Chapter 30
Chapter
Thirty
ARA
Guilt swamps me while I make my way to the fountain in the merchant quarter.
It’s evening, and while the sun is still low over the horizon, the shadows are stark and prominent in this old part of Telos.
Houses huddle together, and often seem to lean in as if to whisper to one another, arching over the small streets below.
The lamps are not yet lighted, and the bigger streets pulse with life like the main vessels of an organ. But the bustle trickles off the deeper I venture into the small alleys. To blend in, I’m dressed in one of the few dresses I brought, but that is not what makes me uncomfortable.
Since the competition is over for us, I don’t think I’m in danger.
I’ll meet up with a dragon, so why should I be worried?
But I go against Tate’s orders again. And after our last encounter, the thought of going toe-to-toe with him fills my stomach with swooping Phoenixes.
And the thought of him finding out why I’m here fills my chest with stone.
Nothing happened after I handed over the patrol plan last time, no attack, no engagement at all.
And while I heard riders whisper about it, clearly alarmed, it helped to dispel my doubts.
Reinforced my trust in Tynan and his men.
Nevertheless, I don't even want to imagine how Tate would react if he found out what I did . .. and will do again.
I’m early, since I seized the chance to leave without raising suspicion, even if it meant waiting, so when I cast out my perception, looking for Lorcan, I don’t expect to find him yet.
But whom I expect to find even less is Tate. Alone.
My interest is piqued.
He moves in the same direction as me, but a little farther down, probably on the next street over. There is still no sign of Lorcan, so I turn onto the small street to my right, moving silently and staying in the shadows while closing in on Tate.
But I’m not the only one.
Three gifted close in on him from three different directions. My brow furrows. That doesn’t feel right. Why would they circle him like that? Unless…
He is far from helpless, and he has Daeva. I try to calm myself, sneaking a glance at her dark silhouette against the darkening sky. There aren’t many birds that would circle over the city at night, so it has to be her or another Night Raven.
As soon as I reach the alley Tate is in, my stomach drops. It’s so narrow that there is hardly enough space for two people to walk shoulder to shoulder, and the roofs are close to touching. There is no way Daeva could come to his aid down here.
I accelerate my steps, and he comes into view ahead of me, his form and movements so familiar. He stops, then leans against a wall in a small square enclosed by houses. I strain my eyes for the others, but I don’t see anyone. They can’t be far away, though.
Their gift is less powerful than Tate’s—whose isn’t?—but they should be only a few steps away from him. Where are they?
There is a ripple in the air, and if I hadn’t paid so much attention, I would have missed it.
“Tate, shield!” I shout. He whips around at my shout and … shields me. Idiot.
“Watch out!” I scream and witness, horrified, as two shapes jump out of nowhere, wielding daggers. I rush forward only to land on my ass when I run face-first into Tate’s shield. Blood trickles down my face, pain radiating from my nose. He closed me in.
“Release me!” I yell, while my eyes are glued to the struggle in front of me. Four men now surround him. One body drops, and I release a relieved breath when I glimpse light hair instead of dark.
My hands trace the wall in front of me, searching for an exit.
I need out. Out, out, out , I chant in my head.
There is a sound of pain, and I know it’s his. Fury burns through me. This can’t be happening. I will not watch helplessly while they cut him down. This damn wall will release me now, or I swear I… I stumble forward, barely catching myself before going down on the uneven cobblestones.
Tate released me, or he is too distracted to keep up his shield. I hurry forward, drawing a dagger, and throw myself at the attacker in front of me. My blow aims for his back, and I growl in frustration when my blade stops with a metallic clang. I should have slit his throat.
The man whirls around, and I block his blade with mine. My body sings with the impact. I jump back, drawing him away, giving Tate more room. My opponent’s slashes come fast and sure, at odds with his rugged, beggar-like looks.
He’s a trained soldier.
I stumble back a few steps, watching him closely. He sneers at my dress and my long hair and comes at me with swaggering confidence. His mistake.
My dagger grazes his throat, but he is too fast, evading the otherwise deadly strike. He lashes out, his blade aiming at my face. I duck and kick at his legs, trying to destabilize him, but the skirt gets in my way, making me just a little slower than usual. It’s enough for him to catch my foot.
