Page 21 of He Who Ignites The Flame
Tears welled in my eyes. Mama and Papa must have gotten out another way. They had to have been looking for me.
“Here,” he said, reaching for his belt to retrieve a pale gourd with a cork stopper. He pulled the cork out and offered it to me. “Water from the Latrias Springs. It has healing properties. It won’t heal deep wounds, but it should soothe your throat.”
I hesitated, but I was so thirsty, my mouth like cotton. My gaze flitted to him briefly, assessing him, but I took the gourd of water and drank deeply. The water hit my mouth, my throat—bright, cold, and refreshing—and I found myself drinking more and more, unable to get enough.
He pulled the gourd from me too soon. “Easy now. We’ve still got a day of walking. We have to make it last.”
I panted, the water soothing the pain in my throat, and I blinked at the subtle, numbing tingle left in its wake.
“Better?” he asked, tying the gourd back to his belt.
I nodded, my voice a near whisper as I spoke. “Yes. Thank you.”
“Stay close to me and don’t run off.”
I glanced back at the cave behind us, but I nodded and followed after him as he followed after the group.
8
BARRETT
“Did that bracelet belong to your sister?” Lucia’s words dragged me from my thoughts of the female who watched Micah and me train the day before.
I forced myself to remain focused on the stretch of hall before us as we walked through the barracks. “It did.” Lucia didn’t speak again for a moment, and I arched a brow at her. “Is that the only question you’ll be bombarding me with today?”
A smug smile tugged at her lips. “I knew you weren’t lying when we first met. It wouldn’t make sense for a murderer to cling so tightly to an object owned by his victim.”
I let out a sigh at her persistence and muttered, “You never know when to quit.”
“Correction, I know when not to give up,” she said, her head held high, as if she had claimed some sort of victory.
I rolled my eyes. Clearly that was the difference between us, because I had given up long ago. No matter how much I had tried to fight, it hadn’t mattered in the end, so why bother?
“Ungrateful child!” I froze at the sound of Father’s angry voice followed by the shattering of glass as I passed the closed door to his study.
My blood chilled, and I stepped closer to listen.
“Have you heard from Jude and his father?” I stilled at the sound of Atticus’ voice. Of course, the bastard knew of Calliope’s betrothal. “Do they realize she’s run off yet?”
Air rushed from my lungs.
“I haven’t heard anything,” Father growled. “But if she doesn’t show up to the binding ceremony in the next half hour…”
Half hour? Her binding wasn’t supposed to take place for another week. When had he moved it up?
“I took care of her useless attendant, so you won’t have to worry about her,” Atticus said. “Not worth anything if she couldn’t keep track of a single girl.”
“I should’ve seen her there myself,” Father grumbled, and there was a brief pause. I imagined he was downing another glass of Ambrosia liquor. “We’ll find her. I have my men turning over the entire village searching for her now. She has to turn up somewhere. Selfish girl. I should have known she would pull something like this.”
“It’s shameful,” Atticus said with disgust. “She should be grateful to be given such an opportunity. Bonded to the future Kyrios of House Leukos, she would have brought her family hon...”
I turned, my feet moving on their own as I ran up the stairs, unable to listen further. It couldn’t be true. Servants stumbled out of the way as I ran down the hall, muttering to themselves, but I didn’t pay them any mind.
“Lord Barrett, have you seen Trista? She was supposed to return an hour ago,” one of the servants asked as I brushed past her, and my heart shuddered. Trista. Calliope’s attendant. I didn’t waste time answering her, my boots pounding into the carpet as I neared her room.
This couldn’t be happening. She wouldn’t run. She couldn’t. He would kill her.
I shoved Calliope’s bedroom door open and froze at the sight of the empty, dark room. Wind whistled through her open window, the outside night sky cast in pitch blackness without the light of the new moon.
