Chapter 18

" Y ou didn't come yesterday." The elf's lilting voice reaches me where I'm scrubbing the floor. There's a particularly stubborn patch of dirt on this section of the flooring, so I'm down on my knees again, scrubbing brush gripped tightly in my hands. It's tiring work, but something I'm used to, so I barely have to pause to look up at him.

"I had…other obligations to fill." He wouldn't understand if I told him part of the time I'm masquerading as nobility, it wouldn't make sense. Hell, half the time it doesn't even make sense to me.

I'm not sure how long I stayed in that courtyard last night, but eventually Grayson found me curled up on the stone bench. I was freezing and knew I needed to get up and get warm, but I was just so drained that I couldn't face it. The mage had sat down next to me and was quiet for a while before he sighed and lifted me onto his lap. He rubbed at my exposed skin, his hands moving in comforting circles as he rested his cheek against the top of my head. Minutes or hours later, I wasn't sure, he stood up, taking me with him in his arms as he took us back to his rooms. I heard him talking to someone in soft tones, but I was just so tired . I woke up this morning and shared breakfast with a solemn Grayson who informed me I was working for the priests again today.

"You seem different today. Sad." The elf's voice pulls me out of my musings, and this time, I do stop what I'm doing, dropping the brush to the ground as I meet his gaze, frustration rising in me at his pushing.

Someone's chatty today, I grumble internally as I watch him, his eyes tracking me wearily, as if scanning me for something.

"Why do you care?"

My question seems to take him by surprise. In fact, I surprise myself, but it's something I need to know.

"I get bored. At least things are different when you're here." Truth. I can hear it in his voice, but not the whole truth, he's holding something back.

Returning to his work, he starts pounding the sword on the anvil, his actions seeming harder, rougher than usual. Frowning, I watch his back as he works, his tension obvious as he takes out his frustrations on the metal. Shaking my head, I grab my scrubbing brush once more as he growls and spits something in a different tongue. The anger in his voice has me jumping to my feet, spinning back around to face him. He hurls his hammer to the floor and I flinch at the loud noise, watching him warily as he whirls around with an unnatural grace.

"Enough," he growls, his face twisted into a glare as he strides towards me, and for the first time in this last week, I fear for my life. My hands start to shake, but I hold my ground, clenching them into fists at my sides, refusing to back away. I don't know what I've done to upset him, but I won't die a cowering nobody.

"I had accepted my fate—that I would die in the hands of my enemy, as a traitor to my people." His voice is quiet as he hisses at me, stalking ever closer. "I had accepted it, until you came along."

He's within touching distance when he finally comes to a stop, his feline features twisted with rage as he scans my face.

"Why can't I get you out of my head? What magic have you woven over me?" Frustration is evident in his tone and I know how hard he's trying to fight this, this need to be close to me. I know this because I'm fighting exactly the same thing. I want to touch him, to be close, to inhale his woodsy scent and roll around in it until it clings to me like a second skin.

"I'm sorry." Voice breathy, I take a half step forward before I can stop myself. Being this close to him is making it difficult for me to control that need. It's not a sexual need, but more like he is the other part of my soul I hadn't realised I was missing. "Do you feel it? The pull?"

"You feel it too?" His words are quick and sharp, like he doesn't believe me, or doesn't want to believe me. Cursing in his strange, lilting language, he turns away from me, pacing a few steps before spinning back around to face me. "No, that's not possible. You're human."

I raise my eyebrows at that comment. I know he's at war with my people, but the disgust that coats his words hurts. It shouldn't—he's my mortal enemy, right? But it does hurt, his words wound me. Shaking my head, I push away those thoughts and try to focus on what he's saying.

"I don't understand."

Making a cutting gesture, he points at me, his anger rising once again. "Who are you? Why are you here?"

He already knows I'm a slave, he's seen my marks. Do I tell him? He hasn't deserved to hear my story, he's only treated me like crap. Grayson can dress me in pretty clothes and give me a name, but I will always be a slave for as long as the priests still have the amount of control they do now. Staring at the elf, I realise we both have that in common. Slave. Shaking my head, I decided to tell him, even if it doesn't change anything, or makes him hate me more.

