Chapter 24
Atickle on my foot yanks me from sleep. My body reacts before my mind fully wakes, and I twitch, kicking at the disturbance. My blanket shifts, slipping down as I jerk away, but the movement freezes when my eyes catch the culprit.
A dark tendril, wispy and curling, stretches across my bed. It moves like smoke, slithering from beneath my chamber door.
My lips press into a thin line. I know exactly who’s responsible.
I slide off the bed and with a sharp stomp, I drive my heel into the shadow. It shudders beneath my foot before dissolving.
A heartbeat later, the door slams open, rattling on its hinges.
“Oh, good. You’re awake,” Kaelzar says, his voice carefully neutral. He fills the doorway, leaning against the frame. His hood throws his face into shadow, but his gray eyes gleam through it.
The memory of him going so very still at the sight of a new red strand last night flashes across my mind. It made my blood chill. Did you choose this? he asked, his gaze fixed on my hair. The tension in his jaw made me imagine all the horrible ways he might hurt Ryker if I so much as hesitated.
So I didn’t drop my gaze when I answered, simply and firmly, yes. My Godbeast only nodded stiffly and marched out of the room, not to be seen again until now.
I fix him with a glare, still unsettled by his reaction last night, when I realize something is wrong. Kaelzar’s form suddenly turns rigid, his fists balled as if he’s forcing his arms to stay still. He swallows audibly in the strange silence, blinking only after a few long moments.
I don’t bother with pleasantries. “Wake me with shadows again,” I say, clipped, “and I won’t stop at stepping on them.”
He seems to have found his voice again as his gaze sweeps me up and down. “Is this the look you threaten people in now?” he asks, his voice a low growl that sends a shiver down my spine. “Because I have to say: it’s distracting, but not exactly fearsome.”
Heat shoots up my neck. I glance down. The thin silk nightgown I’d so carelessly chosen last night clings far too closely, the hem barely brushing mid-thigh. Every inch of me suddenly feels exposed to the cool air… and to his gaze.
Kaelzar’s eyes drag over me once more before he seems to catch himself. His jaw locks, muscles shifting as he looks away.
My pulse stumbles, half from embarrassment, half from a strange fluttering in my belly.
Still, my mouth finds its footing faster than the rest of me.
“Well,” I say, forcing breezy confidence into my voice and grabbing the robe draped across the bed, “distraction is part of the plan. I throw you off your guard, and when your jaw hits the floor that’s when I strike. ”
The corner of his mouth twitches, a ghost of a smirk. And I tell myself that the thrill in my chest is irritation. Only irritation.
The satin feels cool against my fingers but the belt is a tangled mess, and when I try to loosen it, I only make the knot tighter. My frustration mounts as my fingers fumble uselessly.
Why does this always happen when he’s involved?
Against my better judgment, my gaze flicks toward him. The hood shadows his face, but it does nothing to hide the deepening smirk, the way he watches me with far too much amusement.
My grip on the belt tightens, my teeth grinding.
It’s always the same. Somehow, I always end up half-dressed and flustered when he’s around. The thought makes my skin burn with a different kind of heat. I yank harder at the belt, willing it to cooperate, but of course, it won’t.
Kaelzar shifts, his movements unhurried, as if savoring my struggle.
I stiffen, fingers freezing mid-tug. He’s so close. His large hand brushes mine and lingers just long enough to make my grip falter. He reaches for the belt, and I give it to him.
His fingers begin to work the knot loose with quiet precision.
I don’t move, still holding the robe, and for a moment, our arms remain close, the identical inked sigils etched into our skin aligned. The sight sends a prickling ripple through me.
“You really committed to this knot,” he murmurs, fingers working the belt with quiet precision.
“And you’re untying it like someone who’s done this too many times,” I mumble.
His mouth curves. “You said it yourself once, I’m good with my hands.”
My mind flashes back to the cabin. I blink the memory away before it can take root.
The knot on the belt comes undone, but the heat coiling low in my stomach refuses to go with it. My movements are jerky as I wrap the robe around myself.
“Well,” I say, “I hope that’s not where your talents end.”
He makes an amused, chuckling sound as if a dozen replies fight to be spoken. Then suddenly he goes still and all traces of amusement vanishes.
When I look up, his gaze is fixed on the third red strand of hair.
