Chapter 10
ten
The Storm Inside
Zydar
I needed to keep her where I could see her. The decision was tactical, nothing more. My chambers offered the strongest wards, the most controlled environment. If she tried anything foolish, I would know immediately. Most importantly, the idea pleased me.
Of course, she had something to say about it.
“You expect me to sleep here? With you?”
I turned. She was still standing in the doorway, hands on her hips, head tilted up. Defiance flashed across her features, clear and bright. She hadn't even blinked, let alone looked away.
"Yes."
"And where will you be?"
"Right here."
I threw my cloak on the chair, which was right by the large, ornately carved desk by the fireplace, then strode over to the windows, peering out into the darkness. The rain continued, steady and constant.
"You can't be serious."
"Can't I?"
"If you think I'm sleeping in this room—"
"It's either here or in the dungeons." I cut in smoothly. "Your choice, little dove. I'm not leaving you unsupervised."
I could practically hear her grinding her teeth.
"Fine," she said through a clenched jaw. "But you're sleeping on the floor."
I snorted. "The bed's big enough."
Her nose crinkled in disapproval. "It's not big enough for the two of us."
"Get over yourself."
"What?"
"Do you really think I'd force myself onto you?"
She was silent for a long moment, her golden eyes studying my face. I could see the calculation there, the careful weighing of words.
"I don't trust any fae," she said finally, her voice steady but cold. "Your kind takes what they want, when they want it. Why should you be different?"
"Because I don't need to force myself on anyone," I answered, trying not to let irritation bleed into my tone. "There are enough fawning women more than willing to fall into my bed."
"Oh, of course," she scoffed, dramatically crossing her arms over her chest. "The great and powerful Warlord. The halls of the Thunder Court are filled with tales of your conquests."
I was finding it exceedingly difficult not to laugh. So I turned away, crossing the room.
The room was spacious, dark. Bookshelves lined the walls, their surfaces coated in dust. There was a bed in the far corner, its frame blackwood, polished to a shine. Its sheets were red silk, its pillows pure cotton, stuffed with goose feathers.
The windows were large, paneled glass, framed by heavy, black velvet curtains. A fire burned brightly in the hearth, sending shadows dancing around the room. The air was cold, but not uncomfortably so.
I liked this place. I liked the solitude. The isolation. It helped me focus, helped me forget the restlessness that always seemed to lurk beneath the surface.
It also helped when I was trying not to think.
I heard her move behind me.
"Are you sure you're not planning to murder me and then hang me in the dungeons as a trophy?"
I couldn't help but smile at that. I glanced over my shoulder at her. "No, Miralyte. You're not the trophy type."
Her eyes narrowed. "How very kind of you."
I poured a glass of water, holding it out to her.
She hesitated. After a moment, she took it, though her hand shook slightly.
I noticed that her knuckles had gone pale, her face drained of color.
I'd known this girl for less than a week, and already I could recognize the little tells, the cracks in her perfect facade.
I gave her a wry smile. "Don't tell me you're afraid of me."
"I'm not."
"Good."
I watched her as she sipped her drink, her movements stiff.
She looked like a cat ready to bolt at the slightest provocation.
Her eyes darted around the room, never lingering for long.
I could almost see the wheels turning in her mind, her sharp mind assessing every detail, trying to find a way out, a weakness, a vulnerability.
"Will I get to leave during the day?" she asked suddenly, her tone sharp. "Or am I to stay in this cage all hours of the day?"
"You may go anywhere within the castle grounds. As long as you have an escort."
"An escort."
"Yes. And before you ask, it won't be me. I have more important matters to attend to."
Her mouth curled. "Like what?"
"Duties a little dove has no business interfering with."
"Oh, right. Your precious duties. Tell me, what is the duty of the one who’s supposed to train me? Oh wait, you’ve given up on that because I’m a guinea pig now."
I bit back a grin. She was proving to be more entertaining than I'd thought. I shrugged, unable to suppress the twitch of my mouth. "One of those duties is to keep an eye on you, Vessel. And I intend to do just that."
She set down the goblet of water. "For how long?"
"Until this ends."
Her eyes narrowed. "How does it end, exactly? With my death? Or the destruction of the entire realm?"
"Perhaps both."
She crossed her arms, staring pointedly out of the window. "If you're trying to make me feel better, you're doing a terrible job."
"I'm not. There are no promises here, Vessel. Anything could happen."
She huffed, turning away from me. "Thanks for the reminder."
I sat down on the edge of the bed, watching her. She stood there for several moments, her back to me. Slowly, she walked to the windows. She leaned against the wall, staring outside. I wondered what she was thinking about.
After a moment, she spoke, her voice barely audible. "When will they start studying me?"
The question took me by surprise. I didn't expect her to bring it up so soon. "Tomorrow. And none of it will be as bad as you imagine."
"What do I have to do?"
"Nothing. Just stay in that room while the healers run their tests."
I watched as her shoulders stiffened. A muscle in her jaw clenched, her mouth flattening into a hard line. I couldn't help but notice how the candlelight made her skin look so soft, almost golden. "Where will you be?" she asked, her tone suddenly sharp.
I raised an eyebrow. "In the same room."
She huffed, arms crossed over her chest. "I thought you said you had a lot of precious duties to attend to."
I ran a hand through my hair, feeling the prickle of stubble at the back of my neck. "They will need my help."
She pressed her lips together in a thin line, an expression I knew well enough. It was the look she gave when she didn't trust me, when she was measuring every word I spoke, weighing them for their truth. "I’d also like to visit the sick everyday, while I'm here. I want to check on them."
"Why?"
"Because… I made a promise."
"To whom?"
"Myself."
She didn't elaborate, and I didn't bother to press the issue. For now.
