Page 56 of Fear the Flames
“We don’t want your memory to become distorted or further confused if you read other people’s reports,” Saskia softly says behind me. I nod my head, never taking my eyes off Cayden.
“Tell me what happened to your arm first,” I demand. Annoyance flares in his eyes.
“That’s not important,” he brushes me off.
“You want to know about things that happen to me? Then get used to me asking about things that happen to you. This is a two-way street.” I lean closer to his face and match his determined expression. Ryder lets out a low whistle, but Cayden and I ignore him. He inches even closer to my face and reaches for something behind me. He’s so close that our lips would meet with the slightest tilt of his head.
“There was a skirmish at the border while I was moving my soldiers around. I was fighting several people at once, and when I wasn’t looking, someone nicked my arm. I killed them, finished the skirmish, and wrapped a cloth around my cut.” He lifts a brow, “Satisfied?”
Not nearly,I want to say. But it’s obvious he would prefer to filter through my attack, and I’m eager to sort through my memories.
I feel something slide against my leg.
It’s my knife.
He’s arming me.
The desire and heat already coursing through me increase tenfold. My thighs long to clench together, but he kneels between them, which isn’t helping my case. I can’t look at him while I filter through my memories, so I close my eyes and disappear into my mind. There’s an impenetrable fog surrounding my thoughts, like the fog that surrounds Aestilian. But the fog around Aestilian protects it; the fog in my brain is hindering me.
“First, we went to the archives,” I start slowly. I hear a pen scratching on paper. I suppose Saskia, as head of intelligence, will want to record my account. “Then we went to a tavern. Ryder…he was looking for someone. Finnian and I—” My eyes snap open as I recall the argument we had right before the attack and turn my body toward Ryder. “Did you talk to Finnian?” Cayden gently places a hand on my cheek and turns me back to him. Another memory resurfaces, the warmth I felt on my cheek while I was sleeping—it was Cayden’s hand.
“I told you before you fell asleep that he’s safe. He’s at the castle,” Cayden states in a calming voice. “What was the fight about?” His thumb gently strokes my cheek, a stark contrast to the anger in his eyes.
“It was stupid,” I mutter, trying to brush it off.
“It’s not stupid if it caused you to chase after him or upset you,” he remarks. I involuntarily lean into his hand before I can think better of it. Instead of pulling away, he brushes his thumb over my cheekbone again. My throat tightens, and I force myself not to glance toward his lips.
Finnian mentioned that the advisors were talking about me, so I guess it’s best that the three of them know in case their opinion of me complicates things. “Finnian was upset because apparently, the advisors think I’m making myself into a target and practically goading assassins to make a move on me.” Saskia’s pen stills, and the tension in the room feels tight.
Cayden’s hand falls from my face and returns to my waist. He shakes his head while his eyes fill with malice. “Fucking idiots,” he snarls.
“You don’t think they’re right?” I inquire.
“So what if you’re showing the world that you’re a threat?” he counters. “Do you think I make a move and worry people will perceive me as a threat? I don’t. Because that’s how theyshouldperceive me. You’re not making yourself into a threat; you already are one. You killed a vextree right in front of my eyes.” He sucks in a deep breath and dispels some of his anger. “I think the world should get used to being threatened by you. I rather enjoy it when you threaten me.” My chest fills with pride the more he speaks, filling the cracks that were chiseled by self-doubt. He manages to wring a small smile from me, and his scowl lightens when he glances toward my mouth.
“That’s a very good arrangement because I rather enjoy threatening you,” I quip.
He playfully rolls his eyes before getting back into the questions, “Did he see you outside of the tavern?”
Sadness pinches my chest. “Yes,” I mumble. They don’t need to know the exact specifications of how his expression hurt me. I flinch, not expecting to feel something on my leg again. But Cayden slides another knife into my thigh holster while stroking my waist. He bites the inside of his cheek and manages to look angrier but doesn’t say anything.
“I turned back to the tavern to find Ryder, and that’s when I felt the dart in my neck. Then the assassins came. I took out the one on the roof first. Then I fought the man and woman on the ground. They…wore masks.” Saskia’s pen keeps scribbling behind me. “I killed the woman with the man’s sword.” Another knife slides into my thigh holster, and I try not to let it affect me. I close my eyes, trying to recall as many details as I can. My memory is foggiest in this part. Cayden slides more knives onto my thighs, patiently waiting for more answers. “I heard Ryder call out my name, and the man looked scared. I think he recognized Ryder.”
“Do you remember any parts of his face you could see?” Cayden smoothly asks, but I note the restlessness in his tone.
I feel like a brick wall is caged around my brain.Come on. Think.An image begins to form in my brain: eyes filled with malice but accompanied by something else. There was something on his face. My brows scrunch in concentration while I force my mind to conjure the image from the foggy depths.
“He has a scar,” I say before opening my eyes. It may be a minuscule detail, considering most soldiers have scars, but it’s worth noting. “Right here,” I reach my hand out to Cayden’s face and brush my thumb above his right brow, dragging it horizontally across his forehead. His throat constricts, and his eyes bore into mine. I let my hand linger slightly longer than necessary before taking it away. My breathing becomes uneven when Cayden leans closer to retrieve the remaining three knives behind me and slides them into my holsters. “I’m sure Ryder informed you of the remaining bit of the story. He can probably recall the details better than I can.”
Cayden nods and finishes arming me. He takes his hands off my waist and places them on either side of me, using the table to lift himself up from his knees, and gets close to my face. “My favorite part was when you saidhello, horsie,” he jests before fully standing and walking over to sit at the head of the table.
I turn my body to face the table and flip off Ryder, who miserably fails at containing his laughter. The number of reports no longer intimidates me now that I’ve placed the details I remember in chronological order, but there’s still one thing that bothers me about these reports.
“How many people saw me drugged and weak-looking?”
“Weak?” Saskia’s tone fills with disbelief.
“You fought off three trained assassins, killing two, while drugged. If anyone calls you weak after doing that, then I’ll drug them myself and stick three assassins on them,” Cayden states.
