Chapter 13 #4
She was already gone, her hair flying behind her as she disappeared into the maze of books.
“I guess it’s just you and me.” He gestured for me to follow, still balancing the tower of books. “Shall we?”
We wove through the countless shelves, some tucked into far corners like secret chambers. I trailed my fingers along the raised gold lettering of every spine as we passed.
“Where are your usual companions?” Belshin asked, placing a book onto a shelf so high I had to crane my neck to see it. His height made the reach look effortless.
I waved a dismissive hand. “The fighting pits. They’re completely obsessed.”
We fell into step beside each other.
One side of his mouth quirked upward. “I take it you’re not a fan?”
“What’s to like about watching people beat each other senseless?” I sidestepped around someone carrying enough books to fill a small library. “Do you enjoy it?”
“I do.” The simplicity of his answer caught me off guard. Everything about Belshin screamed ‘gentle scholar’, from the careful way he handled books to his soft-spoken manner.
“Do you like to fight or just watch?”
“Both.”
He led us to a wooden table in the library’s furthest corner, where the crowds thinned and conversation could happen without whispers.
I tried to picture Belshin in the fighting pits but failed spectacularly. I dropped into the chair across from him.
“Why?” I asked.
“Fighting is a part of us.” He gestured to himself. “An extension of our being. To wield our bodies with power and precision—there’s a beauty in that dance.”
“You make beating people up sound like poetry.”
His smile widened. “Isn’t it, in a way?”
“Have you ever fought the king?” The question slipped out before I could stop it.
He leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowing playfully. “Many times.”
I leaned forward. “And?”
“None compare. I’ve fought countless opponents in my lifetime, but his power…” He shook his head slowly. “Unmatched does not even begin to cover it.”
“I saw Jasila stab him in the pit.” I arched an eyebrow, as if that proved something.
Belshin’s rich and warm laugh filled the space between us.
“Jasila may have landed a blow, but if our king had wanted to continue…” He shook his head again. “She would have been face-down in the dirt before she could blink.”
The conversation lulled, and his expression changed into something softer. More curious.
“Tell me about your home, Elira.” He inclined forward, elbows resting on the table. “I would love to hear about your life before you came here.”
My hands found each other across the wooden surface, fingers interlacing tightly. A familiar ache bloomed in my chest. I cleared my throat, fighting back the tears that always threatened to come when I thought of home.
“It’s honestly not that different from here.” I paused, letting myself remember. “Though it’s much more colourful. Everything here is stone and shadow. Home was… vibrant.”
“I lived with my mother.” Saying it felt like swallowing glass, but I pushed through. “We lived in a small village in the east of Edla, surrounded by rolling green hills that went on forever and forests so dense you could lose yourself for days.”
Belshin remained perfectly still, hands clasped in mirror of my own posture. No interruptions—just patient, unwavering focus, like my memories mattered.
“I can almost smell it,” I whispered, my brows knitting together as phantom scents teased my senses. “Wild roses and fresh bread from the village bakery and that clean smell after summer rain.” The words caught as I spoke. “I miss it so much.”
“It is okay to miss home,” he said gently. “That place, those memories, they are a part of you. They always will be.”
I took a shaky breath, grateful for his understanding. “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
If Tavrik was right about Dream Weavers, maybe Belshin could offer insight without me having to reveal the full horror of my nights.
I chose my words carefully.
“Tavrik mentioned something to me about Dream Weavers. Can you tell me anything about them?”
Something subtly tightened in Belshin’s posture.
“Dream Weavers are Jinn who possess the ability to manipulate the unconscious mind. They can slip into dreams like thieves, weaving visions and nightmares that feel as real as waking life.”
My stomach clenched. “Can any Jinn do this, or—”
“No.” The word came out sharp. “Only the strongest wield this particular power. It requires immense skill and…” He paused, weighing his words before speaking. “A certain darkness of spirit.”
I bit my lip, working up the courage to ask the question that mattered most.
“Can the dreams be stopped?”
He studied my face with those light blue eyes. “Unfortunately, only the Weaver themselves can end it. It is a choice they must make. There is no defence. No way to block their influence once they have chosen you.”
My heart sank.
“Are you—”
“There you are!” Mira’s voice cut through the air, and I’d never been more grateful for an interruption in my life.
