Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Sleep evades me for the third night in a row.
Every time I close my eyes, the nightmares find me.
My brother's manacled wrists. Glowing eyes in the dark.
Whispers layered like echoes, crawling beneath my skin.
The cold pressing into my spine, filling my lungs, dragging me under.
The third time I jolt awake, gasping, I give up on sleep entirely.
I ease my door open, careful not to make a sound, and freeze when I see the outline of a figure in one of the wingback chairs. Large. Still. Watching the darkness like it might have something to say. The bond flares with awareness before I can retreat. He knows I'm here.
“Nightmares again?” His voice cuts through the silence, low and rough, and I still flinch despite expecting it.
The question makes something in my chest tighten. I force myself to move, crossing toward the bookshelf as if I had a destination in mind.
"I wasn't aware I had any before tonight."
"You did. Last night. And the night before."
"I'm glad you're keeping count," I mutter.
I don't look at him as I pass, but I feel the weight of his gaze on my back like a physical touch.
My fingers trail along the spines of books I'm not actually searching for until I give up the pretense and turn.
His eyes are on me. On the shapeless black camisole and shorts I sleep in. He doesn't bother to hide it.
I should say something cutting. Instead, I'm too busy noticing the absence of his shirt, the firelight playing across the planes of his chest, the shadows pooling in the hollows of his collarbones.
An open book rests on his lap. A bottle of wine and a half-empty glass sit on the table beside him.
When my gaze finally returns to his face, something knowing glints in his eyes.
"Should I do a twirl for you?"
A low chuckle rumbles from his chest, and the sound warms something in mine that I refuse to examine.
I nod at the book. "What are you reading?"
His eyes never leave my face as he recites, "Where you find logic, you will find truth. Where you find truth, you will find knowledge. Where you find knowledge, you will find power."
My eyebrows rise. "The Sages don't hold open auditions, but I'm sure they'd be impressed by your interest in their order."
"Perhaps you can arrange an audience." He tracks my movements as I cross the room and sink into the chair diagonal from his. "Considering how close you are to them."
"Naima must have left out the part where I fell from their good graces."
"She did." He closes the book and leans back, studying me with an intensity that makes my skin prickle. "How did that happen?"
"It's a long story." I cover a yawn with the back of my hand.
"You're exhausted."
"Another long day." I sink deeper into the chair. "Another day of nothing going right."
"I assume your visit with the Sages didn't go well?"
"It didn't go at all." I stare at the wine bottle, wishing it were closer. "They weren't there. Again."
He searches my face. "Are they usually this difficult to find?"
"No." I meet his eyes. "But nothing about this festival is normal."
He nods slowly. "The nightmares. Were they about the bridge, or something else?"
My shoulders stiffen at the question. Instead of answering, I reach for the wine, pour myself a glass, and take a long sip. The sweetness spreads across my tongue, warm and welcome, loosening the knots in my muscles.
"Where in the north are you from?" I ask when I open my eyes and find him still watching me.
"Vindariel."
A thread of anguish bleeds through the bond before he wrenches it away.
Vindariel. Where the curse began. I've read texts that describe its cliffs and mountain ranges, its rolling countryside and crystalline lakes.
But those texts predate the curse by centuries.
I can't imagine any of that beauty survived.
I don't say that. Some wounds don't need salt.
"We don't have nightmares in Lunaris," I say, setting the glass on the table between us. "We're not supposed to, anyway."
He picks up the glass without asking. "Part of the memory trade?"
I nod. "Dreams can be memories in disguise. Or worse."
"Foresight." He takes a slow sip. "One of many gifts forbidden across the kingdoms."
That gives me pause. "I didn't realize it was forbidden. I thought seers went into hiding because they were hunted. Like healers."
"It's astounding how someone raised by women who claim to value knowledge above all else can know so little about the world beyond these walls."
"Your arrogance is what's astounding," I say, snatching the glass from the table and draining what's left. "Especially considering how much you're expecting me to help you with."
He pours another glass and claims it before I can. "How is it that someone raised by the Sages is so easily baited?"
"I'm not easily baited. You just happen to naturally annoy me." I lean back in my chair, matching his posture. "Which does not bode well for our current situation."
"Some would argue that means you care what I think."