Pain radiates up my spine and my arms when I hit the cobblestones. The impact echoes through my body, sharp at first, then dull and throbbing. I scramble backward, jump up … and trip again. Damn dress.
A hand closes around my throat, cutting off my air and shoving me back against a wall.
“And we meet again,” a voice whispers in my ear.
I know that voice. I freeze.
Hot pain. Icy terror. Helplessness. Anger. Heat. Emotions and impressions flood my mind, making me dizzy. Why do I know his voice? Whispers of pain and using me … of plans and princes…
I shake my head. The man pinning me to the wall isn’t speaking at all. He increases the pressure, watching me with a smile on his face.
I’m lightheaded and disoriented. This feels surreal, paralyzing like the seeping trickle of a nightmare. My heart beats too fast, and I’m desperate for air, but nothing comes.
Tate roars my name in the distance, cut off by a sound of pain. The sound cuts through my terror like a honed blade, and fury bleeds out of the cut, filling my body like liquid metal. It heats my skin, and my attacker releases me with a yelp.
I don’t know who he is, but I know what he is—dead. He tried to hurt me, to hurt Tate, and the knowledge feeds my ire. I erupt in flames, and the man stumbles back.
My blood sings with the panic on his face.
I advance slowly, feeding on this fear, on the power of seeing him scared.
He hurt me in the past. Glimpses of hazy memories tell me that much, and I will make him pay.
And for the first time, the thought of someone being consumed by my flames does not fill me with horror; no, I crave it, but first I want answers.
One look in Tate’s direction assures me he is still standing, still fighting. I know he can hold his own, so I suppress the urge to rush to him and instead focus on the man in front of me.
He has answers, and I intend to hear them, preferably screamed.
My flames burn higher, hotter, wrapping me in a nearly white glow. I grin at my prey. His face is sheet white, perspiration on his brow. I’ve backed him into a corner, and he has nowhere to go.
The dagger in my hand glows red while I play with it, tapping its broad side against my palm.
“I seem to remember you were fascinated by my scars,” I murmur, and his eyes widen even more. I keep tapping the glowing metal against my skin in contemplation, and the sight seems to unnerve him.
“What do you want from him?”
“I’m not telling you anything,” the man spits.
I shake my head, clicking my tongue.
“That doesn’t work for me. How about we give you something to admire, then? To remember me by.” He closes his eyes and mumbles something under his breath, a prayer maybe. But a prayer won’t help him now. I bring the glowing metal up to his face, and his skin reddens instantly.
I paint a sizzling line starting at his hairline, running along his left eye, past the edge of his mouth to his chin. The stench of burnt flesh sears my nose, but his screams make me smile. More and more memories surface. Of his cruel words and how he enjoyed hurting me.
“And now you’re at my mercy. The fates have an interesting humor, don’t you think? Let’s try this again. What do you want?” He looks left and right, but there is nowhere for him to go.
His eyes come back to me, and he spits, but it never reaches me, consumed by my flames.
I feel his gift reaching for me. His voice turns hypnotic while he instructs me to plunge the dagger I’m holding into my heart. There is a crazed smile on his face when my face goes slack, and I lift the arm. I study the dagger pointing at my chest, before lowering it again.
“No, I don’t think I’d like that.” His face loses all the color he had left, and he presses against the stones behind him.
“Witch,” he hisses.
I tilt my head. “I have no idea what that’s supposed to mean, but I think your face needs a bit more symmetry.” I grin.
“Ara.” Tate’s voice sounds desperate, and I whirl around. He’s staggering in my direction, his movements sluggish and stiff. He’s hurt.
A crackling, bluish light draws my attention to my right, emanating from a ball that illuminates a cruel smile. The man raises his hand, aiming at me.
I’ve survived it before. I can take it. I steel myself, but when his arm moves down, he pivots and throws the ball … at Tate.
“No!” I scream, rushing forward even though I know I’m not fast enough. I throw my arm out, flinging my magic at Tate, willing it to keep him safe.
