Chapter 33 Kailin
KAILIN
Safety is an illusion built on routine and familiarity.
Don't be fooled. Danger wears an ordinary face until the moment it strikes.
—From the personal journal of Commander Ravel Nidar
The smell of caff pulled me from sleep.
For a moment, I didn't know where I was. The bed was too soft, the sheets too fine, and there was no gap in the middle where two narrow cadet mattresses had been shoved together. I reached across the expanse of the large bed and found only warm, empty sheets.
Alar was already up.
Memory returned in fragments. The shattered window. Glass everywhere. Four masked figures. Alar's gunshot, unbelievably loud in the small room. The dead man's weight pulling me down. Morek moving like a blur. Shovia's knife at someone's throat.
And then Ravel, appearing in the aftermath like some dark guardian, his voice cutting through the chaos with orders that everyone obeyed.
He'd brought us to this apartment in the officers' wing, with its private bathroom and real furniture and a solid door with a proper lock. I couldn't remember much of the walk from the infirmary.
I'd showered, changed into fresh nightclothes someone had brought from our destroyed room, and collapsed into this impossibly comfortable bed with Alar's arms around me.
I don't know how, but I slept better tonight than I had in weeks. Was it the incredibly comfortable bed, or knowing that I was safe because I was in the officers' wing? Most likely, it was the pain medication I'd been given in the infirmary.
I lifted my fingers to my tender neck, which was covered in purple and yellow bruises below the bandage that was wrapped around it.
The caff smell grew stronger, and my stomach growled.
I pushed back the covers and stood, my bare feet sinking into the soft rug.
The bedroom was easily twice the size of the one I'd shared with Shovia and then Alar in the dormitories.
There was a wardrobe, a desk, two nightstands, and even an armchair by the large window overlooking the view of the mountains.
When I opened the wardrobe and found my clothes neatly folded in the drawers, with my two most prized possessions resting on top, I silently thanked whoever had packed our things and had brought them here.
The bathroom was shared, so I had to leave the room to get to it, but that was not an issue since we were all close friends. My quintet had seen me in much worse than a clean pair of nightclothes.
Once I was done, I brushed my hair and followed the caff smell.
The apartment opened into a spacious common area with a well-equipped kitchen, a large dining table that comfortably seated six people, and a cozy sitting area featuring two couches and four chairs.
Normally, I would have been delighted by the large windows and the double glass doors that led to a charming balcony overlooking the breathtaking views below, but after last night's attack, those were now a cause for unease rather than admiration.
Morek stood at the stove, spatula in hand, eggs sizzling in a pan. The rest of the quintet was gathered around the dining table.
Alar sat with his back to me, but he must have sensed my presence because he turned, and when he saw me, his face lit up with a smile.
"There she is." He rose and pulled out the chair beside him. "You look terrific for someone who was almost killed last night."
Codric snorted into his caff. "Dear Elurion, cousin. You need tutoring on complimenting ladies. You're terrible at it."
"What?" Alar looked genuinely confused as I settled into the chair he'd offered. "I said she looked terrific."
"After qualifying that by saying she looked good for someone who was almost killed." Codric shook his head in mock despair. "You never qualify a compliment. You have the romantic instincts of a rock. How did you ever convince Kailin to give you a chance?"
"By being genuine." Alar pressed a kiss to my cheek.
I nodded as I sat down. "I know what Alar meant by that. I feel oddly rested after the horrific night we had. It's truly puzzling."
After Alar had killed the man who had been choking the life out of me, the dead weight had dragged me down to the floor, and his blood had soaked my clothes.
I should be traumatized.
Instead, I was feeling better than I had in a long while and admiring our new accommodations.
How was Alar taking that?
He had never killed before, and last night he'd taken a life to save mine.
I glanced at him, searching his face, but he seemed calm, his blue eyes clear. Either he was hiding it well, or he'd made peace with what he had done.
Or maybe this place was magical, making all of us happier and more content than we should be under the circumstances.
Was it survivors' high?
If so, Shovia wasn't affected by either.
She was uncharacteristically quiet, her sarcastic humor absent, and her expression grim.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
"I'm tired, Kailin."
"We're all tired."
