32. Mare
Mare
Iwoke from the darkness, unsure if I still lived. Memories resurfaced from beneath the depths of a sea drowning my mind.
The scáde. The Solhearts. Reese.
I sat bolt upright, panic thrumming like a drum through my bones. Pain lashed through my side, answering my first waking question.
Oh, I was definitely still alive.
Gasping, I pressed a hand to my side and flinched as tender pangs answered.
A warm hand touched my shoulder and pushed me back. "Easy, there."
I blinked away the fog blanketing my eyes and focused on the man sitting at my bedside. The color red manifested first, seated atop a . . . blob. With every steadying breath, I noticed more details.
Bronzed skin, etched in several places by scar tissue. Black ink painted across a chest—depicting a sun raining heavenly light, carrying the feathers of fallen birds.
I blinked a few more times, studying the taut wall of muscles before me. The . . . the naked muscles before me.
In fact, it seemed they were attached to an entire shirtless Paragon.
Was I naked, too? I looked down and saw only thick bandages wrapping my torso. A blanket covered my lower half, but it didn't feel especially warm.
Panic set in again, but I shooed it away. I was Lady Rohan. The sight of bare-chested men did not faze me. And I did not struggle to make eye contact.
Dragging my head up, I met Reese's eyes—those golden eyes, like molten gold.
Oh, saints. I'd forgotten I couldn't meet those eyes.
The pecs would do. I focused on them, instead.
"You woke earlier than I expected," Reese said. "Good. How do you feel?"
"Considerably better, now that I know I'm not dead.” I glanced at his arm. He was wrapping a bandage around his bicep, where the javelin had struck him. My vision blurred, and I looked back at his chest.
Those pecs were grounding me. I stared out of medical necessity.
"A bit woozy," I added.
"I'd imagine. I dumped several concoctions down your throat." His brow turned down in worry. "It's like your body wouldn't accept the healing. I had to stitch you up the old-fashioned way."
My head was too foggy to consider the implications of his words. His healing magic had hurt me.
A problem for when I could think without my body groaning in protest.
"How long was I out?" I asked.
"Only three hours."
I supposed that explained why everything hurt so much. There was a hole in me that a certain asshole Solheart had created mere hours ago.
Liam would have endless jokes about this.
My head spun. "Where is everyone else?"
"I don't know.” Reese tied off his bandage and stood, taking his glorious pecs with him. "I had to tend to you first. I'd go and search for them, but . . ."
I observed my surroundings for the first time. We were back in the cheap inn room, with its stained door and unhappy-looking bed. If someone wished it, waltzing through that shoddy door and stabbing me would be all too easy.
"I'm sure they're okay," Reese added. "The scáde must have fled—its song stopped once the glade was clear."
A bead of hope blossomed in my chest. The scáde had heeded me.
It was still alive—a beast of the shadows, a monster born from evil.
And I was glad.
"Go find Liam," I exhaled. "And Ferris. Saints know what he's gotten himself into."
"Mare . . . "
"Who would be plotting my assassination now, mere hours after the city almost perished?"
"I suppose you're right.” Reese shrugged his shirt on, and I noticed a black glove concealed his right arm.
"Interesting," I mused. "More clothes did come off, and yet, you're still wearing that."
"There's a whole story there. I'll explain later," he said, grabbing his cloak.
"At least I got to see the full tattoo.” I narrowed my eyes. "What does it mean?"
"You don't know?" He picked up Cierthine and laid it by my bedpost. "Are you sure you don't want me to stay?"
"I'm a Paragon, remember? I'll be fine." I paused. "Though I'd be more fine if you answered my question."
Reese grew serious. I could practically feel his walls slamming into place, guarding the vulnerability he hid. "My past is better left there. It's no one's burden to bear, but mine."
"Well. And they say I'm dramatic."
One corner of his mouth turned up, but I saw a crack of pain there, and in the corner of his eyes. His hand brushed beneath my chin and lifted it.
Thank the saints for the concoctions clouding my mind. I might've simply died on the spot, otherwise.
"Stay here. Keep the door locked until I return," he ordered. "Understand?"
"I don't recall you being of a higher station than me," I retorted. "Are you even a nobleman? Nobody knows."
"I'm in charge of you, remember? You live or die by my command."
"As I understood it, you were ordered to protect me. That puts it rather the other way around."
"You have an enormous ego, Lady Rohan."
"It's earned."
The pain on his face vanished as he chuckled. Tilting his head, he brushed his thumb across my lips.
My heart somersaulted.