"My name is Clarissa, but until a week ago, I had no name."

His body stills, his frown deepening as he tries to understand what I'm saying. "What do you mean?"

"You know that I am—was—a slave." His eyes run over my body again and I know what he's thinking—how painfully thin I am and how the guards treat me each evening, like I'm nothing. Reaching over, I push up the cuff of my dress which hides my marks, his eyes darkening with anger when he sees my brands again. He steps forward, reaching out and gently, oh so gently, runs a finger over my Goddess mark. I have to bite back a moan at the sensations his touch sends through me, igniting a part of me that I thought had died years ago. His eyes shoot up to mine as he scents my arousal and he quickly stops touching me, taking a small step back.

Pushing away the disappointment his actions fill me with, I awkwardly raise a hand to my hair and tuck it back behind my ear. I shouldn't be embarrassed, desire isn't something to be ashamed of, but the fact that it's for an elf, a prisoner of war...I move my fingers to the mark he had just been touching, but I only get the pleasant tingling feeling I usually do when I touch it, unlike when Grayson or the elf do.

"One of the high magicians was sent a vision by the Great Mother, our Goddess, and he saved me from being executed. This—" I gesture around us and at the dirty floor. "This is the only way the priests would allow it."

"Even though your Goddess decreed she wanted you safe through the vision?"

The look he sends me is incredulous, and I just nod my head in agreement. It's true, while the Mother sent Grayson to save me, the priests should take that as an affirmation that the Goddess wants me around. However, she never specified that I shouldn't be a slave anymore.

The elf snorts and starts to pace again, watching me as he does, his eyes never leaving me for long. "What did you do to be made a slave?"

Raising my eyebrows at his blunt question, I try to decide if he deserves an answer or not. I want him to trust me, I don't know why, he's supposed to be my enemy after all, but I just don't get that feeling about him. Sure, I don't particularly like him right now, and he scares me, but we have something in common. We know what it's like to have nothing, to be nothing.

"I don't know, I was eight at the time," I answer with a shrug, my fingers tracing the marks on my arm. "I don't remember my life before that."

"Your people made a child a slave?" That familiar anger rises in his features again, showing his disgust at the thought of child slaves, and I have to agree with him. It's disgusting, but what could someone like me do about it? The elf pauses as he sees something in my face, that strange pull between us almost vibrating with the rage we both feel.

"What did you do to deserve execution?" he demands, and I get the feeling he's trying to justify why I'm here. I don't know why he feels this is important, but it's practically thrumming off him.

"I reached the cut off age."

There's a pause after I speak, our gazes locked on each other before he breaks away with a laugh. It's not a happy laugh, it's the stunned, incredulous laugh of someone who can't believe what they just heard.

"And your people call my race uncivilised?"

Your people. I don't know why those words anger me so much, perhaps it's the implication that I'm associated with a society who put children into slavery. His arms start to shake slightly, rage and frustration taking over his body.

"Why are you here?"

It's a question I've wanted to ask since I first saw him. How did an elf end up a prisoner here, and why isn't it common knowledge? Surely it would raise morale if the people knew, it would seem like a victory. The elves are stronger, faster, and are better at healing than us, so although we have the numbers, they are far superior in battle. Not to mention their weapons, which are branded with magic and cause devastation when used.

He looks surprised, but I get the impression it's because I had the nerve to ask rather than the question itself.

"I got caught. It was a trap, and they bound me with these." He raises his wrists which are encased in thick, metal cuffs that have symbols engraved into them. I noticed them before and had wondered about their purpose as they didn't seem to shackle him at all, unlike the chains around his ankles. The cuffs glow slightly and I notice his arms are shaking more now, his face showing discomfort as he slowly staggers backward, like he's being dragged away from me. "Even now, the magic in them is punishing me for being too far away from the forge." His explanation makes me realise that I was mistaken earlier. He wasn't shaking because of his anger, but because he was fighting against the magic in the cuffs. "It forces me to make weapons against my own kind." Disgust. That's what I'm seeing now as he faces the forge once more, his whole body trembling as he picks up the hammer from the floor. "I would rather take my own life than make anything that would harm my people, but these stop me."

