Chapter 46 Taera
Taera
Ithink this is what a hangover feels like. But it lasts for four days.
I wake up, disoriented, with a throbbing head. The inside of my mouth is so dry it feels like it’s been washed out with sand. The sheets beneath me are black.
I’m in Nikolai’s bed again.
My cheeks heat. I don’t know where—or if—he’s slept over the past days, but he isn’t here. My embarrassment amplifies into the pain of remembering.
I can’t escape the Halls of Glass. If I try, I might end up like Mom.
I have to survive here.
I scrunch my face into the pillow and want to burrow back under the sheets. But they’re Nikolai’s sheets. At least I’m still fully robed in magicians’ blue, but the food I stuffed into my pockets for my escape—bread, dried fruit, several pouches of water—is gone.
I remove myself from the bed before he returns, going to bathe. Every mirror reflects the ugly black welts on my arms and neck, as well as one blackened half-moon across my cheek.
I look away.
When I reemerge, breakfast has arrived, along with Nikolai. He’s picking at the fruit but looks up at me. My hands lift automatically to cover the sides of my neck, but I can’t cover my face, too.
“How are you feeling?” he asks.
“Terrible,” I rasp.
“Sounds about right. Are you ready to return to class?”
My skin burns with shame when I think about people seeing the blackened rings. I don’t know why the scars incite such humiliation in me.
Nikolai is quiet for a moment.
“They’ll heal in another few weeks,” he murmurs.
“Will everyone know?” I can’t meet his eyes. “When they see the marks?”
“Yes.”
I swallow, grimly resigned. But then my heart spikes, and I make myself drop my hands from my neck. “Can you hide them?”
He watches me for a painfully long moment, then nods. He steps from the bed and over to me.
“I don’t have a talisman for this,” he says, “so the illusion will only hold around me. I can cover them for class, though.”
I eye him. “You’re not going to demand some favor from me? Punish me for running away?”
“What the leeches did was punishment enough,” Nikolai murmurs.
He reaches out, then brushes two fingers in soft circles, tracing the blackened marks on each of my arms. His fingers then skim the sides of my neck and my cheek.
I try to keep my breath even as my magic—or whatever’s left of it—sparks at his touch.
I look down to see that my skin is unblemished.
“Thanks,” I say softly. “Alright, I’m ready.”