I raise an eyebrow. "People like to argue many things. That doesn't mean they're right."
He huffs a surprised laugh and sinks deeper into the chair, sprawling like a king on a throne. Legs extended, wine glass dangling from careless fingers, golden eyes watching me like I'm a puzzle he hasn't quite solved.
I remember what Margot said at Siren's and wonder, briefly, if I have a type I never knew about.
I extend my hand, palm up, signaling for the glass.
He tilts his head. "I'm sure you have more in the kitchen."
"Oh, I'm sorry." I press a hand to my chest in mock offense. "I didn't realize sharing my wine, from my favorite glass, in my own home, was somehow inconveniencing you."
I don't actually have a favorite glass, but watching the emotions flicker across his face makes the lie worthwhile. Surprise. Consideration. And finally, amusement, breaking through like light through storm clouds.
He laughs. It's a deep, husky sound that doesn't last nearly long enough, but it warms something in my chest all the same. His eyes are bright when he finally hands over the glass.
"Thank you." I take a sip and pass it back.
He drinks, watching me over the rim. "What does 'Temp' mean?"
I snort. "It's what my friends call me. Unlike you, who claim only friends call you Bain, yet everyone seems to use it."
His eyes gleam. "Is that jealousy I'm sensing?"
"I'm merely pointing out the hypocrisy."
"Hypocrisy." He considers the word like he's tasting it. "Temper?"
I laugh despite myself. "No."
His expression shifts, the playfulness draining away. "Let's talk about healers."
My pulse kicks. I pray he can't feel it through the bond. "What about them?"
"You said you thought seers were hunted the way healers were."
"Are you saying they weren't?"
"Not everywhere. Not by everyone."
"But they were hunted," I say carefully. "When they still existed."
"Do you know why?"
"I've read accounts of kings collecting them. Imprisoning them." I keep my voice steady. "I assume Cato was one of them."
He sets the glass down with a deliberateness that makes me go still. "Cato doesn't just imprison them."
Something in his voice raises the hair on my arms. "Then what does he do?"
"He drains them." He stares at the wine bottle, but I don't think he's seeing it.
"The Everlasting scepter weakens each time it's used.
It needs to be regenerated." His voice drops.
"That's what the healers are for. That's why he's gone through so many of them.
Kept them chained beneath his palace like livestock.
Drained them until there was nothing left. "
The room tilts. I grip the armrest hard enough to hurt, fighting to keep my expression blank while my heart slams against my ribs. The pleasure gardens. The Everlasting being fed. The Shroudmaidens on the bridge.
"It's why he has hunters searching constantly," Malachi continues, oblivious to the way my world is cracking apart. "Even now. Even after all these years."
He takes a long drink, watching me over the rim. "Do you know what the Sages' original purpose was?"
I force myself to breathe. "To tend the Undying Flame. Guard the ancient texts. Reveal the fates of newborns."
"The last one is perhaps the most important.
" He lets the glass dangle from his fingers again.
"Their gifts compel them to seek out certain newborns and reveal their fates.
People travel for months just to bring their children to the Sages' temples, hoping their child will be deemed worthy of a revelation. "
I stare at the wine glass, aching to reach for it, but my hands won't stop trembling. I curl them into fists instead. "What's your point, Malachi?"
His brows rise, surprise or amusement or both flickering across his face.
"My point is that Sages don't take in twenty-five orphaned children out of the goodness of their hearts.
And they certainly don't choose seven of those children to train as their own, years before their gifts manifest, without reason.
" He tilts his head. "You have to admit, it's rather peculiar. "
The word hangs between us. Peculiar. As if my entire childhood, my entire identity, is simply a curiosity to be examined.
"Perhaps they were bored," I say with a lightness I don't feel. "You seem to have opinions about everything. What's your take on it?"
"I'm not certain yet." His eyes search my face in the dim light. "There are many things about Lunaris I can't quite reconcile."
"Like the memory trade."
"Among other things." His mouth curves, but his gaze remains intent. Probing.
He leans forward to set the glass on the table, and I catch it: the tightening of his jaw, the subtle hitch in his movement. It's the kind of tell Cas and Arlo used to wear when they came home from the Dueling Estate, trying to hide wounds they thought made them look weak.
"You're injured."
He goes still. "I'm fine."