She approached our table with three thick books balanced in her slender arms. A strand of hair had escaped her careful arrangement, hanging between her eyes until she puffed out a breath to dislodge it.
She set the books down with a satisfied thump. I couldn’t help myself—I craned my neck to read the titles.
The first one nearly sent me into hysterics.
“Spells, Sweat, and Satin Sheets.” I fought back laughter, my voice rising with each word. Even Belshin’s composure cracked, his lips twitching while Mira’s foot tapped out an irritated rhythm against the floor.
“Are you quite finished?” she demanded, her cheeks blooming pink.
She tried to snatch the books away from my prying eyes, but I leaned farther, catching a glimpse of the title she tried desperately to hide behind her fingers.
“Once Upon a Midnight Groan.”
That did it. I clutched my stomach as laughter poured out of me, loud enough to disturb every person around us.
Belshin joined in, his rich, booming chuckle so infectious that even Mira couldn’t maintain her indignation.
Her shoulders began to shake as she fought and lost the battle against her own amusement.
“You’re absolutely the worst,” she managed between giggles, clutching her books against her chest like treasure. “I’m never telling you anything ever again.”
Still grinning, I pushed back from the table and offered Belshin a grateful nod.
“Thank you for the company.”
“Anytime,” he replied, his smile warm.
I caught up to Mira easily, bumping her shoulder with mine.
“You know I love you, right?”
“I hate you,” she replied, bumping me back with a smile that said the opposite.
“I hate me too.” I winked. “But at least your book choices are entertaining as hell.”
Her mortified groan echoed through the library.
I made it all of two steps into my room when Theo and Tavrik’s voices clashed down the hallway. I backed right out, curious as to what their day had been like.
My jaw hit the floor.
Theo looked absolutely destroyed. His hair jutted out in wild strands, the drape of fabric over his shoulder hanging at some weird, twisted angle. A horrible scrape ran down his ribs, painting angry red, weeping lines across his skin.
But it was the way he was walking that really got me—limping hard, his face scrunched up in pain with every step he took.
Tavrik was right next to him, looking damn pleased with himself. The second he spotted me, his mouth twitched, and he shook his head like he was trying not to lose it completely.
I rushed over and grabbed Theo’s arm before he could topple. “What happened!?”
Theo clicked his tongue and straightened up, trying to play it off like he wasn’t about to pass out.
Tavrik melted against the wall, one boot crossed lazily over the other and arms folded across his chest.
“You let him fight?”
Tavrik shook slightly—a snort fighting to break free—but caught himself when Theo shot him a murderous look.
“Should I tell her or—”
“Shut. Up.” Theo’s voice was pure venom.
“Seriously,” I pushed. “Who did you fight? You look like you’re about to drop dead.”
Theo’s Adam’s apple jumped as he swallowed. His gaze darted to Tavrik, who was practically vibrating.
“I didn’t fight anyone,” Theo said quietly, his expression mortified.
“Then what—”
“I fell down the stairs!” The confession exploded out of him, his hands flying to scrub his face. “Okay? I fell down a whole fucking flight of stairs.”
The hallway went dead silent.
Tavrik and I locked eyes for exactly one second before we both absolutely lost it.
I doubled over, laughter ripping out of me. Tavrik slid down the wall until he was sitting on the floor, wheezing.
“Stop laughing at me!” Theo whined, his voice pitched high and hands flailing helplessly at his sides “It really hurt!”
His lower lip jutted out in the most pathetic pout I’d ever seen on a grown man, his eyes impossibly wide and wounded.
Naturally, we only laughed harder.
Mira added the final touches to my attire, fastening the serpent link around my upper arm.
The twin heads caught the firelight, casting writhing shadows across my bare shoulders.
The delicate gold chains draped around my neck felt like silken shackles, their weight settling into the hollow of my throat where my pulse hammered.
Each heartbeat was a reminder of how very alive—and terrified—I was.
The day had stretched on endlessly, my body moulded into the depression of my mattress like a corpse in its grave.
Each passing hour had fed the monster of dread growing in my chest. The memory of last night—sitting mere feet from Dalkhan while every instinct screamed at me to either run or throw myself at his mercy—made my skin crawl.
Mira’s gentle tap against my shoulder blade jolted me back to reality.
I yanked my sandal straps, the leather biting into my skin as I secured them tight enough to leave marks. The pain was almost welcome, something real to focus on besides the churning in my stomach.