35. Ayres
“You can’t go into the castle looking like that.”
Ayres’s jaw clenched in irritation even though Milla was right.
Blood still ran down his forearms and dripped slowly from his fingertips into the dirt. He”d somehow gotten blood matted in his hair, too, and he could feel where the fat droplets had dried and gotten crusty when he ran his hand down the back of his neck and then his face.
Ayres rolled his shoulders. He needed to get moving. He was still a fifteen-minute walk away from cleaning the blood off his skin, and every second he waited he could feel it staining more of his soul.
Milla tried again. “There’s a celebration for the end of the Tournament. Everyone will be there.”
Ayres ignored her again and kept walking, pushing branches out of his way. Milla treaded lightly behind him, and he could feel her blue eyes analyzing every step he took.
She obviously wanted him to go tonight. He bit his tongue so he wouldn’t snap at her and rolled his shoulders again. “Okay.”
“I know you feel like shit. Piers told me about the specs on the situation tonight, but maybe . . . maybe a distraction could help.” She said hopefully. “Piers and I will be there. And Cannon. He won the tournament today, Ayres. He thinks there”s potential in at least one of the new Lowborns, and maybe a Highborn, but at the end of the day it’s yours and the queen’s decision. I just want to make sure—”
Ayres spun around and towered over her, his fists clenched at his sides so he wouldn’t grip her throat and toss her as far away from him as he possibly could. “Milla stop,” he ground out. “Stop fucking talking. Please.”
Milla didn’t even flinch, she just looked up at him with sad eyes. “Was it that bad tonight?”
Ayres bit back a laugh. Was it that bad? Was killing an eleven-year-old girl that fucking bad? Was constantly being drenched in his people’s blood that bad?
Tonight, the answer was easy. Yes.
But sometimes it wasn’t.
Sometimes he looked forward to when the tattoos on his spine felt souls rolling down it—and that made him sick.
Ayres couldn’t unclench his teeth. He tried to turn away from her, but she reached out and grabbed his arm.
He ripped free from her grasp, but he could see the blood on his arm had already stained the pale skin on her hands.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, looking down at her crimson covered hand.
“The Lyondrean soldiers attached a spirit to a girl this time. A child, Milla. As if maybe, I would spare its life because of a younger host, or maybe because she was a girl . . .” Ayres’s throat got unbearably tight, and he shook his head. He turned away from her again and started walking towards the castle faster, desperately needing to wash the blood away. “Don’t touch me again,” he snapped at her from over his shoulder.
She kept up with him, and he didn’t have to look back at her to know she was crying; he could sense it. “I’m sorry, Ayres. I’m so fucking sorry. But that’s why you need a new Guardian. Someone who will help you.”
They finally came to a stream. Ayres unsheathed his sword and unceremoniously dumped it on the bank before stepping in fully clothed. The water was only deep enough to come to the top of his shins, so he fell to his knees to submerge more of his body in it.
Ayres stared at the ripples of water swirling around, watching as they gently washed away the blood from his palms. It was soothing, even as agony writhed through his chest underneath his skin.
If he could kill everyone from Lyondrea who thought using Sumavari’s books to summon Death Magick was a good idea—he would slaughter every one of them.
“You can’t do this alone anymore, Ayres,” Milla said.
He watched as more blood swirled away from him in the water and hated that she was right.