Chapter 39 The Gift
THE GIFT
Slaide stared into Hazel’s eyes, as if he were searching the depths of her soul.
“Yes,” he spoke quietly.
“Yes, what?” She frowned.
Inside, the music built in its intensity and dancers moved with fervor. It was the same dance they’d practiced with Pimley, the one when Slaide had interrupted her training.
To her dismay, Slaide grabbed her hand and tugged her toward him, forcing her into a spin that brought her back flush with his body.
“The nightmares,” he whispered into her ear. Slaide nudged her away, and Hazel danced in a circle around him, her eyes growing wide.
He pulled her to a bench beside the stone railing and helped her adjust her dress so she could sit. Slaide sat down beside her, running a hand down his face with closed eyes, and exhaled. His annoyingly self-assured demeanor fractured, replaced by something uncertain. His face was unreadable.
He cleared his throat. “So, tell me more about these nightmares.”
And Hazel did. Slaide never interrupted, just nodded and asked the appropriate questions at the appropriate times. No snide remarks, no snark, no attitude. When she finished, he sat quietly, thoughtfully, as though mulling it all over.
“I have a few thoughts on this,” he began, “and I’m not sure I like any of it, nor am I sure what it all means. One thing is for certain, though. We are somehow connected by these dreams.”
Her breath hitched.
“There’s something else I need to tell you.” He looked down at his feet. “I don’t exactly know how to explain it in a way it makes sense while also keeping you out of trouble.”
Hazel arched a brow at that.
“I have some… personal work… that draws me away from here some nights. I have found that on those nights, when I’m away from the castle—away from you—the nightmares are relentless.”
“So, I suppose that would explain why I’ve had a few horrible nights this week, and others I slept soundly. It was a difference of whether you were close or if you’d gone… wherever.”
Slaide nodded. “It was the same for me. I found it strange, how one day it was like the nightmares just… disappeared. It was the same day you were brought here. I slept as well as I have in ages. Then, on my first night away since you were here, I woke up in a pool of sweat.” He was fiddling with his fingers, a nervous habit.
What was he so afraid to tell her? “It’s part of the reason I fought against Gammen and his spineless pet Oriss.
There was something about you I needed to figure out, and the only way I was going to do that was if I kept you out of their clutches. ”
“What was the other reason?” she inquired.
“Hmm?” He raised a brow.
“You said it was part of the reason you fought to keep me from the mages. Was there more to it than that?”
Slaide swallowed hard. “Yes. But I didn’t realize what it was until I’d gotten to know you a little better. I had a strange feeling, call it intuition, instinct, whatever… but something was screaming at me not to let you go.”
“And what was it that you discovered after we spent some time together?” She was treading dangerous water, her heart a war drum in her chest.
“That you were Aisling’s daughter.” He looked as though he wanted to shrink down to the size of an ant so he could scurry away and hide.
She started to pull away, but Slaide held her hands in his.
“Hazel, there’s more to your mother’s story. It didn’t end with me.”
She glared at him, her eyes glassy and steeped in hatred.
“Listen to me. I can’t tell you whether or not she is still alive, but I can tell you she made it out of this castle that way.”
She scrunched her face in apparent confusion.
“I got her out. It doesn’t excuse what happened or my part in it, and it doesn’t take away any horrors she probably experienced here. But Hazel, I swore I would get her out if it was the last thing I did. And I did.”
“How?” She was nearly breathless.
“The slave tunnels,” he said pointedly.
Everything came crashing down at once. “The nightmares,” she gasped. “The woman… I… That wasn’t me.”
Slaide shook his head. “It was her. It had to be. I don’t know how yet, but it’s like you’re reliving her memories in your dreams. Almost as though we both are.”
Hazel’s shock was visible as her power thrummed against the underside of her skin.
“I realize it’s a bit of a stretch expecting you to trust me, even just this once,” he said, bowing his head as if he’s embarrassed by his actions.
“You really don’t remember any of that night, do you?” He inclined his head.
“No,” she said, “why would I?”
He sighed. “Because you were there the night I captured her. She let herself be captured in order to send you away. Powerful as she was, she couldn’t both fend us off and open the portal for you. She chose you.”
Hazel grew quiet, face twisting as his words landed. “So, you’ve known. All this time, you’ve known?”
