21. Haze
Haze
S he’s gone.
My blood is cold as I stare at the empty room. My vision turns hazy.
Maybe I made it all up. It was in my mind the whole time. The ghost of a memory.
I shake my head. That would be a good thing—a blessing—if she were gone from this place. It would mean she could still be out there, free and happy.
She shouldn’t be here. If there was any goodness left in this world, she wouldn’t be.
On the stone just feet from the door to my nest is a tiny green stem with just the bud of a dark-colored flower. My nostrils flare.
I rip the weed from the ground and crush the bud in my fist then hide it in my cloak.
Three deep breaths is all I give myself before scouring the den to find her. She couldn’t have gone far, but if anyone else finds her before I do?—
I listen carefully for footsteps or yelling in the distance but am met with silence. I march directly to the pit, where I find Bravin standing at attention. He doesn’t even acknowledge my presence before I turn on my heel with a relieved breath.
She hasn’t come here.
Footsteps echo down another corridor, and I rush to follow the sound.
When I turn a corner and find a soldier with his bare hand on her arm, my vision tunnels. Anger flares wild behind my eyes.
“Haze,” a kind voice says with the type of joy rarely found in this dark place.
I blink back the rage and refocus. My shoulders relax. Gordian would not harm her. Thank Nihil.
“Is she yours? I was just trying to help her find her way back.”
I nod and allow myself one moment to examine her. She’s still in her ratty clothing, ripped and splattered with blood and muck. Sticks and dirt still in her hair.
Her expression reveals her hatred.
Good, Little Dove. Your hatred will serve you well.
I don’t mind her hatred. I accept it, even. She should hate me.
Part of me hates her too. I hate her for doing this to me, for making me weak.
None of this is her fault, though. She is not to blame for my emotions regarding her. She is not to blame for falling into a trap.
Yet, it is still important that she trust me enough not to do this —run off in the middle of the night.
I should have expected it.
A small swell on her thigh catches my attention, and I silently reprimand myself. How could I forget my weapons?
It was never my intention to claim a Drahkita. I am obviously not prepared.
I make a mental note to clear out all the rest but let her keep the small blade she chose. It is unlikely to help her, but even an inadequate means of defense is better than none.
“I think she was just hungry. I gave her some crackers.”
Gordian is a good kid. Another child for me to watch succumb to the darkness of training. When will they force his first kill? Likely within the next year. For now, he is bright and kind. A good steward of our women and children. He takes his job seriously while still being considerate.
“Thank you. You—” I don’t know what to say or how to say it. Neither he nor my new Drahkita can ever know the depth of my concern. Yet, my gratitude is still necessary. “It is appreciated more than you know.” I bow my head in a sign of respect.
His eyes light up.
“See,” he says to her. “You’re someone important.” He grins, even though she looks at him as if he has three heads.
“Come on, Dove,” I murmur. “It’s best we get some rest.”
She crosses her arms with an adorable expression of annoyance. I lift one brow. She pouts, but finally shuffles forward past me and toward our nest.
Unexpected warmth spreads over my chest, but I correct it immediately, reminding myself of all the ways this is so incredibly wrong.
I let her lead the way, until she pauses inside the stemming room. I’d like to examine her expression as she ponders this through, but I stop at her back to give her space.
Motion in the corner of my eye catches my attention. My stomach drops to my feet when I glance up to find a figure standing at the end of the hall leading to pit.
He watches us with dark eyes and tight fists.
“This way,” I finally say, pointing to the hall on the right. She doesn’t notice the threat looming over her. Her only response is to follow my instruction and continue marching.
I hold my breath the whole rest of the way.
If Ivar knows my new companion is already rebellious… she is in more danger than she can even fathom. I look back over my shoulder but find he has not followed us.
To my surprise, she takes the next turn correctly and leads us nearly all the way back to my den.
She is smart.
Maybe too smart for this place.
Smart enough to challenge me. Yet, not aware enough to understand the threats in every shadow. My stomach sours, more evidence of how difficult this will be
Once inside my nest, door closed, the room feels suffocatingly small. Her scent is everywhere. She’s been here for barely more than an hour but I feel her in the very air.
A dark urge rises in my belly. I will not ignore the threat.
I cannot remain this close to her. I have to find a new way to cope with her nearness.
“What’s wrong?” Her voice shocks me from my spinning thoughts, soft and sweet.
Delicate.
Just that one moment soothes an ache deep within, but I cannot sink into it. I have to get out of this room. Immediately. But first, there is something more important.
“I need you to understand,” I ground out through clenched teeth.
I step closer, observing the way she cowers from me.
That face slipping into fear is both satisfying and appalling.
“You do not have the right to romp around this fortress. It is not yours. You do not belong here. You are only accepted here by my invitation, which can be revoked at any time.”
Her eyes flare in shock.
“If you are caught outside of this room without my explicit permission, you will suffer.”
Her nostrils flare. “You can’t?—”
She flinches when I step even closer. Our chests inches apart. “Yes, I can. You are mine to do with as I please. That is the way, and if you don’t like it, your second choice is death.”
She gasps.
“But make your choice quick, Dove. The longer you wait, the harder this gets.”