Shaking my head, I take a small step closer. I can't imagine how he feels, being forced to make something that will harm your own people. It's no surprise the king ordered this, it makes sense from a battle perspective, but I'm horrified.

Are you feeling sorry for an elf? He is the enemy! my inner voice reminds me, and I nod to myself. I need to be harder, stronger. I must remember I can't trust this man.

"So you're trapped here with magic?" I try to keep my voice neutral as I speak, like I'm asking about the weather, but my heart twists painfully at the thought.

He doesn't reply, simply returning to make his weapons. It's fairly obvious he can't leave here, and those softly glowing cuffs are giving off the aura of magic. I didn't notice it before, the strange pull between us making it difficult to focus on anything else.

"Why didn't you kill me that first day? I saw the hate in your eyes."

"I thought about it," he admits, glancing over his shoulder, his piercing eyes boring into me. "But you looked so small, so pathetic. That's when I realised that's exactly what they wanted."

He's right, that's exactly what the priests hoped, that he would kill me. That would give them the perfect alibi and Grayson couldn't do anything about it. I ignore the slight blow to my pride that he only decided not to kill me because he thought it would anger the guards. I'm starting to see him in a different light, and I don't think he's all that different from me. Walking right up to his work bench, I watch him labour, the strong muscles in his shoulders and arms as he hammers the hot metal on the anvil.

"We're the same, you and I." I'm not sure where my boldness came from, but I say it with a surety that has him looking up. "Both slaves and traitors to our own people." For a second, I think I've offended him, his body stiffening when I called him a traitor, but then he snorts and shakes his head, going straight back to his work.

Turning away, I head back over to where I left my scrubbing brush as I kneel down and start to scour again. Sneaking glances at the elf, I berate myself. What am I doing ? Even if he's not my enemy, he probably hates me just as much as he hates the rest of us.

The elf probably won't even remember your name, he doesn't care about you, he pitied you. That's why you're still alive. That thought makes me pause, and sitting back on my heels, I look over at him again.

"What's your name? I can't keep calling you ‘the elf' in my head." An awkward chuckle leaves my lips at my awful attempt at a joke, but I'm rewarded when he pauses his hammering and flashes me a smile. It's not the pure happiness type of smile like Wilson's, or the comfortable smiles from Grayson. This smile is only really a half smile, the right side of his mouth twitching up, and one eyebrow rises, making me want to clench my thighs together.

"You think about me often then?" he replies, and I suddenly panic.

Is he flirting with me? I'm way out of my depth here, this was not what I was intending, but I can't help the little part of me that's thrilled by this attention. Opening my mouth to reply, but coming up with nothing to say, I end up opening and closing my mouth like a fish out of water. I'm sure I look ridiculous and I'm about to run away to the storage cubby to hide my burning face when he barks out a short laugh and takes pity on me.

"It's Vaeril."

The name rings through me, like I've known it all along. "Vaeril," I whisper under my breath, testing it out. I'm still looking up at him when heavy footsteps approach us, a shadow falling over me. With a gasp, I spin to see one of the guards has left his position by the doorway and is now looming over me.

"Back to work, filth!" he spits, ramming his message home as he smacks the butt of his crossbow into my face. Pain flares across my cheek as the force of the hit causes me to fall to the dirty floor. The room goes silent as Vaeril stops working, and even the roaring fire in the forge seems to grow quiet. My breaths come in quick, gasping pants, but I stay pressed against the floor so I don't anger the guard any further.

The guard grunts behind me, and after a few seconds I hear him walk away, but I stay on the floor. I know that tonight's beating will be worse than usual, that guard will see to it. Fear is a powerful motivator, and as I stand quickly to pick up my scrubbing brush, I ignore the feeling of wetness rolling down my face and get back to work.

