Chapter 70 Faylinn
Faylinn
Tears flowed down my cheeks and my breath caught in my lungs as I scurried down the hallway, away from Rohak’s room. I dashed them away with the heels of my hands as I cursed my stupidity.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
I’d let my emotions rule my actions again; let my heart control my head.
I’d asked for this—orchestrated it, commanded it, performed it. Demanded that Rohak take a Vessel to save himself, knowing this would be the outcome.
It was one thing to help facilitate the intimacy between a newly Bonded Mage and Vessel—that happened far more often than people realized.
His body’s reaction to me, rather than his Vessel, was a straight shot to my ego and a complete aphrodisiac.
Despite telling myself over and over that I was just performing the duties of a Bond Specialist—despite trying to convince myself that Rohak was just a patient—I’d felt my panties grow wet and slick, my body responding to his arousal.
But it was another thing entirely to stay in the room and watch while he fucked another woman.
Objectively, I knew he had to; I knew that the Bond would be restless and not function correctly if they didn’t consummate directly after the ceremony.
But it didn’t stop raging jealousy and desperate feelings of inadequacy from ruling my thoughts and dropping my stomach like a stone.
I felt sick; my skin was tight and itchy, my stomach a rolling mess of anxiety and sadness.
My feet carried me of their own accord and, before I knew it, I was standing outside Ellowyn’s door.
Yes. Yes, Ellowyn is who I need to see.
I rapped my knuckles against the door, willing her to open it immediately so I could slink inside and sink into my grief unperturbed.
But she never answered.
I knocked again before jiggling the door handle, thinking maybe she was in the bathroom, but it was locked. She only ever locked it when she was gone.
Probably at the Academy, training.
She’d thrown herself into training ever since Lord d’Refan granted her request, and I missed my friend, even though I was proud of her for taking command of her own life.
I shakily sighed before resting my head against the wooden door with a dull thunk.
“Looking for Ellowyn?” a smooth voice with a soft, unplaceable accent called from just to my right.
I jumped at the sudden question and hastily dried my face on the sleeves of my dress, attempting to make myself presentable. I was in the home of the future king, after all, and was unsure who I would speak to at any given time.
Tears quelled and cheeks wiped, I spun slowly to regard the male intruder.
He was tall and lithe with messy dark-blond hair and honey eyes that held amusement and seriousness in equal measure, like he could transition from laughing to war planning in a seamless blink.
The man’s jaw looked cut from stone, his high cheekbones and full lips giving his masculinity a slight feminine edge.
“Lord Torin d’Eshu,” he said, pointing at his chest, and I relaxed slightly. This was the man Ellowyn was engaged to before she was unceremoniously married to Lord d’Refan. She trusted him, which meant I did as well, to a slightly lesser degree.
“Faylinn,” I said, pointing to myself with a shrug. “No fancy titles here, but everyone calls me Fay.”
Rohak was the only one who called me Faylinn, and, selfishly, I wanted to keep that little piece for myself, especially if it was the only piece of him I’d ever get.
His blond eyebrows rose slightly, and a spark of recognition flared in his eyes before he dropped his hand from his chest.
“Are you okay, Fay?” Torin’s eyes held concern and warmth in equal measure, his hand twitching as if he desired to reach out and comfort me.
For some reason, I felt completely relaxed around him, trusted him. Like my soul intrinsically knew his.
I smiled wanly and shook my head.
“No, I’m not,” I admitted, and Torin barked a laugh.
“Can’t say I’m used to women being honest about their feelings.”
A watery laugh escaped me at his admission and I shook my head lightly, my curls bouncing around my shoulders.
“That just delays the inevitable and never solves the problem,” I said. “I was also raised by a single father who was blunt but not unkind, so I get my directness from him.”
My heart panged at the thought of Holt, but the bitter was quickly followed by the sweet; I got to speak of him as if he were my father, and I found that I loved that.
Holt deserved that title.
“Where’d you go just then?” Torin asked quietly as I shook my head.
I smiled ruefully. “Just lost in my memories.”
Silence fell between us, but it wasn’t uncomfortable.
“What brings you to Ellowyn’s rooms, Lord Torin d’Eshu?” I asked, pivoting subjects.
“Seemed to be the right place to be right now.” His lips quirked into a sad half-smile.
Seems I’m not the only one pining after someone I can’t have.
