Page 22 of King of Immortal Tithe (Darkmourn Universe 2)

FAENIR

The grace of his touch was the most wondrous feeling in the world, no matter if it conjured shattered bone and blood. I prevented myself from healing, holding back the magic from knitting together my skin and mending the bones that had fractured in my nose. All because I did not desire to forget whathistouch had felt like for fear I would believe it had never happened.

For years I had felt agony like no other, but not in this way, not as real as this; as physical and undeniable, caused by another’s hand.It was always my hands that hurt. Maimed. Killed.

Arlo was the harsh reminder that others, like me, could do just as much damage.

Blood had dried across my bare chest. Some clung within the braids of my hair, making them as stiff as straw. The person who looked back at me in the reflection of the steam-coated mirror was not the same I had grown used to seeing. This one had hope in his eyes, eyes surrounded by purple bruising and swelling from Arlo’s attack. I could have looked at myself for hours, spent days even, trying to discern the undeniable truth that Arlo had done this…

With his fists upon my skin, and still lived to do it again.

I reached a cupped hand into the basin of warmed water then splashed it over my face.I did what I could to clean my face and the gore that covered the bottom of it like a mask. Droplets of pink and red splashed across the white stone basin and turned the water a ruddy colour.

Finally, my nose healed, the dark bruising retreated to the glowing hue of my skin. I felt the rush of fresh air as I inhaled deeply, testing the limits of the way my body mended itself.

If I could have put it off anymore, I would have.

Just as I feared, looking back at the pinkish droplets of water that fell from my almost clean face, it was as if it had never happened.

My fingers reached tentatively to the smooth bridge of my nose, expecting to feel some memory of discomfort. But there was nothing.No pain. No bump of bone or cut of skin.

And just like that I forgot. My mind was willing to cling to the feeling of Arlo’s touch for long enough to memorise it, just as it had when he had gripped my wrist back in Tithe. It was no more than a dream and I was still the monster whose touch could kill.

9

Irequired a weapon.Preferably something fucking sharp and pointy.

The thought was one of many as I tore through Haxton Manor. It was certainly one of the louder thoughts, alongside my urgency to return to Tithe and get as far away from here as possible.

Faenir had not shown himself again, nor did I feel as though I was being stalked as I trailed through endless high ceiling rooms and chambers adorned in furniture I would never have dreamed of seeing. Grand, stone and wood creations that seemed only suitable for a god, not an elf like Faenir.

He didn’t deserve this luxury.

It became apparent quickly that Haxton was a hollow and empty place. Although beautiful, with its marble floors and white stone pillars that helped hold aloft the towering ceiling, it was… dead. It was deafeningly quiet, so much so that what should have been the tapping of my light feet sounded like the thundering of countless hooves as I ran, trying to find my escape. Everything about this place was cold; it seemed to seep from the floor and walls, covering me with its icy embrace.

The endless open windows did not help with the winter-like freeze, but without them I would have felt trapped in a perfectly pristine box with no hope for escape. It was encouraging to see the stretch of azure lake that seemed to wrap around Haxton Manor entirely every time I looked beyond them.

At one point I had stopped to catch my breath, peering out the stone-arched window and looking down to see how far the drop was. Could I have jumped and made my escape easier? A trellis of red flowers that looked as breath-taking as roses but as full as carnations covered most of the wall beyond. The roots and stems were thick and woven amongst one another like the braids in Faenir’s hair. They could likely hold my weight but the intense drop that still lingered beneath the window was not worth the risk of trying.

The fall would kill me.

You are dying anyway,I reminded myself harshly. It was what I needed to push from the ledge and carry on running blindly through the wide and empty corridors.

By the time I reached the ground floor of the manor I had broken out into a barrage of hot flushes. My tunic felt sticky on my skin, material clinging unwantedly to every press of bone and curve of what little muscle I had.

Like the windows, the large doors that signalled the main entrance of the manor were wide open. It was much like when Auriol and I would spring clean our apartment in hopes to frighten away the dust and moths who took up residency with us. We would open every window we had just to allow the aid of fresh, spring air to speed up our clean.

Just the thought of her and the memory caused me discomfort. Gritting my teeth and pushing it to the back of my mind, I continued for the door.

Faenir was a terrible captor. It was as though his lack of presence and unlocked doors was his way of encouraging me to take leave. Not wasting the opportunity, I burst out into the open, squinting slightly as the bright glare of sun danced off the swell of water before me. Freedom.

Keep going.

My boots slapped down sloping steps towards a dark stone gravel path that led to the lake.

It is not over until you are home.

I had no idea where I was running to, but something told me Tithe rested beyond the lake. It was as though a compass within me had spun wildly, waking from years of slumber. The arrow twisted and twisted in circles until settling in the direction of the mountains across the lake. To Auriol. I knew it.

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