"Are you okay?" The words are quiet, and I can tell from the slight bite in them that he doesn't want to ask, but he can't stop himself. Keeping my gaze down and locked on the floor, I simply nod my head. After a few more silent, agonising seconds, the sound of hammering starts up again and I release the breath I hadn't realised I'd been holding.

We stay mute for the rest of the day and I start to get a sinking feeling of dread with every minute that passes by. Eventually, the pounding of several sets of booted feet reaches my ears and my heart speeds up as fear floods my system. The lead guard enters the room and looks around the space, his gaze immediately focusing on me as if he can sense my fear. A smug smile crosses his face before he turns and says something to the other guards. Two of them immediately walk over to me, roughly grabbing the tops of my arms and dragging me into the centre of the room, positioning me so I'm facing Vaeril. He starts to put down his hammer, frowning as he watches, but I shake my head slightly. If he stops and gives them a reaction, then they get what they want. His frown deepens, but he picks the hammer back up and starts working again, however I can tell he's not paying attention to his task.

A large guard steps in front of me and punches me in the gut, my breath leaving my body with an "oomph." My knees buckle, and the only things keeping me upright are the two guards who tighten their grip as I dangle from their hold. He hits me again and again, changing his punches to my face and then back to my gut. I try not to cry out, my breath coming is gasps as silent tears roll down my face.

"I hear you were feeling chatty today." The punches suddenly stop as the guard speaks, stepping around so he's in my line of sight. As I look up, I see Vaeril watching us, watching me, with an anger so hot I'm surprised it doesn't burn me as his eyes scan my bruised and bleeding body.

A slap hits my face, my vision darkening for a second as I see stars.

"Pay attention!" the guard growls, grabbing my chin roughly, causing me to groan as pain racks my body. "Perhaps I should cut that tongue of yours out. Or cut up that pretty face to warn others to keep away from you?"

A hammer drops to the ground and the guards around me shift uncomfortably as the sound of chains clinking together echoes around the room. Slowly, oh so slowly, I lift my head and see Vaeril inches away from us, his face twisted into a snarl, his teeth bared. The guards raise their crossbows, all pointed at his chest, and I know if they fire right now the elf will die. A part of me screams and thrashes, bellowing to be let out as my Goddess mark starts to glow. The guards holding me begin to mutter, shifting uneasily again, probably wishing they had their crossbows in hand.

"No," Vaeril snarls, his voice lower than I've ever heard it before, his accent strong as he takes another step. The chains that keep him here scream as he strains against them, the metal links starting to gape against his supernatural strength. The guards around me shuffle, looking to the head guard for instructions, and I know with certainty they will shoot him if he takes another step.

"Vaeril." My voice is croaky, and every second I keep my head raised causes a wave of pain to shoot through my body, but fear and adrenaline makes me stronger. I don't want to look too closely at the reason behind that fear, why warning the elf is more important than saving myself some pain. His eyes dart to mine as I shake my head, the pull, that link between us going tight.

Just as I think it's all over, a wave of magic engulfs me, and I recognise the feel of the magic immediately before he even speaks. Grayson.

"Stop." That one word, woven with magic, makes everyone freeze as he strides over to me. He's behind me, so I can't see him, but I can feel him. His magic is coated with anger as he gets closer and closer until it's embracing me like a safety blanket. "Let go of her." His voice is eerily calm, but infused with his powerful magic.

The guards immediately follow the order, stepping to the side as I drop to the ground. Except I don't fall far, a cushion of magic catching me before gently lowering me down. Grayson steps around the guards, his face a careful mask as he sees the state of my face, but I can feel the fury rolling off him. I need to calm him down, otherwise he's going to kill everyone in this room, I can tell from the look in his eyes, or perhaps it's this strange bond we have between us? I know I shouldn't care if the guards live or die, but I can't have their deaths on my conscience. Surprisingly, I'm more concerned about the elf, Vaeril, but I refuse to face the reasons behind that, pushing those feelings down.

