39. Thirty-Nine

Thirty-Nine

I had not seen the High Priest since that first afternoon; since he had flaunted me in front of his court.

I had not seen anyone, and I did not want to.

Other than the meals that appeared three times a day on the parlor table that was tucked into the corner of my room, I was left undisturbed.

In the five days that had passed, I seldom moved from my bed.

I groaned as the large clock in the room chimed 3 AM.

Every night I had the same dream; the same images crashed into my mind and pulled me from sleep, screaming as I reached out for my friends.

But they were gone, and I was alone.

My hands trembled every time I thought of Ata. Every time I saw her mangled body suspended in the air, an invisible force pressed down on my chest, crushing me under its weight.

Everything was falling apart around me.

All I wanted was to know if she was alive; that she had made it out of here with her life still intact. That she was in Locdragoon, healing and breathing.

My thoughts drifted to Landers, and how he had let me make this choice for myself.

How he didn’t ask me to stay.

I think, maybe, I loved him for that.

My heart swelled and simultaneously broke. I could still see it so clearly, the way he had looked at me at that moment.

His eyes gleamed with understanding, silently telling me I didn’t have to explain myself to him, yet begging me not to do it all at once.

There had been fear in his eyes as he drank me in—memorized me—for the last time.

His gaze had been heavy, weighing me down, and I had felt it diving into the depths of my heart I thought I had locked away.

All I could ask of him was to protect them—protect my family.

If I had given myself time to say anything else, to look at him any longer, I would not have been able to stay.

I would not have been able to leave him.

To leave them .

A sudden wave of grief tumbled over me; rocks from a landslide burying me under their mountain.

A sob caught in my throat as I buried my face into the pillow.

My eyes began to burn like liquid flames.

I had spent so many years afraid to live. Spent countless nights coiled inside myself—inside my shadows—struggling to find my voice amidst the deafening silence of my own insecurities.

I had just started to find my way back to myself.

No, not back to myself.

I had never figured out who I was in the first place, but I was finally starting to glimpse the woman I could be. I was finally taking my power back.

But I was too late.

A breeze drifted through the room and I knew it was him. I could feel him.

Sitting up, I pressed myself against the headboard as far from him as possible. I tucked the blanket under my chin as I swiped away transient trails of salty grief from my face.

“I—” His eyes caught on the scars circling my wrists; the remnants of wounds that he had inflicted. He hesitated, then cleared his throat as I moved my hands out of sight.

“What do you want?” I croaked out, resting my chin against my knees as I pulled them into my chest.

“I am here to inform you that you will be presented to the High Priestesses of Ammord and The Silliands this evening. You will be expected to give a demonstration of your magic, so we can learn how to extract it or recreate it. It would do you well to pray for the latter,” Dukovich stated.

“And this information couldn’t have waited until after dawn?” I mumbled.

“Always with the satirical remarks,” he said with a soft chuckle.

“Is there anything you need assistance with? Or may I have permission from Your Grace to return to my solitude?” I glared at him, the words bitter on my tongue.

His lips curved into a smile, amused by my irritation as he tilted his head and examined my face. “I find you to be a curious creature,” he mused, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

I gave him a bored glance before returning to the loose thread between my fingers. I could not be any less interested in having a conversation with this man.

“You seem to have a death wish, yet you do not want to die.”

“Can you please get to your point?”

His smile widened, and his eyes seemed to darken as if he reveled in my frustration. “I will come to present you tonight. I suggest you bring a better attitude to this meeting. The High Priestesses are not as welcoming as I am.”

There was a long silence that lingered between us before I finally asked, “Why did you call Landers the ‘Lord of Death’? What has he done?” The High Priest’s brows furrowed as he looked back at me.

“You really know nothing of him, do you?” Dukovich asked as I stared blankly back at him. “It is said that during the Great War he slaughtered all the inhabitants of multiple villages in Ammord. That he decimated them only because of what their leaders had done, without stopping to see if there were any innocents among them. He helped your teacher decimate the realms until they had no choice but to call a truce. Your Asrai has a name too, one she wore like a badge of honor during the war: Mother of Bloodshed.” The corners of his lips tilted up as he studied me and I scoffed at him.

“I don’t believe you. Landers and Asrai would never kill innocent people, even if it was for the greater good,” I spat.

A mirthless laugh left the High Priest’s lips as he stood. “It’s a pity you will never see him again; never get to ask him about his own war crimes.” Dukovich tethered from the room before I could ask him anything else and I stared at the echoes of his body.

I would not let him win. I would not let him into my head.

You will not break.