Page 38 of Fear the Flames
“We’ll head there now,” Cayden states, tossing on his leather jacket and a broadsword across his back. “I’m changing the guards by the door and ordering them not to let anyone into the room, no matter who they are. The guards that were at her door will be on stable and weapon cleaning duty for the foreseeable future. I want to start with the man that spilled a drink on Elowen at the tavern.”
Ryder purses his lips, waiting for Cayden to explain. “He knew she was going to be in the bath when we got back.” Cayden looks at me from across the room, scanning me from head to toe. He opens his mouth before closing it again, looking conflicted, almost like he doesn’t want to leave me. “If you need me, just hand a letter off to a servant, and I’ll come back.”
Part of me wants to offer to go with him, but I need space to sort myself out. I let my eyes glance over him even though I know I should just turn away now. “Be safe,” I say, turning my back on him and leading Finnian into my room.
ChapterNineteen
Idon’t remember what time Finnian and I fell asleep; all I remember is holding his hand while dozing off. I only slept for two hours tops before I woke up feeling restless, so I plucked one of my favorite novels from the mantle and reread my favorite chapters…some particularly steamy chapters. We used to have sleepovers like that when we were younger and one of us woke up screaming, but we climbed into bed right after Cayden and Ryder left because reality felt a lot like a nightmare. He stayed in my room while I got ready, then we went to his, and now we’re waiting for Ailliard in a sitting room to have breakfast together. It’s early, most people in the castle aren’t awake, but I want to get to Ailliard before he hears about the assassin from someone else.
I bring the steaming cup of coffee to my lips and take a sip, glancing at Finnian over the rim. He still doesn’t look fully present, and we have to split up later because he has a meeting with Vareveth’s advisors—no monarchs allowed. It’s an outdated rule, and Finnian will tell me whatever they say, but some people love conforming to peer pressure from dead people.
My limbs stiffen in my seat as the sound of boots slapping against tile grows in volume. Drinking coffee probably isn’t the best idea considering my nerves are bouncing off the walls, but nothing starts a morning off quite like self-destructive habits. Finnian bites his nails while pushing eggs around his plate; it’s a nervous tick he’s always had. My fighting gear feels tight against my skin. My hand itches to pull on the collar, but I force myself to keep still. The door creaks open, and Ailliard slips into the room.
“Morning.” He looks the both of us over with curiosity and skepticism. Finnian is dressed for politics in a freshly pressed white tunic, but I’m in full fighting gear—knives line both of my legs. It feels good to wear them after what happened last night. It’s a barrier between me and the world.
“Morning.” I force my voice to stay even.
“How did you sleep?” Finnian asks, even though it’s muffled by his hand.
“Fine,” Ailliard draws the small word out as he takes a seat. “Someone tell me what’s going on.” Finnian’s eyes flash to me while he waits for me to continue. Is there even a right way to say this?
“Something happened last night.” I place my cup back on its saucer. “An assassin made it into my room.”
Ailliard’s hands shoot forward to grip the edge of the table. “Do they not have guards by your room?”
“They do, but the assassin dressed as a servant. General Neredras thinks he came in during the banquet,” I state.
Ailliard shakes his head while looking down at the table, disbelief coating his features which soon morphs into anger. “We should go home,” he starts to get up from the table, “we’ll leave today. We can cross the border before they catch on.” Absolutely not. He needs to stop using running as a solution. Garrick knows I’m alive; it doesn’t make sense for me to leave when the damage is done.
“Sit,” I command, and he falls into his chair. “Take a breath.”
“Elowen, I told you that I won’t lose you like I lost your mother. Garrick is no threat to be taken lightly. Please, try to move forward.” Gods, I want to keep a leash on my temper, and normally I have a better hold on it, but it drives me up a wall when he brings up Garrick like he’s no more than a bump in the road.
“Stop trying to make me into some benevolent being when all I’ve ever known is violence. I will never stop wanting revenge. Stop trying to derail me from the path I’ve chosen for myself.” My temper rises with every word that falls from my lips.
“This path is destructive,” he tries to reason. Finnian’s hand drops to the arm of his chair, and his knuckles turn white, but he stays quiet. His body subtly inches closer to mine.
“It’s only self-destructive if I lose. You told me you were on my side when we left,” I argue.
“I am, undoubtedly, but someone tried to kill you in your own room. Have some sense!” he shouts.
“I survived for ten years in a place where I wished someone would have killed me—praying for them to beat me hard enough for my life to end. You don’t think there’s part of me that wishes I could let it go?” I get to my feet and toss my napkin on the table. The only reason I forced myself to stay alive, even after I left Imirath, was because of my dragons. They’re still in the castle, and I’m going to get them back because life as a prisoner is no life at all.
“You may think I’m a monster, but I am the product of what was dealt to me.” I shove my chair back and take quick steps toward the door; I don’t want to be in here anymore. I want him to understand my choices, even if he doesn’t agree with them. My final retort twists my stomach; my tongue is a knife when I’m mad, always aiming for the kill. “I can’t just ignore things as well as some people.”
How many nights did Ailliard fall asleep with a full belly on a feathered mattress while I screamed for someone to answer me? A god, a guard, my dragons, my own parents—it didn’t matter. Finnian and Ailliard can’t see the pained expression on my face while the memories of my small hands gripping the bars of my cell and screaming for someone to help me surge into the forefront of my mind. All I had was a sliver of the world through a crack of stone that I would crawl toward and count the stars until I either passed out from the pain, blood loss, or starvation. They fed me enough to keep me alive. The only reason I was taught to speak was to inform them how to break my dragon link.
“Elowen,” Ailliard starts, sounding remorseful.
“No,” my tone is final. Ailliard may have gotten me out of the castle, but he didn’t save me. I saved myself. I fought every day, through every panic attack, through every nightmare, and through every person that tried to kill me because I realized I was worth fighting for.
I continue to fight for myself even on the days I hate myself because if I give up, I relent.
I am relentless.
The door slams shut behind me, and I walk aimlessly down the hall. Not caring where I end up, I just want to run. My feet pick up their pace, and my boots slap against the tile. My lungs crave air, and my senses long to be outside with no walls confining me. I round the corner and collide into a hard chest. Hands reach out to steady me while I stumble back.
“If you wanted to see me so badly, you didn’t have to run into me,” Cayden’s voice surrounds me.
