Chapter 15 A Face the Years Forgot
fifteen
A Face the Years Forgot
Miralyte
The world was still half-asleep when I woke, the sky outside my window painted in the faded blues and grays that belonged to the hour before dawn. Somewhere below, the distant chime of glass wind-bells sang in the currents above the clouds.
I dressed quietly, each layer of fabric a small shield against the chill that had settled into my bones these past weeks.
Riden would be waiting for me in the healing dome.
The boy’s smile—thin, but stubborn—had become my compass in this place.
And for his sake, as well as my own, I wouldn't be late.
The hallway beyond my door smelled faintly of storm-oil and parchment.
As I passed the open archway of the adjacent study, I slowed.
The candlelight inside flickered over broad shoulders bent above a desk littered with scrolls.
Zydar, awake as always before the court stirred.
His head lifted when my shadow crossed the threshold.
I lingered at the doorway, knuckles brushing the frame in the faintest knock. "You promised the treatments would continue today," I said. My voice was quiet but edged.
"They will not."
I stepped inside, the floor cold beneath my bare feet. "You promised."
He didn’t look at me. "I decide when they’re safe, and they’re not. Not today, and probably not tomorrow either."
I should have stayed calm. Let him think his orders had registered. Let him think himself in control. But my heart stammered, and my breathing grew shallow and unsteady. Riden could die if I took a single day off, and I had promised I would help him. That, and Pelbie would be in trouble too.
"This is foolish," I murmured, and stalked forward until I stood at the side of his desk, his eyes still fixed on the scroll. "Reconsider."
He didn't reply. He was not even looking at me. My grip tightened. I grabbed the edge of the scroll he was reading, pulling it toward me.
He finally lifted his gaze. His red eyes were as cold and calm as a winter sky. He had mastered his anger, bottled and corked the tempest behind that icy exterior. I forced myself not to shiver.
Why was he like this?
In one smooth motion, he rose from his chair, looming above me, his presence filling the room like a thick, overwhelming smoke.
"I made my decision," he bit out. "Stop provoking me."
Boldness sparked in my eyes. I was shaking, but managed to tilt my chin up so I could meet his eyes. "My friend could die because of your orders." I kept my voice steady, but only just.
"It wouldn't be the first. Nor the last. You’ll get used to it."
I frowned, studying his features, the way his jaw flexed and his lips curled in a line.
Of course it wouldn't faze him. Death was nothing new.
It was natural, an aspect of life. Perhaps it meant more when the death was yours, or someone you had known, or someone you loved.
But to Zydar, it might be no more significant than the changing of the seasons or the turning of the tides.
"You don't feel anything," I murmured. "Do you?"
He didn't move, his gaze hard, unreadable.
"Do you?" I pressed, louder now. "You care more about your precious throne than you do about anyone's life, don't you? Did you even grieve for your parents when they died?"
His body stilled, and I knew I'd hit a nerve. "That's enough," he bit out.
"Are you scared to feel? Is that it?" I continued, reckless with the pain of rejection swirling inside of me. All the blood I’d given was meaningless if I stopped here and now. Why couldn’t he see that?
His nostrils flared, and he leaned in until his face was mere inches from mine. "Get out."
"You're scared, aren't you?"
He slammed a hand on the desk, making the scrolls rattle. "OUT."
"Coward."
He shoved back his chair and rounded the desk, advancing on me until I felt the wall at my back.
The cold stone through my tunic pressed against my shoulders.
His eyes blazed, his jaw tight, teeth grinding.
I held his gaze as he leaned closer. He could break me in half if he wished. And maybe he did wish it.
"Go ahead," I breathed. "Do it. Hit me."
He snarled, a sound low in his throat, and drew back his arm, fist clenched.
I didn't flinch. I stood still, waiting for the blow to fall, hoping it would end this nightmare.
Instead, the anger melted away from his face. It was a flash of vulnerability and disbelief, quickly suppressed. The emotion was almost lost in the darkness of the room, as brief and elusive as sunlight on a cloudy winter morning.
"You're a fool," he whispered, almost to himself. "To think I could ever hurt you."
I opened my mouth to reply, but any words I'd planned vanished.
What I was feeling, the emotions and thoughts warring and clashing, was not disgust.
Quite the opposite, in fact.
I couldn't find a name for it, didn't think it had been given one. He hadn't moved yet, but it took all of my effort not to lean into him, to let him devour my face with his lips and his teeth.
Perhaps there was a word for what I wanted, what he seemed to want too.
A deep and intense form of longing, which went beyond the heart. A longing for closeness, for intimacy, for him to be touching some part of me. Like part of me knew him, had known him. Like he was a part of me, whether I liked it or not.
Zydar's posture slowly changed.
As his hand lowered, the anger faded, and he slowly took a step back, some inner turmoil battling across his face. His warmth, his vitality, left with him. I didn't realize how cold I'd been until the heat slipped away.
Whatever I'd expected from him, whatever I'd imagined, it wasn't this. It wasn't standing in this room. Not like this, not pinned to the wall, about to confess something I didn't know or understand. Something I'd never said, hadn't even thought before. And everything in me rebelled.
So I shoved the thoughts down. Forced them into a trunk where they belonged. Later, much later, when I had the luxury of examining and understanding, I'd deal with them.
"Leave," he whispered. "Please."
I licked my dry lips and nodded, forcing myself to walk down the hall.
Slowly. Evenly. The muscles in my back relaxed, the knot in my chest fading to a distant ache.
