Page 9 of Oracle of Ruin

Another Kijova attack forces us to pack what little we can carry and run not long after I wake up. I manage to take out most of them and we outrun the rest by dusk, when we stumble upon an abandoned inn. Derrín has qualms about sleeping in the same building as dead people, so Kya and Amír clear the property first. Surprisingly enough, there are no bodies to bury, or even signs of violence. Everyone apparently packed up and ran in a hurry, just like we did.

Sweat slicks the back of my neck and my stomach churns as I sink into a soft bed. I opt to lay on my back, as I have discovered laying on my stomach causes another roil of nausea to wrack my beaten body. The cheap sheets cling to my damp skin and I hold my breath in an attempt to cause the sickness to subside.

Blaine stands in the doorway, an eyebrow raised as my shoulders rise and fall rapidly. “Panic?” The bed dips as he sits next to me.

I shake my head, then immediately regret the action. “I think it’s the running. Or my body has decided to betray me.”

What is left of my meager breakfast threatens to resurface when images of the Kijova dance across my vision. Then Tanja and that knife, then the bodies in the last town, and…

Something between a snort and a scoff escapes his lips. “It could be both.” I notice the pale green color of his face and the way he pinches his lips together. He hasn’t had a drink in a bit, and while he’s sober now, it’s only a matter of time before the anger and panic take him over.

Addiction is difficult to overcome in a fully functioning society, and a part of me hoped that at least the lack of resources would be a hinderance, but he always seems to find something to drink. I’ve learned to hold my tongue whenever he becomes aggravated or lashes out in his bouts of sobriety. The anger is at least a sign that he is still in there somewhere, that the alcohol hasn’t stolen him completely.

Neither of us mention the duel or the fact that I am the one that lead him down this path.

We haven’t been able to hold a full conversation yet. He’s usually drunk or someone’s health has taken a dip for the worse and our discussion is cut short.

His knee bounces up and down, rocking the bed and shooting dizziness straight to my head. I press my lips together to avoid snapping.

“Did you find anything?” he finally whispers. “This morning, I mean.”

Did I find any sign that Torin is still alive? Always the same question, followed by the same answer. Each time, I get to watch the hope fade from his eyes and then I lose him all over again.

I drape my arm over my eyes and take shallow breaths. “No. We searched some new towns where we thought he could be. Some people have said they might have seen him, might not have. It was all dead ends again.”

The bed creaks as he rises and sighs. His jaw clicks as he clenches it, then he stumbles towards the door before turning around and speaking softly. “At least we got to say goodbye.”

The door is shut before I can throw something, anything at him. Blaine got to say goodbye to Torin before he left the palace, while all he left me was a flimsy note at the foot of my bed while I slept. I hate how my own goodbye mirrors his.

Until we meet again, my greedy princess.

I love you. So live. Live, Vera.

I shoot to my feet far too quickly and clutch at the bedpost to steady myself. I need to get out of this room.

My fingertips trail the goosebumps and flecks of dry sweat and bile on my arms. I shout down the hall to let the others know where I am going.

Amír drops a hopefully clean towel in my hands and rings out her wet hair. With a small thanks, I step out into the chilly night air.

Kya and Amír found a functioning bathhouse while clearing the property, and after trying it out for a suspiciously long time, they deemed it safe and functional enough to use. It isn’t anything like I expected it to be, especially not from the looks of the rotting wood on the exterior. Light floods the room as soon as I enter, tiny stars of golden luminance hovering in the air, attached to the ceiling by iridescent threads. The bath itself is made of chiseled cream marble, with small yet grand fountains every few feet shooting turquoise water overhead. A thin layer of golden lacquer coats the floor of the tub, causing the aqua-colored water to shimmer, as minuscule rainbows shower the fog that emits from the bath and fountains.

My body groans more with each step I take towards the water, begging for some release from muscle ache and fatigue. Slowly, I slip free of my clothes at the edge of the water, not bothering to fold them neatly or place them upon a stool. My sword hangs on a hook outside the door for fear that the steam may rust the worn blade. Besides, if a Kijova were to come, then the weapon would be useless. All I truly need are my powers.

My toes curl as I dip them into the water, warmth seeping all the way up to my ankles. My muscles slowly release all tension as I allow myself to sink fully into the water, the comfortable heat enveloping me completely. How long has it been since any of us bathed in an actual bath and not a cool river? These small luxuries I had before that I never fully knew the weight of. I’d give anything right now for Tanja to flick soapy suds at my face or push my head under the water.

Upon further investigation, I discover that the pool is quite deep, allowing me to swim across its width and dive below the waters without ever touching the bottom.

The door to the bathhouse creaks open slowly and I dip myself further beneath the waters. The warmth soaks up to my cheeks and I wrap my arms across my chest. The steps are too heavy to be Kya’s or Amír’s. They must be Rowan’s.

Has he come here because I’ve taken too long? No, I’ve only been here for a few minutes now. Kya and Amír took an hour. I can only pray they had the decency not to do anything scandalous in the baths. I laugh, the action sending bubbles to the surface of the pool.

What if he came here for something else?

The water suddenly feels quite hot and I bring my full face into the cool air of the building. I breathe deeply. It has been months now since we confessed our love, and hedidsay he would wait… but have I made him wait too long?

“You’d better have your back turned,” I call out teasingly, anxiety rippling in my stomach at the thought. “I don’t think this is the right time.”

I wait for the sarcastic quip or the shutting of the door, but instead, footsteps draw closer. Multiple sets of footsteps—far too many to be just our people.

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