A flicker of restraint passes through his storm-gray eyes.
He noticed it yesterday, so this isn't a surprise, yet somehow every time he looks at it, it feels like he’s seeing it for the first time.
A strange unease coils low in my stomach.
He doesn’t ask about it. Whether out of respect or disdain, I’m not sure.
Kaelzar steps back, retreating to the door, his shadows curling at his feet.
He’s leaving. I exhale, expecting relief. I tell myself that I need space to wash up, to get dressed, and he’s about to give it to me. That should be a good thing. And yet…
“You ruined my morning, and now you’re leaving?” I say, bristling at the note of desperation in my voice.
He pauses. His head tilts slightly, just enough that I know he’s caught the crack in my composure.
“It’s afternoon,” he replies flatly, his earlier humor completely gone.
A familiar, annoying weight settles in my chest. I hate the way my stomach twists at the thought of him going. Hate even more the whisper of relief I might feel if he stays.
“And I am not leaving,” he says. “I was going to bring you something from the receiving room.”
A flush of embarrassment rises inside me at the realization of how desperate I must have sounded. My eyes flick to the washroom. I need cold water, a moment alone, anything to cool my skin and stitch myself back into something composed.
Without another word, before he can say anything that might unravel me further, I pivot and stride into the washroom, slamming the door behind me.
The echoing thud of my bedroom door is sharp, satisfying even, but it does little to quiet the storm inside my chest.
Cool, gold-veined marble greets me. I splash my face with water, the chill biting against my skin. My reflection stares back, pale and defiant, the crimson strands glaring like an accusation against the pristine white of my hair.
I comb through my hair, massaging oils into my skin with methodical precision. My mind, however, is anything but calm.
Kaelzar. That look in his eyes when he stared at the third red strand. What was it? Anger? Pity? I hate that I don’t know. Hate even more that I want to.
I force my thoughts elsewhere. Ryker. My heart twists at the memory of him.
The man I thought I loved now feels like a distant stranger. How could something that once felt unshakable dissolve so completely? Had he changed, or had I? And if love could fade so easily, what does that say about me? About us?
My eyes drift to the blackened tips of my fingers. A strange, morbid whimsy takes hold, the thought of painting my nails red, using one of those black-market paints Eva mentioned once. Red against black. Blood against decay.
The contrast of colors strikes me as poetic, though I’m not sure why. My magic purrs at the idea in a quiet hum that makes my chest tighten further.
A knock breaks my reverie. Kaelzar’s voice, low and resonant, cuts through the door. “Whenever you’re finished, there’s something you should see.”
When I finally emerge, a box and two letters sit neatly atop the sheets of my bed.
“What is this?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.
“Eva brought the box with a note,” Kaelzar says. “And… a letter came from your father.”
My stomach sinks. The mention of my father is like ice water in my veins.
I step toward the bed, my hands trembling as I pick up the letter. It’s the first time he’s reached out since I became a Godbound. My throat tightens as I break the seal and unfold the heavy parchment.
My eyes scan the words, each one a blow to my chest.
I should have known you’d take after your mother…
A strange numbness creeps through my limbs, but I force myself to keep reading.
I blame myself for being too soft. I hope you survive these Challenges, as any father would.
Watching you, I have no doubt you will. Your will to live rivals that of a cockroach—a trait you undoubtedly inherited from her.
But once this is over, know that you are no longer my daughter.
A daughter who casts aside her virtue cannot call me her father.
Your funds are cut off effective immediately.
As an Archpriestess, I’m sure you will sustain yourself.
By the time I reach the end, my vision blurs.
Not his daughter.
The rejection claws at my chest, dragging me back to every moment I fought for his approval, every sacrifice I made to please him.
The letter slips from my hands, falling silently to the floor. I don’t move to pick it up. I can’t.
“Raylane.” Kaelzar’s voice is soft.
I turn and find his shadows curling faintly at the edges of his form. I straighten, swallowing against the lump in my throat. “It’s nothing,” I say, though my voice cracks. “Just the ramblings of a man unworthy of my time.”
His gaze lingers. Not prying or demanding, just there, and for that, I’m grateful.
I release a shaky breath just enough to draw air again. My eyes drift to the remaining letter on my bed, its presence both a distraction and a reprieve.
It’s from Eva, and the thought alone makes my throat tighten with a whimper.