Chapter 61 #2
“Another time,” I replied. “Shera gets agitated if I’m out too late, and she’s expecting me back.”
Not a lie, but a poor excuse.
“Will you let me walk you back, at least?” Elias asked hopefully.
“No.” I cleared my throat. “I mean, no thank you. I think the silence might do me some good. I’ll see you in the morning.”
I felt his worried stare on me as I rushed quickly back to my room with my face hidden by the hood of my sweater, unable and unwilling to give anyone what they might need from me tonight.
When I reached my room and turned to close the door, I let my forehead fall against the wood and sank my weight against it.
My body, mind, and heart ached with exhaustion.
I wanted to drown in it. I decided I would spend the rest of the night doing exactly that when the back of my neck started prickling.
“What do you want, Simeon?” I asked bitterly. I could feel the nag of his sharp, assessing glare like I would never be able to escape it.
Shera, wholly distrusting of the man in the room with us, rose from her place before the fire and began to pace.
“I wish you’d have called to me to let me know you were stuck in here with him. For how long?” I said down the pathway.
“An hour.”
Good gods. “I’m sorry.”
“You’re marrying Elias,” Simeon confirmed.
“Yes,” I said through gritted teeth. It wasn’t a question. I had agreed to it, but the way he spoke like it was inevitable almost pissed me off more than the reality itself.
“You won’t regret it, Aryella. The people will rally behind this. Any doubt they have in your leadership will be resolved by seeing you on the throne with Elias by your side. It will be?—”
“I don’t need whatever grand speech you have prepared, Simeon. Frankly, I don’t care, and I don’t have the energy for it.” I turned to face him. “You’re getting what you want.”
I felt the urge to spew insults at him but was too tired and numb to do it. I just wanted to lie down and pretend I was somewhere else. Until the nightmares took over, at least, I could delude myself with his sweater and enough blankets and warmth to convince my body I had who I needed in that bed.
“I wish I could…” But something made his pale skin turn pallid as he trailed off.
My patience for him was already drained. “You wish what , Simeon?” I demanded. “Tell me.” He stared at me, strangely wide-eyed. “Tell me now .”
His mouth opened, then closed. Again.
“Simeon?” My brow furrowed. I stepped closer to get a better look at him. Apology shuddered through his eyes, then fear. His lids fluttered closed before something otherworldly and sinister came over him. His body went eerily still.
“Simeon?” I asked again, less angry this time. “You wish you could do what?”
Seconds later, he released another shudder. Whatever possessed him faded away. His complexion returned to normal, his eyes opened, and he returned to his stoic self.
“I wish I could make things easier for you, Aryella,” he finally said, voice monotonous. He paused with his hand on the doorknob and, without looking back, muttered, “I really do.”
Simeon started to open the door when words from one of Gavin’s notes echoed in my memory.
Always assume your uncle is hiding something.
Still guiding me. Even in death.
“Simeon, wait,” I demanded. “When I was on my way to Brinnea and then with Damond in Varamuth, you weren’t in the Caves. Where were you?”
He fiddled with the doorknob. “It’s late, Ary.”
“Were you across the Brinnean Sea?”
His body went rigid.
“What’s over there?” I approached carefully. He was so unnaturally still that I feared he would lash out. “Does it have something to do with the deal you and Molochai made?”
Simeon didn’t move.
“I need you to tell me, Simeon.” I stretched my arm to gently touch his shoulder. “Why do only our bloodlines—ours and Molochai’s—have power? What did you do?”
He jerked away from me and searched until he found a pen and a half-used piece of paper then began to write, his hand shaking. When he finished, the pen slipped and clattered to the floor as if yanked from his grasp by an insistent and invisible entity.
“Simeon?” I gasped. “What’s going on?” But he was already fleeing the room. For the first time, instead of hatred and remorse and distrust toward my uncle, I felt fear. Not of him, but for him.
His script was barely legible, letters jagged and overlapping in unnatural ways. It took me a moment to decipher it, but I wanted to vomit once I did.
I fear she can hear everything I say.
And below it…
We never should have made that deal.
“Simeon!” I shouted, bursting after him into the hallway. “Molochai said there was a bargain. What…” I glanced in both directions, but he was already gone. I stood, alone in the hallway, wracking my brain for anything that could explain his behavior.
Like Simeon, Molochai had said many things that didn’t quite make sense. I cycled through everything I could remember, both months ago in Brinnea and during our encounter the other night.
One thing, in particular, came rushing back.
There’s a larger war to be won than the war between two old friends.
Greater than Simeon. And Molochai?
She is searching for you.
The paper dropped from my hands.
I ran to my bookshelf and threw open The Book of the Selvaren, nearly ripping pages as I flipped to the back and counted the blank ones as if I hadn’t opened this book a hundred times.
Twelve gods. Thirteen blank pages.
Thirteen.
Wracked by shudders, I stumbled back two steps before regaining balance. I lifted my hands to my throat at the memory of cold, inhuman hands. Echoes of a voice, ethereal and feminine but terrible and deadly, reminded me…
I can teach you more than he can!
Dread needled into my skin. Gavin was right. Simeon was hiding something. I’d spent the last few months asking why he was refusing to tell me things. I’d never considered that maybe, for some reason, he physically couldn’t.
But who had the power to steal words from the mouth of a sorcerer?