Page 18 of Burning Her Beautiful
“Pain can also erode.” I offer a half-smile. “Let it not corrode empathy.”
Something softens. He lifts my hand, turns it palm up. The silver cord marks faded but visible. His thumb strokes faint groove. “Pain carved here, too.” He lifts hand to lips, presses a kiss to scar. Heat bursts under skin, travels upward until cheeks burn.
“I remember,” I murmur, fighting tremor. “I remember how you healed it.”
His eyes distance, as if memory cuts deeper than healing. He lowers our joined hands. “I must attend council soon.” He releases me, strides to desk, scribbles note, seals with wax. “Garrik will escort you to mid-tier gardens. Fresher air there.” He hands me parchment. “Treat this as pass. Guards yield under my seal.”
I accept. “And if I wander beyond?”
He lifts brow, half smile. “Then I follow.” Turning away, he shrugs on deep-blue cloak, fastening pauldrons engraved with runic knots—a sight that reminds me of his station.
At door, he pauses. “Iliana.”
“Yes?”
“The note you wrote in margin of my treatise—resonant amplification—clever. We will test tonight.” He taps temple, then departs, leaving faint scent of cedar.
My brows shoot upward. He found my hidden annotations, yet instead of anger he shows respect. That shift warms chest, though caution whispers.
Garrik arrives, respectful yet watchful. His crimson skin and amber eyes draw stares as we traverse corridors gilded by midday glow. He keeps distance, but his presence proclaims I walk under Varok’s shield.
On lift platform servants bow; others avert gaze. Some humans glance up, hope flickers before they remember their collars. The weight of those looks tugs at conscience. I resolve to learn names, stories—battle requires allies.
Mid-tier gardens bloom under glass domes that filter cruel sun into soft radiance. Cascading ponds reflect pale sky, stone paths twist among orchids coaxed to blossom year-round. Few nobles stroll early afternoon, leaving space for secret thoughts.
I walk ahead, Garrik trailing a polite few paces. He examines every arch, assessing threats. I pause at a pond where koi dart, scales shimmering copper and pearl. Reflections ripple, and for a heartbeat I see myself in last night’s gown, Varok behind me, petals raining violet.
“Beautiful fish,” I say, breaking memory.
Garrik stops beside me. “Imported from river deltas below the cloud belt. They survived harsh crossing.”
“Survival shapes beauty,” I muse.
“True.” He studies me, eyes gentler than expected. “You shift Dominus Varok.”
My breath stills. “Do I?”
“He walks lighter.” Garrik’s lips twitch. “He scowls less at dawn.”
I arch brow. “That counts for much?”
“More than tempest runes.” He kneels, flicks small crumb into water. Fish swarm near. “He once planned everything three moves ahead. Now?” He glances at me. “He improvises.”
“You disapprove?”
“I watch consequences.” His gaze turns distant. “Changing him invites storms no shield blocks.”
I kneel too, skirt bunching at knees. Water laps stone. “Storms already gather. Together we might guide rain away from innocents.”
A faint smile graces him. “Perhaps.” He stands. “May I ask something personal?”
“You may try.”
“What sings through your hum? I have never heard that melody.”
I hum the three notes softly; koi ripple. “A planting chant. My mother taught me to time seed drops.” I touch water, swirl pattern. “It roots me in who I was before chains.”
Garrik nods. We share quiet until footsteps crunch gravel. A human girl in pearl collar approaches carrying folded linens. Fear constricts her features when she sees Garrik.