She shook her head. "I'm tired of this. Of you being targeted. Of waking up, wondering if today's the day someone finally succeeds." Her jaw tightened. "I want it to stop."
The words hung in the air, heavy with everything she wasn't saying. Shovia wasn't the type to admit fear or vulnerability. For her to say even this much meant she was at the end of her rope.
"Don't we all," Morek said from the stove.
"We are safe here," I said without much conviction, my eyes drawn to the windows and balcony doors. "I think."
A long silence stretched across the table until Codric cleared his throat. "I can't believe they are letting us stay in this lavish apartment. I feel like royalty."
Alar cast him a glare but said nothing.
I was grateful for the change of subject. "We have a private bathroom and our own kitchen, but the best part is having an actual couple's bed that doesn't have a gap in the middle."
"Yeah." Codric grinned, leaned back, and wrapped his arm around Shovia's shoulders. "That's a big improvement."
"Good for you." Morek slid plates of scrambled eggs and toast in front of each of us. "Breakfast. You're welcome."
It must be difficult for him to be the only one without a partner. Perhaps the prophesied seventh member would be the one for him?
Codric poked at his eggs with a fork. "This is it? Just eggs and toast?"
"You're welcome to do better." Morek put a forkful of eggs in his mouth.
Codric flashed him one of his charming smiles. "This is perfect. I'm very happy to leave the cooking to you. I wouldn't know where to even begin."
"Spoiled Elurians," Morek muttered.
I picked my fork up and forced myself to eat. The eggs were good—perfectly seasoned, the toast crispy and not burnt. Morek had skills I hadn't known about.
"Where did you learn to cook?" I asked.
"My mother. Who else? Didn't your mother teach you to cook?"
"Not successfully," I admitted. "She was never happy with what I made, so I was mostly in charge of cleanup."
Morek shook his head. "That's a shame. My mother says that every man and woman should know their way around a kitchen."
I thought about my mother and how good her cooking tasted, about Gran's kitchen and the smell of herbs drying by the window.
I missed them, and I needed to write them a letter, telling them I was fine, excited for the Day of Volition.
They didn't need to know about the attacks and how close the assassins had been to succeeding.
Hopefully, Dylon would know to keep it from them.
"What about classes?" Codric asked. "Are we all excused?"
Before anyone could answer, a knock sounded at the door.
Everyone tensed, and my hand moved toward the weapons that weren't there. Next to me, Alar did the same, frustration evident on his face when he realized that we'd left our weapons at the scene of the attack.
He rose, positioning himself between the door and the rest of us. "Who is it?"
"It is me," Saphir called from the other side of the door. "And Commander Ravel."
The tension didn't fully dissipate as Alar moved to unlock the door. It swung open to reveal the shaman with Moki perched on his shoulder and Ravel standing beside him, his dark eyes sweeping over the room.
I scrambled to my feet, suddenly painfully aware that I was still wearing my nightclothes. My cheeks caught fire.
"I should change—"
Saphir lifted a hand. "Stay. You're fine the way you are. As far as I'm concerned, you're convalescing and will be wearing nightclothes for the next few days."
"But—"
"Sit," he said. "Eat your breakfast." He pulled out the last remaining chair at the table and sat down.
Ravel brought over one of the living room chairs, and when Morek moved to the left to make room for him, the commander put it down next to the shaman's.
Moki chirped from Saphir's shoulder, his large eyes fixed on me with what looked like concern. The little guy always seemed to understand more than he should.
"The caff smells wonderful." Saphir inhaled appreciatively. "Is there any left?"
Morek got to his feet. "I'll make a fresh pot for you and the Commander."
"Thank you."
I watched as Morek reached for a small, long-handled pot and measured ground caff directly into it along with a generous amount of sugar. He added water and set it over low heat, stirring slowly.
When it was done, Morek poured the thick, sweet brew into two small cups and presented them to Saphir and Ravel.
"Thank you." Saphir took a sip and closed his eyes in appreciation. "Excellent. This is how caff should taste."
"Thank you," Ravel said and proceeded to drain the cup quickly.
"The attackers are confirmed converts to Elusitor's cult," Saphir said.
Alar pushed his plate away. "We suspected as much."