CHAPTER 17 #4
He doesn’t reply. The lights of the palace come into view over the rise of the land, its tall spires lost in the moonlit clouds on their ascent toward the heavens.
His thumb brushes against my waist, idly smoothing the thin fabric of my gown in a wide sweep.
My stomach clenches under the attention, my breath catching in my throat.
His hand stills and the male glares down at it, as if he can see the hand beneath the barrier of cloaks and it somehow offended him.
The general leads his horse to a small door at the rear of the palace.
Before I can slide to the ground of my own accord, he dismounts, takes my waist between his hands, and helps me down.
Just as I open my mouth to scold him, a young boy bursts out of the dark door and takes the horse by the reins.
The boy dips his head when the general thanks him before disappearing into the low light cast from within the palace walls.
Curious, I follow the male into a warm kitchen made of thick grey stone.
A long, heavy wooden table sits at its center, the room lit by nothing but the cozy glow of dying embers in a large hearth.
A chair rocks in front of it, creaking as it sways. In it sits an old woman, a thin blanket draped over her knees, pooling around her ankles. Dark eyes peer out from under a heavily wrinkled brow and a thick mane of white hair. She smiles.
“Xeyvian, my boy.” Her eyes narrow at him as she throws the blanket across the arm of the chair. “You’ve lost weight. Haven’t they been feeding you? Come, I’ll make you a bowl of stew.”
“Thank you, Media, but I need to get this young lady back to her room,” he says, halting her movement with the raise of his hand.
The old woman eyes me under a critical brow.
“And who might you be?” she asks.
I introduce myself, but it does little to warm her countenance toward me.
“You’ll come and see me again. Soon. I’d like to know what manner of woman it is that Xeyvian is sneaking into the palace in the dead of night.
” She grunts and nods as if she’s just confirmed my own acceptance of her invitation.
“Now that’s settled, best get the young lady back to her room before the hour becomes more indecent than it already is. ”
“Yes, Media.” The general gives her a nod and leads me out of the kitchen and through the long marble halls. I can feel the old woman’s eyes on me until I am completely out of sight.
The palace is asleep, not a soul awake aside from the guards. The only sound, the clap of the general’s boots as they echo in time with his stride. The silver scar at his temple flickering as he walks through long panels of moonlight let in through the windows in the hall.
“Why did we come this way? And who was that?” I wonder.
He gestures to a hall to the right and I turn, allowing him to guide me through the labyrinth that is my current home. It is far vaster than the La’tari keep I grew up in.
“Media looked after Awri and Riesh when they were children. Like you, she is from La’tari, but came to live in A’kori when she was younger. About twenty years before the war.”
“She’s human,” I say absentmindedly, more to myself than to the general.
“It surprises you that feyn children would have a human nanny?” he asks. He cocks a brow at me as if I should know better by now, a stray strand of ebony falling in front of his eye.
I shake my head. “It isn’t that. I just assumed Awri was older.”
“I won’t tell her you said that.”
I squint my eyes at him. All feyn stop aging in their thirties, he knows what I mean.
I wrongly assumed that because Awri was in the war, she had been older when it began.
If they were children when Media came, well, she can hardly be more than twice my age.
To them, I assume she is still very much a child.
“I brought you through the kitchens to show you where to find our chambers, should the need arise,” he says.
His room and the rooms of his companions are only a short distance from my own. Awri’s and Riesh’s being the closest and the general’s rooms buffered from theirs by a handful of closed doors he doesn’t elaborate on. Likely rooms for others that remain at court in the king’s favor.
It’s a quick walk to my room, and I might prefer it to the grand entry of the palace if I wouldn’t have to go toe to toe with Media every time I enter the kitchen.
Not that I am frightened of the woman, but she seemed rather protective of the general and perhaps a little suspicious of me.
It won’t do me any good being questioned by the woman every time I make my way in or out.
No doubt she will report each and every one of my steps to him.
He stops in front of my room and lingers, his eyes surveying the door.
“If I leave you here, are you going to go to bed?” he asks.
“To be honest, I’m a little afraid to answer that after what happened last time you asked,” I tease.
His mouth forms a thin line. “At least use the doors next time you leave.”
I smile at his demand. “I make no promises.”
Pushing open the door, I turn to meet his eyes before I step inside and say, “Thank you, for the pants.”
His eyes flick to my legs, and he nods. When his gaze continues to my feet his brow pinches as he notes the state of my filthy slippers.
They aren’t ideal for trudging through the forest, but they were my only option.
I’ll have to throw them out. There is no bringing them back from the mangled mess they have become.
His eyes glide back up to mine and his face softens.
“I’ve already had a word with the palace tailor about the pants. He’ll have some prepared for you within a few days.”
“That is unnecessary,” I protest, “I have a closet full of them at my uncle’s. I will go see him tomorrow and I’m sure he will be reasonable. I’ll see to it that he is.”
The general quirks an eyebrow at that. “I think you just might. But don’t. I’d hate for you to deprive him of all the joy of his scheming.”
“We’ll see,” I say.
“Awri has some things to attend before she collects you tomorrow. Rest in the morning, explore if you like, and she will come find you when she is done. Goodnight, Shivaria,” the general says, dipping his head before striding down the hall toward his chambers.
“Goodnight, General.”
He stops a few paces from my door. “Xeyvian. You may call me Xeyvian.”
I watch him vanish around the corner and slide into my room, curious about the changes I see in him.
I’d thought that revealing too much of my true self would exclude me from his favor, from the favor of the feyn in general.
Perhaps there is a finer line that needs to be walked between the truth and the lie of the woman I am, if I am to be fully accepted, dangerous as it will be.
