Chapter 18 Taera
Taera
Nikolai’s parting words offer a dreadful sort of peace. He’s right: there’s no reason not to sleep. Not when he can trick me or destroy me just as easily when I’m awake. The door closes behind him, and I let out a long breath.
I only have to survive three and a half weeks.
Three and a half weeks for Gramps’s joints to seize.
For my brother to have to scrounge pennies to keep them fed.
For the swelling in his ankle to fester if he doesn’t clean it properly.
For him to grow desperate…
I can only pray Ezran stays away from the sand.
First, I have to stay alive that long.
I drag myself through the motions of a bath. When I sink into the steaming water, my body betrays me with a low groan. My muscles—still wound tight—unspool all at once. I struggle to keep my face above the water, to remember to wash, to think. Absorbed by the warmth, I cease to exist.
Eventually, I scrub myself clean, wishing I could summon my fury and hate and desperation, but my eyelids keep drifting shut. I feel empty, and the lack of all feeling is a reprieve.
It takes all my strength to leave the soothing refuge of the heat. To towel myself dry. To wrap myself in the humiliating black silk all over again. To creep back into the cold glass room where a sleeping mat is rolled out in one corner.
Three and a half weeks of surviving.
With that single goal, I let myself rest. I’ll need it.
* * *
An unknown number of hours pass before I sit bolt upright, reeling with vertigo. I jerk my head groggily around.
I’m surrounded by the pale light of dozens of mirrors—walls—and I’m alone. I’m confined within these surreal, crystalline chambers.
Panic surges fast and raw. I’m not awake enough to suppress it.
I almost wish the magician were here, if only to discern what’s real.
Why isn’t there at least a window? Just a glimpse of the desert would be a welcome familiarity right now.
I don’t know how many hours of day and night I’ve slept through.
I can only see endless, distorted copies of my own sleep-wearied figure.
I blink across the multitude of mirrors, then make myself stand.
A thin sheen of cold sweat coats my skin, and my legs wobble as I cross to the bathing chambers.
I hate this thin door of blurry glass separating the two rooms. Do magicians not want privacy?
I never thought I’d miss the clunky, heavy wooden door of my hut.
Longing coils deep in my stomach. I imagine Ezran and Gramps asleep right now—or worse, losing sleep worrying about me. I wish I could tell them I’m alive, that I’m going to find a way back to them.
I run water through the ornate tap and splash my face, again and again, until the edges of my dreams fade.
Do I try to escape again? Nikolai has left me alone, so now would be the perfect time. But what he said about me not surviving the night makes me shudder. If I don’t run now, will I have another chance? Am I really considering going to magic classes tomorrow, pretending to be one of them?
I’m too worn out to make a decision. Worrying won’t help prepare me either, so I resign myself to trying to get more rest. I wish I knew how many hours or minutes I have left until the dreaded morning.
Stepping out from the washing chambers, I run face-first into a shadowed figure.
I shriek, throwing my hands in front of my face.
“It’s me.” Nikolai’s voice isn’t quite as polished, but still recognizable. I clap a hand over my heart, willing it to slow. I make out his green eyes, dimmer in the dark.
“How late is it?” I ask.
“A couple hours to dawn,” he murmurs. “Are you done in there?”
“Right, yeah.” I step past him. Nikolai carries a faint, smoky scent, layered with orange and marigold—aromas I can only identify from my hours spent in an apothecary. It makes me shiver. “Where were you?”
“Get some sleep, Taera. I’ll wake you at sunrise.”
I hover there for an awkward moment, but he shuts the door between us. I return to my mat on the floor. I’m much more awake than before. I listen to the rushing water of a bath being drawn until the steady rumble soothes my frayed nerves. My eyelids droop.
Three and a half weeks. It feels like forever. My heart aches for home. I’m exhausted, overwhelmed, and homesick to my core. I have to rest and regain my strength. I didn’t grow up on the edge of the desert for nothing.
I just need to survive. Blend in. Pretend I’m not a rabbit in a den full of hyenas.
How hard can fourth-year magic classes be?