There is an animalistic roar and the wet sound of blood and flesh being scattered. Lorcan has arrived. I recognize his magic. But my eyes never leave Tate.
The lightning envelops him, dances over him, while he shudders and falls, crashing to the ground only seconds before I reach him.
I’m cold to the bone, my flames sputter and die.
No.
Please, no.
The lightning is gone, but he lies still. Too still.
I collapse to the ground next to him, pulling his head into my lap, searching for a heartbeat.But my whole body pulses with panic. How am I supposed to separate his? My fingers tremble while they feather over his face.
“Tate?” Tears mix with the blood of his busted lip and a cut on his cheek. “Gods, please. Please.” I sob. “Elet, don’t take him from me,” I whisper. The thought of him being gone leaves me cold and empty.
My eyes trace his form, searching for movement. Is he still breathing? It’s hard to tell since he’s wearing armor. There is blood on the ground, soaking my skirt, soaking his tunic—it’s too damn much blood. But I can’t see where it’s coming from, and the falling dusk doesn’t help either.
My hands slide over the edges of his armor, and as soon as I find a spot that is sticky and warm with his blood, I apply pressure to stop the flow. His markings look harsh against his pale skin.
I exhale, rest my forehead on his, and do the only thing I can. Pray. Promising everything I can think of, if only Elet gives him back to me.
It’s at that moment that I realize I might lose him, but I’ll never get over him.
“I thought you hated me,” Tate whispers. His breath warms my skin, and my eyes fly open, drowning in his. They are filled with a tenderness I thought I’d never see again.
“Yes. Gods, yes, I hate you so much.” A laugh mixes with a sob, garbling the last word.
“Liar.”
“Shut up and heal yourself, before I strangle you for scaring me like that.”
He looks up at me, his gaze so intense my breath catches. “I heard you, you know.”
I have no idea how to answer that, so I don’t.
“How bad is it?” I break his stare to search his body for injuries.
“Nearly done,” he groans. “I hate healing myself.”
My eyes trace the alarmingly large patch of darkness at his side. And neither of us has to say it, but we both are aware that he is only breathing because of his gift.
“I promise, red is not your color,” I joke, trying to hide my panic at the amount of blood he must have lost.
I wait patiently until he is done healing himself, then I help him up and pull his arm over my shoulder when he wobbles. My gaze wanders back to the spot where I cornered the stranger, but of course, it’s empty.
The short way out of the alley is slow going.
The street is quiet again, and a few scared faces peer out at us from windows along the way. As soon as they register Tate’s uniform, they nod at us, and no one calls for guards. A small mercy.
My eyes scan our surroundings constantly, ready for another attack. But everything stays quiet. Lorcan seems to have chased off whoever was left. I sense him trailing us.
Daeva is already waiting, and I use the time Tate needs to pull himself up onto her back to reassure Solaris that I’m fine. As soon as he is seated, Tate reaches for me, but I step back.
“Get some sleep and rest,” I tell him.
“I’m not leaving you here,” he protests, but his eyes are glassy and drooping, and I’d bet he is asleep before they even reach the Aerie. The fight, the wound, and the healing took a lot out of him.
“I’ll be fine,” I say, deliberately keeping my eyes on Tate’s face and off the dragon waiting in the shadows.
Daeva launches into the air, carrying a still protesting Tate away. Once they are gone, I turn to Lorcan.
“Thank you for your help.”
He waves me off. “You’re not much use if you’re dead. What have you got for us?”
“And here I thought we were on the way to becoming friends.” I pull out the sheet of paper on which I noted the patrols for next month and hand it to him.
“I don’t know about friends, but you’re entertaining to have around,” he concedes and grins when I roll my eyes.
He slips the paper into his pocket. “See you next month,” he says and turns away.
“Wait, I won’t be in Avina next month, so we’ll have to meet here, and there is a message for Tynan on the back of the plan. If you could make sure he gets it, that would be great.”
“Who do you think I’ll hand this to? Of course, he’ll get it.”
“Thank you.”
Without another word, he turns and walks off into the dark. I watch his back for a second before I make my way back to the Aerie.