Page 95 of Fear the Flames
“Ryder and Saskia will be here in an hour,” he says in a low tone, tracing my legs with his eyes. That means it’s already two in the afternoon. To be fair, we didn’t fall asleep until four in the morning, and the goal was to sleep in.
“How’s your shoulder?” I rewrapped it as we went over a secondary route with everyone, just in case something goes wrong on our first. It was, thankfully, far less intimate than when I wrapped him in the medical tent.
“It feels fine.” He shrugs his shoulders, showing me that he can move without pain. “How are you feeling?” He casts his calculating gaze my way. I know he’s asking about more than any kind of physical pain; he’s asking about my return to Imirath.
“I’m fine,” I mutter, getting to my feet. Truthfully, my stomach is unsettled, and the air feels thin, no matter how deeply I breathe. A lump permanently rests at the base of my throat, and I continue to wipe my moist palms on my sweater. But talking about it will only make it worse. I don’t want comfort, or pity, or words. I want actions. I want to feel as powerful and in control as I did the night I tortured Robick. The same girl that left Imirath is not the same woman that is returning. I was their princess; now I’m their ruin. I’ll take my dragons and burn Garrick’s reign to the ground.
Finnian stirs on the bed and lets out a groan. Cayden’s hard eyes still rest on me, even when I turn toward Finnian, but he doesn’t press me to talk. “Did I fall asleep without bathing?” Finnian asks.
“Yes,” I confirm.
“Gods, I must smell terrible.”
“You do,” I answer.
Finnian raises his middle finger to me while sitting up in my bed, letting out a sigh and running his fingers through his tousled curls that stick out like a unruly bush. He clumsily slips out of bed and pouts as he sifts through the bag he brought. Finnian in the morning is something most people wish to avoid; I just find it amusing. No matter how old he gets, he still acts like a child.
“I’m using your soap,” Finnian states, narrowing his eyes at Cayden while brushing past him and stomping over to the bathroom. Cayden scrunches his brows together and turns to watch Finnian walk away before turning back to me.
“Was that supposed to be a threat?” he asks, pointing in the direction Finnian walked in.
“Everything is a threat when he first wakes up.”
“Right,” Cayden says, turning back to his room and closing the curtains behind him.
I quickly dress in my leathers, hooking my corset and strapping as many knives as I can fit along my legs. Any kind of armor will draw too much attention. We may have to hide in a pinch, and the last thing we need is something reflecting off our chests, shoulders, or legs. The tough, black leather can protect us fine enough on its own. Weapons are a necessary risk. I don’t tie my cloak or strap my swords around me yet. I’ll do that later.
This will probably be the only time I’ll have away from Finnian before I leave. I walk over to my vanity and sit down on the soft chair, reaching a shaking hand toward the top drawer to pull out the stationary supplies. My fingers anxiously fiddle with the quill, running the smooth feather through my fingers. I can’t put this off any longer.
The quill lingers in the air while I try to find the right words to write to him, should he need to open this. I rest my head in my hands and sigh.
Finny,
I know you’re probably wishing you had stopped me before leaving, but please know that nothing could have stopped me. You’ve always hated my stubbornness. You were the first person to make me feel happy. I never laughed before I met you; I didn’t even know how. You’ve been my family from the moment you stepped into Aestilian, which is why I leave it to you. I don’t have an heir, but you’re my next of kin. I can feel it in my soul. We don’t need blood to make us siblings; you’re my brother through and through. I’ll never be able to put into words how much your friendship means to me, but I’ll carry our bond into the afterlife and into my next life because it’s a bond that even death can’t break.
Make yourself a crown as beautiful as the one you made for me. I believe in you. Leave Vareveth and go home, go anywhere, conquer the damn world if you want. Live the life you’ve always deserved to live—a life filled with laughter, pints of ale, chicken pot pies, and late mornings.
I love you always.
Your sister.
Your Ellie.
My heart clenches as I sign the letter with his childhood nickname for me. The first time he ever told me he loved me he finished it with Ellie. It was the first time anyone told me they loved me. I wipe the stray tears that fall down my cheeks and dot the paper, placing the letter further up the desk and leaning back in my seat. He’s the only letter. I can’t bear writing a letter to Ailliard, not when he’s the one that took me out of Imirath. If I wrote one to him, I’d have to write one to every guard, and I can’t stomach it. I can barely stomach the letter I wrote to Finnian, but he deserves it. We’ve always only had each other unconditionally.
I take in several steadying breaths and fold the letter in half to slip it into an envelope. I put it in the drawer and firmly shut it. There’s no point in him seeing it before I leave; he’ll probably react horribly. I’ll tell him about it when we say goodbye. My hands pinch my cheeks to bring some color back into them, and I fake a few smiles in the mirror before walking into Cayden’s room. He’s sitting on his couch, clad in leather and black armored accessories, sharpening his swords. The corset I’m wearing serves the same purpose as his chest guard. My boots tap against the rug as I walk over to his desk and pick up the paper Saskia made us recite at least one hundred times last night. We won’t be able to bring it with us, so memorizing landmarks is the only option.
Finnian exits the bathroom just as a cart of coffee and breakfast foods are wheeled in by a servant. I know there are servants here; I just don’t see much of them. My days here are much more unpredictable than they are at the castle, which is why I think I like it more. The servant curtsies before turning to exit the tent. I dodge the coffee cart for now and slip into the bathroom to wash my sticky face and do my morning routine.
Two more voices are added to our gathering when I rejoin the group. Saskia sips on a mug, and Ryder licks the leftover jam off his fingers from whatever pastry he consumed.
“Are the stitches okay?” I ask Saskia while pouring myself a cup of coffee. My nerves don’t need the extra jolt, but I’m greedy when it comes to caffeine. I dip a spoon into the array of sweet syrups and stir some vanilla into my coffee.
“Yes, no bleeding!” she says in a much happier tone than when I last saw her. “I changed the bandage this morning.”
I walk over to one of the chairs in the seating area and cross my legs in front of me, resting my mug against them. Cayden is still sharpening his swords while the other three sit around the desk, enjoying the food.
“You should eat something,” Cayden says to me without taking his eyes off his blade. It’s not that I don’t want to eat. I just don’t think I’ll be able to keep it down.
