Page 76 of An Empress of Air & Chaos

Daringly, she placed her books down on the first step and wondered what she would be able to see from the tallest building she had ever stayed in. Curiosity won the battle with exhaustion in her head.

The stairway was dark and cold as the windows from the narrow corridor let the air filter through the broken glass, also permitting moonlight to glow through in beams. The remaining glass from the windows looked weather-worn, and it was evident that no one had bothered to fix them in years. Clearly, this part of the tower wasn’t in use, so no one would even know if she went snooping…

She was glad to be in Gideon’s fleece, as it proved to be the warmest clothing she had. However, not putting on proper trousers and only wearing nightwear bottoms for bed had been a mistake. The icy breeze groped at her legs as she climbed the final set of stairs before coming across a wooden door. She halted. It looked like it had been removed from an ancient temple, placed here and forgotten centuries ago. As she turned the handle, it moved with ease. She hadn’t expected for the door to come close to opening, it had looked so old. Deep down, she was kind of hoping it wouldn’t open and that her venture up here would satisfy her prying mind before returning back down the stairs to her own room. To her bed. To read. To sleep.

That would be the sensible option.

Emara pushed the door open, and a vicious blast of cold caught her breath. She rubbed her hands together, tucking them into the sleeves of the fleece before stepping out onto the rooftop terrace.

The cold wasn’t the only thing that took her breath away. The dazzling lights of the Huntswood city preserved the backdrop. The small, diamond-like lights of homes, workplaces and even the markets, all glittered in the distance. She couldn’t see far past the landscape in the dark, but she noticed different buildings shaped against it, like mini brick towers, and wondered what sort of purpose they gave to the city. She couldn’t see this side of the scenery from her room, only greenery, and she smiled as she took in the contrasting view.

It was beautiful. Emancipating.

She took a moment to herself, letting the wind brush against her cheeks and the backdrop absorb in her mind. She felt like she could breathe clearer up here, like the air was purer from above. She opened her eyes with a small smile itching at her lips.

A dark figure moved from the shadows. A squeal escaped from Emara’s mouth as she jumped back, trying to see a face on the figure. Sapphire eyes moved from the darkness to where the light of the moon hit them. Layers and layers of darkness hung heavy in those blue eyes as he stepped out further, revealing his face.

Torin Blacksteel stood in front of her. His face that normally gave off a glowing complexion, sat grey against the glint of the moon. His hair was unusually disorderly and his eyes were heavy with the weight of something dark. In his hand, he held a crystal bottle of rusty coloured liquor and it appeared to be half finished.

Emara took in a breath as she studied him, not quite looking like himself as his shirt lay half open on his chest, flapping in the wind. He turned away from her and strode towards the railings that bound the rooftop terrace, unimpressed by her presence. His tall frame sulked over the railing, resting his arms on the metal. The movement displayed the truly enormous muscles that gave his powerful back definition.

“What is the prim and proper princess doing all the way up here on the roof terrace at this unholy hour?” Torin’s words slurred as he took another drink from the bottle, his voice low and raspy.

Drunk! He’s drunk.

“Sorry, I didn’t know where I was going. I am still getting used to the Tower. I was looking for, um...” She trailed off, her thoughts stumbling over the sight of the warrior.

It was so unlike him to look this…fragile.

“Save it,” he dismissed causally. “There is no need for lies…not tonight.”

A feeling of concern tightened in her chest.

“Are you okay?” Emara finally spoke.

He scoffed. A bitter laugh left his throat, causing her to flinch. “Of course.” Torin turned towards her, his back resting against the railings, his brute mass almost threatening to bend the metal. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

She walked towards him slowly, her eyes raking over every part of him. Emara noticed, for the first time, Torin Blacksteel wasn’t armed. No knives, no swords.

“You don’t look okay. Do you want to—”

“I said I am fine,” he spoke through gritted teeth.

She knew he wasn’t. He was not fine at all.

Emara had seen him drunk a couple of times, but this was different.

This was…destructive.

She grew close enough to rest her arms against the railings, mirroring Torin. She couldn’t leave him like this. She wouldn’t leave anyone like this.

“I heard you got punched today.” She let a smile cross her face to establish a different direction, one that would hopefully bring out that mischievous grin that she loved to hate.

“Getting punched was the best part of my day.” He took another sip from the bottle and pulled the alcohol through his teeth.

She wasn’t quite sure what had happened today for him to be brooding, but surely it couldn’t be worse than being punched in the face.

And then she reminded herself of who he was. A Hunter. A lethal killing machine. Getting punched in the face was probably normal in a day in the life of Torin Blacksteel.

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