes all seemingly headed in the same direction. Scanning the sea of people, I spotted Drake and ran toward him. “Drake!”
He didn’t look back, but from his quickening pace, I knew he heard me.
“Drake!” I called again.
He walked faster, his companions increasing their strides to keep up. I ran out of patience at his avoidance.
“Drake, what the fuck!” I shouted. At my outburst, several heads turned my way, his included.
I was embarrassed at the scene I’d caused but stared at him until he reluctantly nodded at those looking, silently telling them to move along.
“Hey, Rox,” he said, too casually, once we were alone.
I panted heavily, getting right to the point. “You’re avoiding me.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are. I know you heard me calling your name.
“I’m just trying to get to breakfast before it’s all gone,” he replied, deflecting. “These guys eat like pigs. Have you eaten?”
“Stop trying to change the subject! And put on a shirt!”
Drake sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He caved to my demands by reaching into his bag and pulling a muscle tee over his head. It was like second skin, he may as well have stayed shirtless.
“Rox, listen…”
“No, you listen,” I said, taking over the conversation. “I’m tired of being ‘handled,’ first last night and getting sent to my room, then a minute ago with Cyrus refusing to discuss what happened. Now you’re running away from me too. Can you please tell me what’s going on?”
Drake stared off into the distance. When he didn’t answer, I grew worried and sad, but mostly exasperated. I stomped my foot like a petulant teenager. Dealing with Cyrus and Drake was really helping bring out my mature side.
“Drake, are we still friends?” I asked.
His eyes snapped quickly toward mine.
“Of course we are,” he replied readily. It was a relief to hear.
“Then why won’t you answer the question?”
“You’re not going to drop this, are you?” He sighed again when I shook my head. “It’s complicated, okay?”
“What’s so complicated that it almost got you thrown off the deck? Is it because I came back? Is it because you insisted on it? Should I leave? Help me out here, am I close?”
“Cyrus was right. You do ask too many questions,” Drake said to himself.
What? How did he… “How did you know Cyrus said that?” I asked suspiciously.
“Stan has his reasons, Rox,” he replied, glossing over my question.
“No reason is good enough for putting his hands on you, Drake,” I said quietly. “Has he even apologized?”
It was a question whose answer I assumed to know, but I wanted to give Konstantine the benefit of the doubt. Drake’s non-response graduated my assumption from theory to proof.
“I’m fine. It’s fine, really. Please do us all a favor and let it go.”