I reached for the door, pulled it open. But at the last second, I glanced back.
Zydar hadn't moved, his body silhouetted by the low candlelight.
This time, his hands weren't crossed behind his back. Instead, they were curled into fists. So tight his knuckles had gone white.
And before I could question it, I stepped out and slammed the door.
I almost ran. As soon as the door was between us, everything I'd swallowed bubbled to the surface. Breathless, I placed a hand on the wall to steady myself.
This was...
It had...
"No," I breathed, turning and heading for the stairs. "No, no, no, no, no."
Anything to take my mind off his face. Those lips. Those eyes.
Damn me. Damn the world and the gods and fate itself.
"Mira. Mira!" A familiar voice startled me out of my stupor.
I looked back over my shoulder. I couldn't believe who stood in front of me.
I stood and walked over, my legs shaking. The boy, who I thought I'd never see again, had grown, and his smile was thin, his eyes tired.
But his hair was the same dark shade, and his face the same as the last time we'd parted.
"Tomos?"
"Yes," he said, and laughed. "Yes, it's me."
Before he could speak, I threw myself into his arms. He hugged me tightly, lifting me off the ground. We both laughed.
"I can't believe it's you!"
I clung to his tunic, pressing my cheek against the wool. The smell of him was so familiar, his laughter just the same as I remembered.
He was really here. Really alive.
"What are you doing here?" I asked. "How did you get here? Did you know—"
"Mira." He set me back on my feet and gently held me at arm's length. "Slow down."
I was grinning so hard it hurt, and I was sure that I looked ridiculous.
"Lord Gryven sent me as his replacement," he said. "To act as your guard."
"You... You've been here this whole time, and I had no idea..."
He nodded, unable to conceal his joy either. "Me either," he agreed. "When I heard your name, I nearly ran the whole way here."
I brushed his hair away from his temple, taking in the subtle changes, the ways his old freckles had faded under his sunburn. But here, nestled above his right eyebrow, lay a scar I knew very well.
"There it is." I grinned. "The one you got falling out of a tree."
"The old war wound." He waggled his eyebrows.
The corners of my eyes crinkled, and suddenly I was laughing.
With a snort. I clapped a hand over my mouth, but kept right on laughing, bending at the waist. Tomos joined in, doubling over.
It was the kind of laughter that never quite reached the brain, skittering on the fringes of reason.
I couldn't remember the last time I'd laughed like this.
With Pelbie, probably.
"How's Pelbie?" He asked, seeming to read my mind.
I blinked, sobering at once. "She's also here, actually."
His eyes widened. "What? Seriously?"
I nodded. "She's being trained to be a healer. She's learning how to make potions and salves."
He gave an incredulous shake of his head, his mouth half open. "I can't believe it." He glanced around. "So she's safe?"
"Safe as she can be."
Tomos nodded, his gaze returning to mine. "And you?"
"I'm all right," I lied.
"You're lying," he said flatly. "I can see it in your eyes. You've got that look."
"What look?"
"The one that says, 'I'm not telling you something because I think you'll worry.'"
My silence was answer enough.
He sighed. "Mira, what happened? How much trouble did you get into, to require a guard?" Tomos stiffened. “Lord Gyvren gave me strict orders to keep you in my sight. What did you do, Mira?”
I turned away, staring at my feet. "I...I can't explain it right now."
Tomos frowned, watching me. He knew I was evading his questions, but he didn't press. He had never been good at pushing for answers when I didn't want to give them.
He gave a short nod. "Well, I'm here to keep you safe," he said. "And I will."
"I know."
He grinned and ruffled my hair. "I missed you."
I elbowed him, but couldn't hold back a grin.
"And you've changed," he said. "You seem older."
"It's been years since we saw each other. Of course I've changed."
He tilted his head to one side. "Yes," he said. "But this is different. You seem… different."
I lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. "That's what happens when you're alone for a while."
He frowned. "Are you in danger?"
I considered the question, letting my mind return to the memory of the dark night on the cliff's edge.
"I'm not sure," I admitted. "But I'm doing everything I can to find out."
He nodded slowly, and then his face suddenly broke into a smile. "I brought you something."
My mouth fell open as he reached into his bag and pulled out an old, familiar object.
The wooden horse was small and worn from use, the paint faded and chipping.
It was only a toy, but to me it meant more.
I took the carving from his palm, my fingers wrapping around the smooth wood.
It still had the same weight, the same shape, the same texture.
I swallowed hard, and I was back in the village.
I was seven years old. Tomos and I were playing in the grass by the riverbank. We were pretending to be knights, and Tomos had made little horses for us. I'd been entranced with the little figurine.
"You kept this?" I asked quietly.
He nodded. "I never forgot about you, Mira."
I lifted my gaze to his, searching for something, some sign that he'd changed in the years we were apart. But he was still the same boy, the one who had followed me around and shared his food with me.
The same boy who was now a man.
"You're staring," he said, smirking.
I dropped my hand, heat flushing my cheeks. "I wasn't expecting to see you again."
"That makes two of us."
We stood there for a moment, just looking at each other.
It was strange. It felt like no time had passed at all. It felt like we were still those carefree kids who had nothing to worry about but the next game.
Still, there was a boy waiting for me in the healing dome, and a stack of stories I had promised to read. I would have to speak with Tomos later. Time to unravel the threads between then and now.
For now, I tilted my head towards the hallway and smiled at Tomos, “Come on, there’s someone I have to visit”. Side by side, we walked towards Riden, the boy who still believed in happy endings.