Reese stared at my mouth, as though entranced. Then, his eyes flared as he came back to himself. He tore his hand away and diverted his gaze. Clearing his throat, he swung his cloak around his shoulders and clumsily fastened the clasp.
I fluttered my lashes, forcing my eyes to stare at my lap. Being close like this was terribly dangerous for two souls between whom a relationship was forbidden.
"If I yell for help," I said quietly. "Do you think you'll hear it?"
"Even if I don't hear it.” Reese pulled the door open. "Brighid always says I have uncanny intuition."
His hand lingered on the knob, and his gaze searched my face. Part of me wanted him to stay. The other knew I had to learn to stand on my own, no matter how hard it might be.
I gave him a reassuring nod, and he reluctantly left, with a heavy sigh and an expression of regret.
With a soft creak, the door closed behind Reese. My head thudded against the pillow.
I sat there for a few minutes in the muted room. Worry coiled in my stomach, spinning faster and faster until it ached.
'You really do look just like her.' Alistair had said.
Who?
And Liam, was he alright? A drake could have cleared the walls before the scáde had fled; a dragon could have destroyed an entire block with a single breath of fire.
If Ferris had died, the king would rescind his order for Reese to keep me safe. The prince was just a kid, besides. He didn't deserve to die. To suffer.
The gnawing worry twisted and twisted until I could bear it no longer.
Grimacing, I rose from the bed and discovered I wore nothing but tights. The Aenir ladies would gossip endlessly about this. A solheart man beholding my bare skin? Scandalous.
A bloodstained hole ripped through the center of my tunic, but I had no other clothes on hand. Undignified sounds of pain escaped me as I carefully pulled it over my head. Wrapping a cloak around my shoulders, I grabbed Cierthine and pushed out the door.
My footsteps echoed in the empty hall, but cacophonous noise greeted me outside the inn's doors.
Fires burned in the south. Thick smoke trails rose to the heavens. People ran past me—civilians, soldiers—I couldn't tell. My head was spinning, my vision blurred. Dragging my feet, I trudged toward the smoke, toward the southern gates.
Toward the place where the refugees had been refused entry into the city.
I stopped dead in the street when I saw the walls. They had crumbled, torn in twain. Blood painted the grey stone red, and bodies and dented helms stuck out from the rubble. A gaping hole now gave view of the world outside.
It burned. The scattered farmhouses and wagons had turned to charred husks. Some were still consumed by flame.
The monsters had attacked while Reese and I sought the scáde. We hadn't been quick enough.
I limped through the hole in the wall, trudging over corpses and fallen stone. The world hushed, save for the swirling flames and falling snow.
I'd saved the people of Gwynford. I was a fraud, a pretender, a fake. But through my lies, some of their people had managed to flee. They'd made it to Tsuyan, alive.
They had to be okay. They had to.
I stumbled off the rubble and tripped through the snow. Beneath the flames, it turned to muddy slush. The melted snow drenched my boots, but I didn't feel the cold.
All I could see was the gathering of tents outside the gate—broken, torn, destroyed.
Pressing a hand to my side, I stopped in the center of the refugee camp. A few bodies lay in a pile at the closest farmhouse's door. They wouldn't have found salvation inside; its roof had been torn apart, and one wall had crumbled.
Scattered corpses littered the road. Another mound of bodies rose against the gates, no more than a bloody mess of body parts and viscera. Deep gouges raked down the gates and tore through their remains.
I glanced down. A familiar face looked up from the blood-soaked snow. The boy who'd accused me of being worthless—who'd blamed me for his brother's death.
There was nothing but a face. If his body lay nearby, I didn't see it. Blood streaked across the snow, leading to his severed neck.
Bile rose in my throat, but I couldn't look away.
I'd saved them for nothing. What was the point of Paragons if the people we saved died anyway?
Doubling over, I emptied the contents of my stomach and stumbled away from the severed head. Pain shot through my side, and I fell to my knees in the center of the road.
Surrounded by my failure.
I heard footsteps approaching, but didn't look up. A pair of black boots stopped before me, and their owner knelt at my side. A hand reached out, brushing my tunic back to take my wrist.
The world changed. The smell of fire and blood turned to sea salt and twilight. Night fell from the heavens and engulfed the world, spilling into a tranquil, endless sea.
Diar was beside me, bare hand wrapped around my wrist. Her turquoise eyes met mine, and my head cleared.
I remembered this feeling, this sight, back in Kentoro, when our paths had briefly crossed.
"You're alive," Diar said. "Did they do this to you?"
They. Somehow, I knew who she meant. Nodding, I looked around. "What is this place?"