Chapter 31 Rohak
Rohak
Once Ilyas was out of sight, Lex’s limp body clutched tight to his chest as one arm flopped uselessly in time to his Vessel’s steps, I fled the training yard. I pulled the hood of my cloak back over my head and bowed my face to the ground, praying I wouldn’t be stopped.
No matter how fast I walked, I couldn’t outrun the feeling of warm blood sluicing down my face and neck, pooling in the collar of my tunic and dripping off my upper lip to splatter on the ground.
The sight of Lex’s skin slowly deteriorating before my eyes while my mind was trapped, a slave to my magic, would haunt me until my dying day.
Fuck.
No matter how tightly I held the bridge of my nose, it wouldn’t clot.
My pace quickened, my breaths coming in pants through my mouth.
I’d been on the brink of Mage Sickness for years—always toeing the line between drawing too much and not drawing enough.
Vessels were increasingly rare, and a Destruction Vessel powerful enough to hold my reserves without burning out was like praying for a miracle.
It was unlikely any Destruction Vessel would ever present themselves and, if they did, it was even more unlikely that I would feel a True Bond connection with them—something that I valued above anything else, even my life, if it came to it.
So I’d used crystals, in increasing number, over the past few decades and only pulled my magic when I desperately needed to—until my exile in Hestin.
It was a wonder the sickness held out until now.
Fuck. What was I going to do?
The stone obelisk in the very middle of the courtyard was a lone, dark sentinel as I passed, the silence of the upper sector all-encompassing; not even the sounds of revelry from the lower sectors reached here.
I wound my way to the manor gate, quickly slapping my bloodied palm on the Mage Orb.
Magical signature recognized, the gates swung open.
The Mages on guard took one glance at my stiffened posture and averted their eyes.
Even if they saw the blood on my face, they would say nothing.
These Mages, at least, were loyal to me.
I hurried through the locking mechanism on the front door of the manor before scurrying through the foyer, avoiding contact with the servants, and took the stone steps two at a time, desperately trying to escape to the safety of my room, where I could dissect this new and completely unwelcome addition to my life.
My head was still bowed to avoid the prying eyes of the crown-loyal servants as I crested the top of the stairs.
No sooner had my foot hit the top landing, my legs carrying me to the second set of stairs that would lead to my private floor, than I crashed into another body with an oomph.
Instinctively, my hands circled the biceps of the person I ran into, my arms tensing to keep them from falling as my feet shuffled across the stone, my momentum carrying us to the wall opposite the staircase.
We finally came to rest, their back to the wall with my front pressed firmly into theirs. My breath came in erratic, hard pants as I fought to regain control of the situation.
Shit, shit, shit.
I couldn’t let a servant see me like this. They would surely report the situation to Alois, and I’d be forced to take a Vessel tomorrow morning.
Even if that prospect was inevitable, I wanted to come to terms with it on my own first.
Instinctively, I reached for my Destruction Magic, intent to eliminate the threat I held tightly between my fingers. The familiar smell of ashes and embers swirled around my forearms as my power whispered the promise of destruction in my ear.
Gulping a breath to fortify myself, I froze when I heard a soft whimper come from the person I held.
“Rohak.” It was a whisper of a plea, filled with brokenness and acceptance. I paused, my magic swirling around me like a tempest, prepared to take, take, take. I could feel it, ready to annihilate the threat I held in my arms, but still, I paused.
Never lifting my head, I opened my eyes, unaware when I had closed them. I forced myself to loosen my hold on my magic as I used my senses to adequately assess the situation.
Bare feet.
The scent of pine and parchment.
Faylinn.
Instantly, with just the thought of her name, my power snapped back, retreating to the crystals I kept pressed to my skin at all times in my belt.
I felt cold and bereft as it fled, a feeling I grew more accustomed to the more often I used my power.
But today, I felt every inch of the disgust that was left after pulling on my magic.
I almost killed Lex. Now Faylinn.
I shuddered with barely repressed disgust.
“Rohak,” she whispered again, but I couldn’t pull my eyes from the floor.
“You should go,” I bit out raggedly, my voice sharper than I intended. While it would be disastrous for a servant to see me this way, it would be even worse if Faylinn saw. I could probably pass my bloody nose off to a servant as the result of a scuffle in a bar—far-fetched yet still believable.
Faylinn, though, would see the blood and know immediately what was happening.
Then, she would try to fix it.
Because, no matter what I thought of her previous actions, she wanted to fix, she wanted to help. It’s who she was at her core, or so I hoped and believed.
I kept my head bowed away from her, and tensed when I felt her thin, warm hand gently caress my elbow.
It was only then that I realized how hard I was squeezing her—definitely hard enough to leave bruises on her flesh.
Half of my mind—the primal half insatiably and unmistakably drawn to her—like the idea of my mark on her body.
But the other half—my more rational half—knew that, not only was Faylinn not meant for me in that way, but I had hurt her with my caustic words and actions after the attack in Hestin.
My rational brain won, and I tensed my fingers around her small biceps, relishing in the warmth of her skin through her shirt, before I released her and backed away toward the stairs.
“Go to your room, Faylinn,” I barked, lacing my words with the authority I usually saved for my Mages.
I felt, more than saw, her bristle at my tone and knew that I had unerringly fucked up. Again.
It seems that’s all I can do with her.
“Rohak,” she sighed in exasperation, but I swiveled on my heel, my cloak swishing behind me as I beelined for the stairs.
Faylinn called to me again, her voice echoing in the empty hallway and bouncing around the staircase—my own personal ghost—but I ignored her, instead taking the stairs two at a time.
I strode through the hallway to my door, which was guarded by two hand-selected Mages. They gave me a brief nod of acknowledgment, but their eyes never strayed from the singular point of entry on this level.
“No one is to come in,” I ordered as the Mage Orb that locked my door recognized my signature and my door popped open.
“Understood, General,” one of the Mages replied. I grunted an acknowledgment before encasing myself in the safe darkness of solitude.