Page 61 of Of Glass and Ashes

Chapter Thirty-One

Aika

The bed grows colder by the second.

My sleep is more fitful without Remy here to chase my nightmares away. I shiver and wrap the threadbare blanket tighter around myself, but it doesn’t help. Frost nips at the small window of the room and a fog forms with each of my breaths.

But it isn’t just the temperature that chills me. It’s the distinct lack ofhim.

When I finally leave the bed, I take a quick glance around the room.

No note.

I fight back the memories of the random notes he used to write whenever he had to leave unexpectedly, the little gestures and messages that gave away bits and pieces of him. How he had made it clear that he cared, and how I had pretended not to.

It’s plain to see in hindsight that I left the tavern that day without letting him explain the woman who had dragged him away because it was easier than confronting my feelings for him. Easier than giving into them and letting him become collateral damage of my life.

Though it seems that happened anyway.

My gut churns as I throw on one of the clean dresses I keep in the makeshift closet here.

Of course he left.

Maybe it really was just about mercy. Maybe that’s all it’s ever been about.

I am the epitome of everything he hates, and I suppose him leaving without a word is the gentlest goodbye he could offer.

A hollowness fills me once again, and every nerve ending in my body is raw and exposed. I go through the motions of tying the laces on my boots with limbs that feel too heavy.

My hands freeze when I catch sight of the bloodied cloths left on the chair. The memory of him gently tending to my wounds is still fresh and hurts more than the cuts and scrapes he cleaned and wrapped for me.

Grabbing my cloak from the rack on the wall, I toss it into the waste bin by the door. There is no sense bringing it with me. Not when it smells of smoke and Remy and so much death.

I snag the extra one I keep here and wrap it around my shoulders, throwing the hood over my head without even bothering to comb the knots from my hair.

I tell myself that it’s better this way. Mother has plans for me that don’t involve me being Gemma, or The Flame, and certainly not the vigilante anymore.

No more gambling halls. No more Remy. No more playing my fiddle in King’s Square. And certainly, no more fires...

With a final glance around the room, I shut the door behind me, closing this chapter of my life for good.

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