Page 22 of Enchantment of Silver and Sea
I was angry at them for not telling me how they kept getting in and out of Cyllene so easily.
I was angry at them for refusing to take the additional food that I had offered them. Yes, it was only bread, crackers, dried fruit, and some other simple items that hardly made for a feast. But it was something, and they needed it.
I was angry at Kieran for reasons that I couldn’t quite explain.
But most of all, as I stared up at the ceiling, replaying our conversation about cave devils over and over, my throat aching and eyes burning, I was angry because this time, I knew I would never see either of them again.
CHAPTERFIVE
The next week was agony.
I couldn’t shake the irritability that had settled in after Nya and Kieran’s departure, making every minor inconvenience feel like the most insufferable thing I had ever had to endure. I could feel myself being short with Brielle, Zander, and even Cato. And yet I couldn’t stop myself. I lost the sensation of hunger, and when the time of day dictated that I should eat something, I only managed a few bites here and there.
Despite what poor company I was to Brielle, she snuck me bowls of soup from Culinary Preservation’s kitchen for lunch each day, insisting that I must be coming down with something. I forced myself to eat as much as I could to satisfy her. Even though it was the middle of summer, and I would’ve been miserable trying to shovel down hot soup on a sweltering day even if I were well.
What I dreaded the most was going to bed at night. Or rather, attempting to go to bed at night. It was almost laughable. Did I really need more difficulty sleeping?
I struggled to shut my brain off, my skin crawling and limbs jittery. After several days of tossing and turning, my body was so desperate for rest that I finally managed to fall unconscious for a few hours here and there. But that turned out to be even worse than not sleeping.
I was plagued by two types of dreams. For once, neither of them involved reliving Irene’s death, which I suppose was a small mercy.
The first dream was of Nya and Kieran, and others whose faces I had never seen and would probably never see, getting gored by cave devils. My brain got increasingly more creative with each nightmare, to the point where I didn’t know if I should be more horrified at the prospect of what cave devils could do, or horrified at myself for being able to concoct such deplorable scenarios all on my own.
The second dream that plagued me was somehow better and worse all at once. I dreamt of Kieran, back in my bed, but this time without Nya present. My brain was just as creative with the scenarios it presented for this one. A mixture of things that I had experienced before and things that I hadn’t, but all of which felt brand new under his silver gaze. Each time, I woke up with my heart pounding, sweat drenching my sheets. Aching for something that wasn’t even real. Feeling empty and alone in every possible way.
Several weeks passed. Eventually, my mood started to improve. But there were still times throughout the day when my mind would drift as though caught in a current, floating downstream, bouncing off rocks and fallen trees that heldunanswerable questions. When Brielle or Zander directed a question to me or tried to include me in their conversations, it felt like I was looking up at them from far away. Two specks on a distant shore.
One day, after a particularly painful lunch where I couldn’t hide the fact that I had tuned out of their entire conversation, I returned to the Library to find Cato in his office. This by itself wasn’t out of the ordinary. But his demeanor was.
He seemed to be searching for something. Brows furrowed, mouth a grim line. Every drawer that was closed and stack of papers that was set down had a sharp smack to it that confirmed he was not in a good mood.
I knocked politely on the open door, poking my head in. “Is everything okay?”
“Maila, good. You’re back,” he said. “I know something’s been up with you lately, and I also know you’re not going to share with me what it is. That’s fine. But I need your help with something, and I need you to be a good sport about it.”
Clearly, we weren’t mincing words today.
“Of course.” I walked the rest of the way into his office. “What can I help you find?”
He waved a hand dismissively. “No, not this. The folder I need is around here somewhere.” He continued picking up things, examining them, and dropping them in frustration.
I wiggled my toes in my tennis shoes, unsure what I should be doing.
I was just opening my mouth to ask if I should come back later when he paused and looked up at the ceiling. He spun onhis heel and dug into his leather messenger bag. A few seconds later, he let out a sigh of relief.
“It was already in my bag.” He held up a manila file folder with something I couldn’t quite make out scrawled across the tab. “Not like me to be so forgetful, huh?” he went on, voicing my exact thoughts.
“We all have those days.” I had been having those days more often than anyone lately.
“Come with me,” he ordered, slinging his bag over his shoulder and striding past me with a sense of urgency.
I had no sooner stepped across the threshold, and he was already locking the door behind me. I trailed after him for a few steps before I realized we were heading straight out of the Library.
“What about the messenger from Agricultural Preservation?”
There were a few books that the Agricultural Preservation department needed, and we had agreed to lend them out for a few days. With the grave understanding, as always, that if anything happened to those books, everything contained within them could be lost to us forever.
“I left a note for Trena. The books are behind the front desk,” Cato called over his shoulder, not slowing down.