Her gaze finally snagged on the shelves. They spanned the entire wall, heavy with tomes bound in leather, wood, and cloth. Some were so old their spines had no titles, only strange sigils burned into the material. Others had pages fraying like ancient leaves.
“Do you read all these?” she asked, one brow lifting.
“Most.” I didn’t bother looking up from unbuckling my bracers. “The rest aren’t worth the time.”
She wandered closer, trailing her fingers along the edge of a shelf. “Figures. Thunder Court’s terrifying warlord has a secret library. Tell me, which are your favorites? ‘How to Glare Menacingly’? Or maybe ‘Fifty Ways to Threaten a Mortal’?”
I glanced over my shoulder, grinning. “Careful, little dove. Mock me again and I’ll have you shelving them by weight class."
Her eyes glittered. “Wouldn’t want to bruise your precious tomes, would I?”
She pulled a particularly ancient volume from the shelf, its leather binding cracked with age. The title was written in flowing script across the cover. Her brow furrowed as she studied it.
"Vaelith mor'thannis arun," she read slowly, her pronunciation surprisingly accurate. "The... something of ancient magics?"
I went completely still, my hands freezing on the leather straps. "What did you just say?"
"I said—" She looked up, noting my expression. "Did I pronounce it wrong?"
"How do you know the old tongue?"
She shrugged, but I caught the way her grip tightened on the book. "I don't. Not really. I just... recognize some words."
"Recognize them from where?"
"Some books." She tugged the braid over her shoulder, tugging restlessly.
"Mortal women aren't allowed to read books in the human lands, are they? Especially not ones with fae letters."
Her jaw tightened. "My father had a collection. Hidden ones."
"Your father was a hunter."
"Hunters need to know what they're hunting." Her voice turned sharp. "He had books about your kind. Your customs, your weaknesses, your languages. I read them when he wasn't looking."
I stepped closer. "Those books don't exist in mortal villages."
"They do if you know where to look for them."
She huffed, shoving the book back onto the shelf. I caught her wrist before she could pull away. Her skin was warm, smooth. She stared at my hand, her gaze flicking up to mine.
"You're lying to me."
Her eyes flashed. "Fine. You want the truth?" She yanked her wrist free. "Pelbie and I used to sneak into the Temple of the Moon Mother after the priests left for the night. They had archives beneath the main hall—scrolls and texts they thought no one knew about."
"Temple archives."
"Hundreds of books. Histories, prophecies, language guides. Everything the priests didn't want common folk to read." Her chin lifted defiantly. "We'd spend hours down there by candlelight, reading whatever we could get our hands on."
I studied her face, looking for tells. "So you're a scholar then."
"I'm a reader. There's a difference." She crossed her arms. "Scholars think they understand what they're reading. I just wanted to know what they were hiding from us."
"And what did you find?"
"Enough to know that everything we were taught about the fae was either a lie or only half the truth." Her golden eyes met mine steadily. "Enough to know that you're all more dangerous than the priests claimed, but not for the reasons they said."
I released her wrist, considering. A mortal girl with access to forbidden texts, who'd spent years studying fae lore in secret. It explained some things, but raised others.
"You want to keep reading."
It wasn't a question. I could see the hunger in her eyes as she glanced back at the shelves.
"Maybe."
"Not this library."
Her face fell slightly. "I see. Too dangerous for mortal eyes, I suppose."
I took the book from her hands and set it on the shelf. Her jaw tightened, eyes flicking toward the bed as if it were a trap waiting to spring.
"Rest now," I said, stepping past her. "I’ll be on the couch."
She didn’t move. “And if I don’t believe you?”
I glanced over my shoulder, catching her in the firelight. “Then stay awake and watch me all night.”
Her lips pressed into a thin line, but she didn’t argue. I pulled the black velvet throw from the armchair and tossed it onto the long couch near the hearth.
I reached for the clasp at my shoulder. A faint ripple of light shimmered across the black fabric, and in the space of a breath, the threads unraveled into nothing, dissolving into a fine silver mist that vanished before it touched the ground.
She eyed my naked torso, eyebrow raised.
There were scars on my left arm, faint and pale, and those were just the ones she could see.
I'd grown used to ignoring the scathing looks, the whispers, the way everyone seemed to shrink from me.
The way the younger fae children would run to their parents if I ever approached.
So I was shamefully pleased at the dazed look in her eyes. She choked out, finding words at last, "By the Mother's grace, Zydar, you could at least warn me before you strip."
I crossed my arms, smirking. "It's just a body. Don't tell me you've never seen one before."
She flushed. "That's not the point."
I laughed, sitting on the edge of the couch. "Ah. And so the little dove trembles. You humans are so prudish about nudity."
She looked away, her cheeks still pink. "Unlike the fae, apparently."
"And why should we be ashamed? We were created by the Mother, blessed by her gifts.” I pivoted slowly, enjoying how her eyes widened just a little more. "Should we not celebrate her love?"
She rolled her eyes, turning away with some effort, to my delight. "Celebrate it from a distance, why don't you."
I grinned and mockingly bowed. "As my lady commands."
She made a face, but there was no real irritation in her gaze.
Just humor. I liked it. I liked how easy it was to joke with her.
How she didn't seem to care about my title or simper at me with fake flattery.
She treated me like any other person, and it was refreshing.
It had been a long time since someone had treated me like a person instead of a warlord.
"Sleep well, Miralyte Tavora," I said, lying down on the couch. "Tomorrow, we begin the trials."
She lay down on the bed, pulling the covers over herself. I watched her for a few moments, then closed my eyes, letting out a soft sigh. The fire crackled softly beside me, filling the room with warmth. The air was thick with the scent of wood smoke, leather, and Miralyte's sweet scent.
Sleep came swiftly, accompanied by the gentle rhythm of her breathing.