25. Translation
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Translation
Ihuddled over the desk in the study, taking a break from the translation.
After what had passed between us, I could not sleep. I roamed the halls, found a dust-coated kitchen and study, then bathed once more. After I had tired myself, I collected the satchel left in the bathing chamber, then sought out parchment and quill to begin my translations.
I had begun transcribing from the start in a new journal, since the other should be nothing more than ash.
Dawnlight had come, turning to bright sunlight.
I had finally completed scribbling down the information from the page outlining designations, then had begun a fresh page of new-to-me information.
I finished transcribing it before moving on to the next section that had been titled: Omegas.
It described the stages of pain we underwent during Awakening when turning twenty-five annums. Then the information I did not know of began.
The urges and the event after my illness when all I wanted was Cassiel was called a heat.
Not only did it arrive when first encountering your bondmate, but besides that, it happened once an annum.
It was tied to the fertility of the Omega where the bondmates would mate for an entire dawnlight rotation, having relations in an effort to breed.
But that did not mean the urges were absent at other times. As clearly shown the eve before.
My body would never wholly be mine.
Emotion throbbed in my throat. Dwelling would do me no good, else I would crumple into a ball and never come out.
I finished the transcription and placed my head down on the desk.
Once an annum, I could look forward to an utter lack of control. If the suppressors they injected into redbloods did not cause death early, I would be happy to take them if it meant stifling these heightened urges to touch and be touched.
I let myself rest with my head down until the pain in my temples was nothing but a faint throb. Then I flipped to the next section.
Words blurred on the page until they settled. The text was set up similarly across the pages so far. Thin scrawl closely compact in the middle. All the information under Betas—bluebloods—matched what was well known.
Saint-forged gifts, magicks that varied. By all accounts, the text named them mortals.
A tickle drew my hand up to swipe under my nose.
Red smeared across my skin. I straightened, pulling away from the desk to not stain the parchment and swiped the thin handkerchief I’d left folded near the edge.
With my clean hand, I reached to close the grimoire.
My fingers grazed against the layer of skin binding the cover.
I swiped my palm against the bottom of my simple, pleated gown. It fit a bit larger and held no ribbing support.
Despite recalling much of what I had translated in my prior journal, I still scanned the first pages to confirm I had the exact account instead of a summary.
The door to the study swung open. I scrambled to grab the grimoire and tuck it under the desk, but froze with my hand outstretched. Cassiel had already seen it, so there was no use in hiding it, especially with a bloodied rag to my nose. I withdrew my hand.
“I ordered you not to open that grimoire unless I was present,” Cassiel said as he entered the study. With a few paces, he was before the desk.
“I need more information,” I said, my voice nasally from the fabric I’d stuffed into my bloody nose.
He was across the desk with my next blink. I slapped my hand down on the edge of the grimoire before he took it. Cassiel crossed his arms. The claw wounds had scarred over with a faint line paler than his skin.
“You have been gone long enough for your scent not to linger. Did you not slumber?”
“In a different chamber,” I announced.
“Different?” Confusion twisted his features.
“We will not share a chamber—” I cut off at his abrupt straightening.
“Preposterous!” He hissed a breath out, raking fingers through his hair. “You test my patience. Come, you must rest.”
“Why are you behaving like a concerned husband?”
His outstretched arm dropped back to his side. “That is what I am—will be,” he corrected.
He watched me with such piercing focus. I fumbled for words to string together.
“I do not recall speaking any sort of vows.”
“Yet.”
I pushed to my feet, rounding to the front of the desk. “Did you not hear a word I said in the bathing chamber?”
His eyebrows shot up. “I heard every word.”
“So you are being purposefully obstinate.”
“No, I am stating a fact, Miss Amara. You will wed me.”
“No, I will not.” I reached for the effigy set atop the desk. “Do not force me to it, Your Highness.”
He went rigid. I could not read his expression. Meanwhile, my heart thrummed with the speed of Abrax’s gallop. My hand holding the effigy trembled.
A thundercloud worked over his brow. He burst forward with movements so quick that my heart dropped, stopping my capability to breathe. I flinched back until my bottom hit the edge of the desk. I squinted to find him staring, stunned.
The hard line of his shoulders softened.
“You need not fear me.” His voice was a whispered plea that forced my toes into a curl. Tension drew his words tight.
“I-I know.” I dropped my gaze. Heat crept up my neck and warmed my cheeks. I still held the leathery effigy. Using it as a threat felt profoundly wrong.
I caught my lower lip between my teeth. Threatening someone’s vulnerability was beneath me. I lifted the effigy toward him.
“You should find a way to destroy this.”
I still avoided looking him in the face. Shame bent my shoulders. Hatred was not in my nature. I understood what Cassiel had done for me. He had not deserved my threat.
Cassiel clasped my chin and tugged up until I was staring at his face. There was no anger or reproach. “You are free to threaten me with it as you please.” His thumb rubbed my cheek. “I will win your favor. You will not be able to escape me, my Amara,” he murmured, and his tone was nearly tender.
It was a truth I had already accepted. He was my wraithling, there was no getting rid of him. Even so, I did not believe he would leave.
If only Piper were here to calm me down. She always had the best advice, managing to see events from other perspectives.
“If we manage to end this madness caused by the council . . . we can have an arrangement of sorts.”
He scowled.
“One of convenience,” I added. “A marriage of convenience. We will reside in the same home, but with separate lives. The grimoire states that redblood urges rouse once in an annum, which make it wholly possible—”
His thumb pressed against my lips. “No.”
My look sharpened.
“I must fetch you food from the nearby village. I may be gone until nightfall.”
“I should go, you are much too recognizable,” I said stiffly. Though there was no use continuing the argument. There was no point. He would barrel his way through any of my reasons in typical Lord Cassiel Draven manner.
“You will not be placed in danger. I will be sure to remain out of sight. Do not leave the estate,” he warned.
He strode away before I could utter another word.
Oaf.
I scowled at his retreating form, his loud steps echoing.
A bath sounded rather perfect whilst he was absent . . . and perhaps a nap.