"Grayson," I call, having to spit out a mouthful of blood before rattling, racking coughs overcome me, my ribs painfully shifting in my chest. He watches me and I shake my head, hoping he understands what I'm trying to say.

Don't kill them. Don't let them turn you into that person, you are better than this. I repeat the words in my head over and over like a mantra, hoping it will come across in my silent communication. His expression is blank, and I worry he's going to go into euisa, the strange battle calm I triggered previously, but he just seems to be wearing a different mask today—the mask of a vengeful high mage.

Turning away from me, he faces the head guard who suddenly clutches and claws at his neck, his face turning a shade of purple as he gasps for breath. The other guards shift, as if they want to do something, but the magic is still wrapped around them, filling the room so much it feels like I'm trying to move through treacle.

"Grayson," I call again, pushing up slightly into an upright position, but I can't hide the wince as my abused body protests against the movement. I think he's going to ignore me, to carry on and kill the guard, but I feel a flex in his magic and the guard drops to his knees, spluttering and coughing as he takes big, shuddering breaths.

"Return to your jobs. This isn't the end of this," Grayson commands, his magic wrapping around the guards who turn and leave, throwing scared, confused looks over their shoulders. The lead guard hurries to his feet and practically runs from the room, his face still red as he departs, fear easy to see in his eyes.

Grayson turns to the elf, his magic returning to him in a flash, and I can almost see it rippling and churning around him, reacting to his hatred and anger.

"If you've even laid a hand on her—"

Vaeril bares his teeth, falling into a defensive stance. Standing like that, with his hair falling forward, revealing his delicately pointed ears and the forge glowing behind him, he looks completely fae. For some reason that doesn't scare me. It would have two weeks ago, but instead all I fear is that they'll get hurt.

"I didn't touch the girl, Mage . Her own people did this to her," Vaeril spits, and I can hear the groaning of the chains around his ankles again. I'm not the only one, as Grayson's eyes narrow and he takes up a defensive stance.

"Grayson, please." My pain laced voice seems to break through to him, his magic relaxing and flowing back into his body. "I just want to go."

Turning, he kneels in front of me, making sure to keep Vaeril within his sight as he gently slides an arm under my knees, and with a hand around my shoulders, he lifts and cradles me against his chest. Without another word to the elf, we turn and he walks from the room. Raising my head, I peek over his shoulder and see Vaeril is still watching us, his posture rigid, a heavy crease between his brows.

"Thank you," I mouth, hoping he can see with his enhanced fae vision. When he stumbles back with a shocked expression, I'm assuming he saw. Is he that surprised I would thank him? We may be mortal enemies, but he risked death when he stood up for me. He may hate me and my kind, but he did the right thing, and I won't forget that.

Resting against Grayson, we exit the room in silence, and I start to worry. He's mad, more so than I've ever seen him, and I don't know what he might do later once he's assured I'm safe. He hurries up the stairs and I wince as I'm jostled against his body, but I try to hide it by burying my face into his chest.

"Sorry," he murmurs, slowing his climb. I can tell he wants to say something, so I don't reply, simply letting him work through whatever is upsetting him. "You lied to me."

Raising my face, I frown up at him. "I've never lied to you."

"You didn't tell me you were working with an elf . Omission of something that important is just as bad as lying."

I don't bother to explain I was trying to protect him by not telling him, or the fact I'd been threatened if I said anything. He's upset and that's because of me.

"I'm sorry," I say, which is true. I am sorry I hurt him. However, I'm not sorry I kept this from him, I still believe I did the right thing. He blows out a long, frustrated breath and I feel him relax slightly, although I can tell there's something else still bothering him.

"Grayson, I'm okay." My statement would have made more of an impact if I hadn't gasped with pain as his arms shift to open the door at the top of the stairs. Frowning, he shakes his head, a dark mood settling over him as he hurries back to his quarters.

"I'll do everything I can to get you out of this."