“Would you like to . . . come to my rooms? We can just sit and talk? I have some coffee I can share. Or wine, if you want something stronger. Seems like we could both use someone to talk to,” I offered and was rewarded with a genuine soft smile.
“Coffee sounds great.”
I toed off my boots before hastily shoving a stack of books off one end of the couch to make room for both of us to rest without practically sitting in each other’s laps.
Cotton meowed indignantly as I removed his perching spot before darting on top of yet another pile of books in the corner of my sitting room.
I really need to organize this space. And return a few of these to the Academy library.
“Here, you can sit here,” I gestured to the now open space. “It’s clean, I promise. And Cotton isn’t a dirty cat.”
The cat in question meowed again like he heard me.
“Hi, kitty,” Torin said as he delicately pet Cotton’s head. The grey fluff ball purred in response; his glowing yellow eyes trained on me as if to say, “See? It’s not that hard to show me some love.”
I rolled my eyes—I gave that cat plenty of attention. He slept in my bed now and everything, abandoning the little nest I’d created for him near the window.
Spoiled.
“His name’s Cotton,” I said as I dug through my sack in the corner of the room, shoved aside and nearly buried under countless books, papers, and the occasional stray tunic. I hadn’t opened it in months—since my return from Hestin.
“Cotton?” Torin asked, and I hummed noncommittally as I dug through my pack.
There were things in here from my old life, which sent a bittersweet pang of loss and longing.
My hands grazed the soft, worn brown pants I’d donned more times than I could count as I dug for the bag of coffee Holt was so fond of.
Where is it? I know I packed it . . .
There was not much I left behind from my old life, especially anything that Holt gave me.
“Ow!” I shouted, startled when something in my bag stung my finger. I sucked the wounded digit in my mouth before carefully moving an old tunic to reveal the cactus Holt gave me.
“Prickly, just like you.” His words hit me, and I felt my eyes water at the memory. What would he think of me now? Crying over a man.
I giggled at the thought.
Torin probably thinks I’m crazy.
“You okay over there?” he called, and I shrugged my shoulders.
“I haven’t opened this pack since I left my life in Isrun.
My father died there and I’m just coming across memories .
. . that’s all.” I found that the memories of Holt no longer hurt—both the good and the bad.
I’d always miss him, always wish he’d survived that night, but I was also desperately glad that I’d chosen to leave that village.
If I’d stayed, I would’ve been stuck in the past, never able to heal and move on.
I fingered the crystal hanging from my neck—another memento of a time past—before delicately removing the cactus and setting it on a rickety stack of books. It was a bit worse for wear; brown in places and a bit droopy, but nothing a little care wouldn’t fix.
Pointy object successfully removed from my bag, I began to dig again in earnest.
“Aha!” I called triumphantly as I wrenched the sack of ground coffee from the bottom of my bag. A heavy slap against the floor followed my discovery, and I looked down to see the letter from Sharol—my mentor and teacher in Isrun—on the ground near my boot.
I’d nearly forgotten its existence, so caught up in my research and problems here in Vespera. I quickly scooped it from the ground with my free hand before tucking it under my arm and padding back toward Torin.
“I’m not sure how this will taste,” I admitted as I moved a kettle over the low-burning fire. “My father preferred coffee, but I never acquired the taste for it.”
“So why start now?” Torin asked as he settled into the corner of the couch. Cotton jumped from his perch to land lightly on Torin’s lap, purring as he kneaded Torin’s leg in a desperate bid for more attention.
I rolled my eyes at his antics and shrugged my shoulders. “Why not? We both could use the excuse for company right now.”
Torin hummed, and I set to boiling the water and rummaged around for two clean-enough mugs. Silence hung between us as I worked, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Eventually, the kettle whistled and I dumped a scoop of coffee grounds into each cup before filling it with the hot water.
“Here you go.” I offered Torin a steaming mug before sinking into the opposite end of the couch. He blew across the top of it, the steam fanning around his face with the motion, before taking a small sip.
“Holy shit,” he coughed, his face red from the effort and nose scrunched.
“What? Is it too hot? I just poured the water—I thought you were smarter than that!” I exclaimed before setting my mug down on the floor to find him some water.
“Uh, it’s not the heat, Fay.” He coughed again before making a blegh noise in the back of his throat. Torin took the proffered canteen of water before chugging nearly the whole thing.
“Did you filter the grounds at all?” he asked, wiping tears away from the corner of his eyes.