Chapter 61
Ashley
Hand in hand with another raised,
we give credit where it is due,
I can’t quite gauge how Eira feels about Aiden.
A mixture of love and hate, I think. Because as quickly as she brushes him off, she’s fussing over the burn marks along his neck and jaw from the explosion.
He lets her, closing his eyes at her touch even though it’ll heal in minutes.
I flinch when Kaed’s hand brushes the one on my neck.
The feeling catches me off guard. It stings, but terror crashes into me just as fast. One blink and I’m back there again.
One second, he was checking if I was hurt, the next his nails were slicing into the vein in my neck, drawing blood.
Kaed jerks his hand away immediately and takes a few steps back, pain sitting plainly on his features.
I want to tell him I’m okay, that it was only a stupid flashback, probably because I just saw him fighting, but my tongue is glued to the roof of my mouth.
With a little tut she learned from me, Eira places a firm hand on Aiden’s bicep and steers him toward the waiting door.
“I really am tired of fifth wheeling,” Cook says very loudly to no one in particular.
I don’t know what I expected, but I expected something.
Trumpets, guards, fireworks, maybe. Instead, we walk straight into the middle of a beautiful city square.
Bright streets, rushing bodies and startled faces.
Some stare warily and others gasp and bow before hurrying away.
We’re clearly out of place, standing on these immaculate streets with dirt on our clothes and blood still drying on our skin.
And then I start to notice, everyone is small.
Not short exactly, young. Boys and girls who look no older than eight.
Some twelve, maybe thirteen, skip through wide streets with stacks of books under their arms, arguing animatedly.
Gesturing with ink-stained fingers and glasses slipping down their noses.
Every now and then as we walk down the street, I spot someone who looks my age or older, but they’re so rare that Eira and I start a little game of ‘spot the grown-up.’ No wonder this is the city of knowledge.
And no wonder Ashen Reach sends scholars here to learn and carry their teachings back.
Cinder will be the first territory to die out, so they probably record everything.
I stare in fascination at the whimsical shops with average-sized doors but low counters, shallow steps alongside larger ones and stacks of larger chairs outside cafes with little tables and benches.
A statue of Ixten and Kawir stands proud in the square and under it, a blood fountain like the one by Cinder Tower.
A sleek open-top carriage glides toward us, pulled by loads of bunny-like creatures.
I’ve never been a fan of animals, but these are cute.
Two tiny people climb out, draped in layered purple fabrics.
Hunah and Xalan. They bow quickly to us, beckoning us onto the train.
“We just had word of intruders in our forests and saw you in our looking glass,” Hunah admits, a little flustered, “we apologise, we were not expecting you. Nonetheless, we are very glad you decided to come.”
We board, riding through the heart of the city.
Past massive universities, libraries and more libraries, bookshops and parks swarming with scribes and outdoor lectures.
It’s overwhelming, but I like it. Cook is giddy, pointing out all the landmarks and where his parents grew up.
Kaed looks even bigger than usual in the tiny carriage.
He searches my eyes for consent, before sliding closer to me as if trying to take up less space on the little seats.
And I’ve never been so aware of someone’s arm brushing mine.
The train slows and the palace of Cinder Cliffs comes into view.
It’s giant. Built of layered terraces and courtyards.
Pale stone walls stamped with angled patterns and masks, their eyes watching over the grounds below.
I’m positive one winks at me and a shiver runs down my spine.
Gold-threaded purple banners drift in the warm breeze and pretty, pink fountains ripple through the greenery.
Bright-eyed teenagers in purple robes, skin riddled with acne, guide us through little doors.
I try to muffle a laugh when Kaed has to stoop and shuffle through sideways.
Through the corridors, the walls are lined with moving shelves of books and Aiden looks like he’s in heaven.
When Xalan points down a branching corridor, I try not to look at the guards at the end of it dragging dripping sacks into another room.
Mer Army parts. Someone was attacked. I find myself hoping they got there in time.
“Please rest and wash,” he says. “Attendants will assist you in your room. Dinner will be served when the gong sounds.”
“Did he say room? As in singular?” Aiden hisses to Cook out of the corner of his mouth.
“I can’t believe you’ve never been here before. Yes, it’s custom for all guests to share a room. It’s considered rude to split up a party.”
“Didn’t they just try to kill us, about five times?
