Page 92 of The Spark that Ignites
THROAT BURNING ANDflesh sticky with sweat, Emmery peeled herself from the damp bed sheets. Her head lolled into her hands as she attempted to steady her breathing. It must have been another nightmare, but only fragments remained, the rest swept away from her mind.
She needed a drink to numb. Fuck her training. There was nothing else that could fix this.
Tugging on her soft black pair of sleeping shorts and an oversized mahogany tunic she had snagged from Vesper’s room, she strode to the cracked window. A breeze snaked through, and Emmery snuck a glance at the dark clouds blotting out the stars. It was still the dead of night, so there would be no glimmer of sunrise for several hours. When she reached to close it, a black form amongst the veil of trees drew her eye.
It was a hulking shadowy thing. Sitting. Watching.
Emmery shivered, swearing its glowing eyes locked with hers. Some sort of animal? She ignored it in search of a drink.
Tip-toeing past Vesper’s slightly ajar bedroom door, she crept to the kitchen. Her feet slapped against the cold, stone floor, no matter how light she willed her steps, but the kitchen was thankfully vacant.
There were too many liquors to choose from, and she waffled between two fancy bottles, no idea what they contained. One was skinny and teal with a silver cap, and the other a curvaceous mahogany with gold etchings in a language she couldn’t read. Would the man from Malheim be able to? It didn’t really matter. Instead, she smelled them to see which was stronger.
When they both equally stung her nose, she selected the one that matched her tunic. The clear liquid was rich like honey and lavender, but the first sip had her head spinning. The second went down smoother.
And the third.
Emmery stole the bottle, anxious to fall back into bed.
She was studying her reflection in the endless mirrors when she noticed someone standing in the throne room. Her heart lurched and she instinctively pressed her back to the wall but, squinting into the shadows, she recognized the grey-haired head. Wearing soft checkered sleeping pants and a cornflowerblue knit, Vesper stood with a glass bottle in hand before the throne, staring at the aged blood staining the floor. He took heavy gulps, his throat working as if the answer to his problems lay at the bottom of that drink. Emmery watched him, puzzled. His eyes didn’t stray from the stain.
As she approached, her footsteps echoed off the empty walls. Everything in this room was cold, from the obsidian throne to the mirrored walls and the marbled floor. Vesper stiffened, swaying subtly, his bottle nearly empty.
“Couldn’t sleep either?” she asked, occupying the space beside him.
Vesper nodded, tearing his attention from the blood stain to the vacant throne. He took another swig, his eyes screwing shut. “Did you know it’s particularly hard to get stains out of marble?” He drained the last of it and pulled the back of his hand across his mouth. “Turns out, it’s very porous.”
“I didn’t.” Emmery studied the stain, and a shiver raced down her spine.
His brows drew together, forehead wrinkling. “I’ve wasted so much time trying to wipe the blood from my hands, only to find out it never washes. Not truly.” He choked out a haunting laugh as he practically threw the bottle down. “I don’t deserve it either. There are some things I can never fully atone for. Some things remain etched into our souls forever. And Ineverfucking learn. I keep making the same bloody mistakes.”
Emmery swirled her drink, watching it lap the sides and slide down. Was he talking about Iz? Was he having second thoughts? Or was he thinking about his questionable activities with those Scarlets?
“Maybe it’s time for new floors,” she offered.
Shoving up his sleeves, Vesper sank to the ground, long legs extended. Tipping back the last of her drink, Emmery poured a glass to the brim and joined him. The room grew hazy as theliquor took hold, and the nightmare no longer infested her mind. That familiar feeling in the drowning drink was the only relief she knew. She handed him the bottle, and he took it, studying the label.
“If only I could buy myself a new heart. Gods know I have too much bloody slate but this—” He sneered and clutched his chest. “Thisthingis ruining my life. It’s causing me too much fuckingpain.” He took a sip and winced. “Ugh, how are you drinking this swill?”
She swayed on the spot, her head heavy. “It’s doing the job, isn’t it?”
“Are you—” He narrowed his eyes. “Is that my tunic?”
Emmery gave him a drunken smile, her words slurred, “Oh,thisold thing?”
Snorting a laugh, he took a pull from the bottle. “It looks better on you, anyway.” Vesper studied her for a long moment, something swimming in his expression like regret.
Twisting her mouth to the side, she asked, “What are you staring at?”
“You never smile. At least ... not like that. Not so carefree. Without cynicism.”
Her heart squeezed for some reason. Maybe because he noticed something like that. Something so small. He was right, she rarely had a reason or the strength to smile. He dragged his hand through his hair, and, for the first time, she studied it unobstructed. Free of gloves.
“What’s that?” she asked, nodding at the scar atop it. Another stamped the inside of his wrist, but she didn’t catch a good glimpse.
Vesper yanked his sleeve over the lion’s head. “Another pactum I made.” Scrutinizing her messy bedhead, quick to change the subject, he asked, “So, Emmery, why aren’t you getting your beauty rest?”
She didn’t mention the nightmares. There was no point. “I have a lot on my mind.”