Whatever changes are happening with him, I will take them all gladly, with or without explanation. Anything is better than the untrusting, brooding male I’d met on my uncle’s lawns.
The sprites are still nowhere to be seen when I make my way back into the comfort of my room, and I’m glad they didn’t wait up for my sake.
I ready myself for bed and dip my hand into the hidden pocket of my cloak.
My fingers brush against the silky lining and the blood drains from my body in a woosh.
The small pouch is missing. It must have fallen out in the woods.
I stand at the end of the bed, staring at the covers, debating whether I should even attempt to sleep. Accepted or not, my demon will never be a part of what I can reveal to my new friends.
Over the years I mixed a number of concoctions after Leanna trained me in the art of herbs.
After abandoning my attempts with well-known sleeping draughts when I found that they could do nothing to quell the darkness inside me, I began to trial the ingestion of poison in small doses.
The latter had not always gone over well and often kept me awake into the early hours of the morning for very different reasons.
Despite all of this, I head out the door, willing to face Media after all, if it means that she might have something to keep the darkness at bay until dawn.
“Kishek.” I greet the male with a dip of my head.
He seems as surprised to see me coming from my room as I am to find him lounging against the wall across from it. He smooths the line of his tunic, pushing off the marble to stand before me.
“I was just looking for Awri,” he explains.
“I’m sorry, she isn’t here.”
The female has hardly left my side, but unless the male thinks we are sharing a bed, it seems an odd hour to have company.
“I see.” He frowns. “Sorry to bother you.”
He starts toward his room, fists bouncing gently against his thighs when he stops and turns to me asking, “Is there something I can help you with?”
I’m sure I look perfectly puzzled by his question when he continues, “I thought you might need something? If you are leaving your room this late.”
“I was just heading to the kitchen for a sleeping draught,” I say.
I’m not sure why, but he smiles at that and asks, “May I accompany you?”
I nod. Because what can I do? At least he might serve as a distraction for Media.
“I don’t sleep well either,” he says, as we start toward the kitchens. “Not since the war.”
I glance at the male from the corner of my eye, wondering exactly what visions of the atrocities he committed toward my people keep him awake at night. At least it haunts him.
“I can imagine,” I say simply.
“I would be happy to help you make a draught, if you like,” he offers, “It took me years to find the right combination of herbs to keep the dreams away.”
I eye him curiously, when he chuckles at some unspoken thought.
“The fates have an odd sense of humor,” he says, “It’s part of my gift, helping others in ways I cannot help myself.”
“You help others sleep?” I know I shouldn’t ask, but he did bring it up, and I’m relieved when he smiles and doesn’t seem to mind.
“Sometimes,” he says, “Sometimes it’s something else. We all have our own unique demons.”
My breath catches in my throat, and I nearly trip as I round the door into the kitchen. Media is absent her chair. She’d likely gone to bed the moment I left with the general.
I follow Kishek to a small pantry at the far side of the kitchen, looking over his shoulder as he rifles through the shelves, the clinking glass the only sound to fill the room.
He stacks his arm full of bottled herbs, each precisely labeled with its name and function. Many I recognize, some I’ve never seen.
Pushing the kettle over the fire on his way to the large table at the center of the room, he procures a cup from a nearby shelf and goes to work, dosing the mixture by sight.
It’s clear he’s done this often enough that it’s become routine, and I can’t help but hope the herbs of the feyn will be the answer to my terrors.
“What is it that keeps you from your sleep?” he asks, tapping the side of a small vile, counting three petals from an unfamiliar yellow flower before replacing the stopper and setting it aside.
“Dreams,” I admit.
He nods his understanding, and I note the last of the unfamiliar herbs he adds to the mixture before he sweeps the jars up and returns them to their home.
“You aren’t making one for yourself?” I ask.
He shakes his head, bundling the herbs in a small swatch of gauze-like fabric and placing them in the cup, before covering them with boiling water.
“I’m afraid I have some long nights ahead of me.” There is more behind his eyes when he says it, and when I recall the reason he was outside my room, I assume whatever task he was given involves Awri.
I tuck the information away, deciding that even if the draught doesn’t work, it will serve as a good excuse to venture out into the halls during hours when any lady would be fast asleep. I blow on a fine waft of steam coming from the cup, following Kishek back into the hall.
We are standing in front of the doors to my room when he says, “If it helps, tell Awri, and I will be happy to make more for you.”
I won’t tell her, even if it does help. But I smile and nod my thanks, the gentle timbre of his voice stopping me before I slip inside my chamber.
“She’s a good friend, Awri,” he says, and I pause with my hand on the wooden panel. “And a good listener. If you ever find it helpful to talk about your dreams or anything else.”
“Thank you, Kishek,” I reply, raising my cup to him before leaving him in the hall.
I don’t doubt what the male says. I am sure the female is a good friend, to someone. But not to me, because she will never know me, not until it’s too late.
For an hour I pace the length of my room, waiting to see if the tonic will serve its purpose. I’m beginning to doubt its effectiveness when an uncomfortable weight settles on my eyelids.
Standing at the edge of the bed, eyes lingering on the soft duvet, I debate my options and the likelihood that the tonic will keep my demon at bay.
I decide in either case, I will seek out the general for his special tea recipe in the morning.
Despite my experience with that particular mixture, it was effective.
Deciding I can’t risk my demon, I pull a blanket onto my lap and sit by the fire. It won’t be the first sleepless night I’ve had, though remaining clearheaded is always easier when there is a task at hand.
My eyes flick to the door and I consider finding the library or simply using that as an excuse to search the castle. Though I haven’t been given a thorough tour and I’m as likely to enter someone’s bed chamber as I am to find an empty room.
I’m still debating my options when my head grows heavy, a thick fog of black clouding my vision when I drift off into the void.