That wasn’t rude?” Eira whispers to me, and we both stifle a laugh as we’re led down a flower riddled courtyard that my uncle would love.
I find myself silently praying to somebody, anybody, that this ‘room’ is big enough to contain all the personalities in this group.
I needn’t have worried. It isn’t a bunch of bunk beds, as my imagination so kindly supplied in a horrid moment of panic.
It’s more like an apartment. Something like a living room at its centre, ringed with vast stone pillars.
Beyond it, a wide balcony stretches outward, ivy trailing and dancing in the warm air.
Branching off from the living area are five separate bedrooms, each door carved with our names.
My room isn’t cosy at all. More like a museum that happens to contain a bed.
Maps cover the walls and clay figurines sit in alcoves.
A curvy marble bust rests behind a glass case.
At least the bed looks inviting, piled with cushions and woven throws.
It’s literally calling my name, and answer, I must.
I wake up a little while later, slightly disoriented, my mouth a little sour, eyes still heavy.
After brushing my teeth, I strip quickly, thankful someone has run a bath for me.
The citrusy water is perfect. With a sigh, my toes flick floating petals around until the tension finally drains from my shoulders.
My heart is still heavy with the memory of that male on my sword.
If an illusion is winding me up this much, I can’t imagine the real thing.
Kaed, Nyk, all of them. They do this without blinking.
Take lives. Self-defence makes sense, but down here, in Sheyole, it’s like killing is a feasible option if someone pisses you off.
I ponder for a little while how that will translate in The Above.
I’ll have to somehow get my uncle to train the fae to put down the weapons.
You can’t walk around the seaside with a sword strapped to your back or blast a waiter with fire if he gets your order wrong.
I wrap myself in a fluffy, thick towel, about to answer the knock at the door, but before I can, it swings open and a small army of servants sweeps in.
Bright layers of fabric are wrapped around me.
Pins prod. Scissors snip. Sandals are slipped onto my feet and feathers woven into my hair.
When they’re finished, they scatter like a flock of parrots.
A second later, Eira’s shriek echoes down the corridor and I burst out laughing.
Yep. They definitely stole her towel too.
“Sleeping beauty, about time.” Cook chirps as I walk into the shared living space, provoking a guilty chuckle from me.
Kaed strides in behind me, dressed in the first bit of colour I’ve ever seen him in. Deep burgundy cotton trousers and a matching loose top. It suits him. My eyes drop to his sandals before I can stop them.
“I’ve never seen your toes before,” I blurt. “They’re so...nice” I deliberately ignore the crisscrossed scars patterning the tops of his very symmetrical, very perfect feet.
“Thank you.” He rubs the back of his neck and lets out a soft, breathy laugh, suddenly unable to meet my eyes.
“Are you blushing, Captain?” Cook teases. Kaed shoots him a look sharp enough to cut stone.
“I hope it won’t be too long before dinner, I’m starving.
” Eira emerges from her room. Dressed in the same flowing style as me, but hers is deep blue with silver stitching, feathers of the same colour woven through her thick, dark hair that’s been pulled into a low bun, some strands left loose framing her face.
I leave them to it and slip out onto the balcony.
The breeze lifts the feathers in my hair.
“I’m still annoyed at what you did to Eira,” I say quietly, folding my arms, “but thank you. For protecting me in that blast. Or were you just trying to win the trial?”
“No,” Aiden says, looking out at the deep oranges and blues of the horizon beneath the seas as the Core dims. “Instinct.”
I smile. “Aww, I love you too, brother.”
He turns then, rubbing his bottom lip with his thumb the way he does when he’s thinking. “I meant I do not wish your death anymore,” he replies carefully. “Perhaps you misheard me.”
I roll my eyes. “I didn’t mishear you. It was a joke.”
He watches me like he’s recalculating something. “Do you feel like something is off?” He asks. I raise my eyebrows, I think this is the first time he’s asked me anything with such sincerity, like he values my opinion.
“Always,” I admit, leaning against the stone railing.
“I can tell your Captain does,” Aiden murmurs.
“I cannot define it. But…” He trails off, fingers moving absently to his face, rubbing at the gash along his jaw.
I frown. It should have healed by now. A hiss escapes me when I lift my hand to the back of my neck, where the blast hit me. The wound is still open.