“No, Hazel. I didn’t. I won’t lie to you; from day one there was something familiar about you.
I felt certain I’d met you before. But I couldn’t place it.
I’ve come to realize, as strange as it sounds, that I recognized your scent.
It just didn’t occur to me where I recognized it from.
That was twenty-five years ago, after all. ”
Hazel looked at him thoughtfully, with glassy eyes. “Why did you help her if you were just going to turn around and do the same thing to other women, witches or not? Let’s pretend I believe you, which I’m not sure I do. How could you pick up where you left off like nothing happened?”
Slaide looked as though he’d prepared for that very question.
“I do what I must to survive, but for the most part, I don’t…
hurt them. You hear and see the same things as everyone else, so you know that word of mouth does wonders for a reputation, especially a bad one.
Play the role of the bad guy, dress the part, get your hands dirty every now and then, and people stop questioning the validity of the rumors.
Yes, I hunt magical creatures. I spend most of my days now hunting those monsters coming across the Border.
When he commands me to arrest and execute a witch…
” he paused, appearing to search for the right words.
“He would be presented with a token representing their fate. A necklace. A wedding band. A lock of hair. Rarely a live witch, and never a body. The problem is, the charade has run its course. Magnus has started calling my bluff—or at the very least has grown suspicious—and is now having his Bloodseekers swoop in after me to tie up any loose ends. Which as you can imagine is undoing many years’ worth of work. ”
“You mean to tell me that you, Slaide Elias, hunter of witches and monsters for the High King of Aeos, have actually been undermining His Majesty this entire time?”
Without acknowledging the truth, Slaide smiled. “Don’t forget Fallenborn whelp.”
Hazel smiled, but it was brief. A conflicted look overtook her features, and her hand rose to her pendant. Before she reached it, Slaide caught her hand.
“You don’t need that, you know. You’re safe with me.”
Her eyes roamed his face expectantly. “I don’t know if I want to slap you or kiss you,” she blurted before covering her mouth.
“Do I have a say in the matter?” he asked, watching as her cheeks turned his favorite shade of pink, as her eyes dipped to his mouth before returning to his gaze. And he moved—cautiously in case she was planning on smacking him instead.
Someone nearby cleared their throat. “Master Elias, I do not mean to interrupt—”
“Then don’t,” Slaide growled as he pulled away from her to find a mousy, middle-aged servant standing a few paces away.
“Yes, sir, I apologize, but His Majesty is requesting your presence back in the ballroom for the presentation of the prince’s gifts.”
He rolled his eyes. “We’ll be there shortly.”
“Yes, Master Elias. Please see that you do,” he said, his voice curter than it had any right to be.
“I said we’ll be there shortly. You’re dismissed.” Slaide snipped.
“Yes, sir.” The man bowed and took his leave. Slaide’s spiteful gaze followed the poor servant until he was out of sight.
He sighed, looking Hazel over once more. She looked embarrassed, gaze averted and cheeks flushed.
Slaide stood, sighing, and offered Hazel his arm. “I guess we’d better be off. Wouldn’t want to keep His Majesty and the princeling waiting. Besides, if you keep looking at me like that, I might just forget we’re in public and take you here, for everyone to see.”
Hazel’s eyes grew wide at that. Slaide wondered if her body and mind protested as much as his did, tired of these moments being cut short just when they were getting good, but she accepted his offering and stood, allowing Slaide to pull her in close.
As they approached the archway leading back inside, they could see that Magnus had come down from his place of honor on the dais and was mingling with various lords. He hadn’t made it to the stage yet.
Slaide grabbed Hazel with a force that made her squeal, causing him to clamp a hand down over her mouth. He shuffled her over to the shadows and pushed her through a door. Only then did he remove his hand as he pressed her up against the room’s inner wall with the weight of his body.
“Slaide,” she panted, “What are you doing?” Her voice was not quite a whisper.
He pulled back momentarily, placing his hands above her on the wall. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but after what happened just now, I think I speak for both of us when I say we have unfinished business.” He searched her eyes for any indication he was wrong. “The princeling can wait.”
In the span of a breath, she had her hands on him. She grappled for his shirt, pulling him against her body and wrapping her arms around his neck. She kissed him greedily as though he was the very thing sustaining her; the only thing that could keep her alive. And he was glad for it.