Chapter 55 Ellowyn #2
“You’re smarter than that,” Alois said scornfully.
Anger flared, hot and sudden in my neck and cheeks. I clenched my hands, the nails biting into my palms.
“I’ve heard stories about you, Warlord,” I spat lowly and was pleased to see that I’d struck a nerve. Alois’ cheeks darkened beneath his olive complexion and his wild eyes turned darkly murderous.
“Watch your tongue, wife,” he growled. “Everything I’ve done has been for the good of Elyria.
This”—he thrust a finger out at our Mages as they worked to clean up the city and dispose of the dead—“was done to send a message by the hands of the gods themselves. They have no regard for human life, no desire to protect what they made. We are nothing more than pawns to them in a game only they can play.”
“So how are we supposed to play that game, Alois? What are we supposed to do? What is the whole fucking point?” I turned on my husband, my ire and frustration turning my cheeks a vibrant shade of red as I shouted at him.
The echoes of my voice rang through the streets, the Mages halting their duties to stare at the spectacle of Alois and me.
“You train and you fight, Ellowyn,” Alois said loud enough for everyone to hear before whispering in my ear. “You, above all others, were created to fight them. Make no mistake, Ellowyn, it is not by chance that you hold two powers without need of a Vessel.”
My arms fell to my sides as I thought about the dreams I’d had, the conversations with Fate, even my ability to access the Dreamscape. The color drained from my face and my voice came out a broken whisper.
“Tell me what you know, Alois. Tell me everything.”
“Not here.” Alois shook his head. “I have something to show you back in Vespera. Then, we can talk.”
With that ominous statement, he strode away toward a group of Mages struggling to pile corpses together in an effort to create a central burning pile.
My eyes skittered over the vile destruction and unnecessary death before meeting Lex’s dark-brown orbs, and I suddenly got the feeling that the private conversation between Alois and I wasn’t so private after all.
It was no surprise that I found myself in the Dreamscape.
After we finished scouting and cleaning the mess in Cellia, we camped for the night just outside the city limits.
Lex and Alois figured it was far enough removed from the stench of death that the cadets would be able to sleep with little issue. That was true for most, but not all.
Even before I fell into a restless sleep, I could have sworn I felt the spirits of those who died in Cellia lingering. It was unnerving, to say the least.
But my worries seemed to evaporate as soon as I saw Torin waiting for me in the Dreamscape. He looked tired and worried, his hair was mussed as if he’d run his fingers through it constantly before bed, but he still looked incandescently happy to see me.
The tension I didn’t even realize I was holding in my neck and back began to unwind as soon as I saw the outline of his figure against the brilliant light of the magic in the sky.
“Torin,” I cried brokenly before running to him. He turned as soon as he heard my voice, arms outstretched and ready to encircle my waist as soon as I threw myself at him.
“Ell,” he breathed reverently into my messy hair.
I took deep, shuddering breaths, filling my lungs with the smell of spice and sunshine; it was a marked upgrade from the scent of death and decay.
We stood like that for a moment, simply reveling in each other’s presence.
My arms squeezed him tightly once before I released just enough that I could pull my head from his neck and see his face.
“Are you okay?” he asked, the worry returning to his hazel irises. I shrugged in response.
“Yes. No. I don’t know,” I admitted, chewing my lip in thought.
“Tell me about it?” Torin commanded softly and nuzzled my nose into his chest, playfully biting at the nipple beneath his shirt. “None of that tonight, Ell. I want to hear what happened.”
I sighed and pulled my head up from his chest with a pout.
“I can’t distract you with sex?”
Torin scoffed a laugh as a calloused palm came up to cup my face while his other hand tenderly brushed stray hairs from my brow.
“Not tonight, sweetheart.”
I huffed indignantly but wilted under Torin’s intense stare; it was like he could see directly through my soul, past the bluster and defense, through the bullshit and hurt.
Torin saw me.
“We saw Cellia today,” I whispered, and Torin’s mouth thinned into an almost indiscernible line.
“Fuck, sweetheart. I’m so sorry,” he whispered as his hands continued to rub comforting circles on my back and face.
I shrugged. “I knew this is what war does, what happens when innocents get caught in the middle, or gods forbid, try to stand up to tyranny. I just didn’t expect it to be so . . .” I trailed off, unable to find the right word to describe the horrors of what I saw today.
“Disgusting? Horrifying?” Torin supplied, and I nodded.
“Yeah. Both of those.”
The sky roiled and writhed, the magic agitated beyond measure. The atmosphere of the Dreamscape felt like it did when I broke the mountain with my Destruction Magic.
I released those horrors into this world.
The guilt lay heavy in my heart tonight.
“You know you’re not at fault, right?” Torin said, seeming to read my mind. I smiled sadly at him.
“If it weren’t for me, we wouldn’t even be in this position. Those people would still be alive. You and I would be married. Those babies . . .” I gulped and pulled my face away from Torin as tears welled in my eyes. “I’m just as responsible as the gods who did this.”
“No, sweetheart. No you’re not. If you’re responsible, then so am I. Then so is Lord d’Refan, your parents, your brother. Do you blame your brother for what happened today?”
I shook my head.
“Of course not. Even though, if he had told you about his connection with me, about the plans for the rebellion in Hestin, you would have never killed Finian and never ended up here in the first place. Ergo, it’s Peytor’s fault.”
I frowned at Torin’s logic.
“See how dumb that sounds? Not to mention narcissistic and fatalist. You are responsible for no one else’s actions but your own.
The gods have been worshipped for centuries—are you going to blame their followers for giving them power through prayer?
No.” He answered his own question before I could respond.
“We all have made our own mistakes, Ell. But what happened in Cellia? That was not your fault. Do you believe me?”
I nodded my head, and his shoulders relaxed slightly before he pulled me tight against him.
“It just all seems so hopeless,” I mumbled into his shirt.
“That’s because that’s what they want you to think.
If it’s all hopeless, if this is all predestined and their rule is absolute and inevitable, then there’s no reason to fight back.
No reason to go down kicking and screaming.
It’s better for them if you feel hopeless and powerless.
But what they forgot”—he nudged my chin with his hand before wiping the tears away with his thumbs—“is that when you back someone into a corner, when you strip them of their ability to make decisions, that’s when people get desperate.
And desperate people do crazy things to ensure no one else feels the way they do.
That’s when revolutions are born and regimes are toppled. ”
“He’s going to make me queen. He’s crowning himself king when we return,” I mumbled again, and Torin’s smile was positively feral.
“Well, My Queen, what are you going to do with that power?”