Chapter 7

G rayson left overnight. He told me of his plan to leave early in the morning as we parted ways last night, the memory of his kiss still tingling on my lips.

Breakfast had been a quiet affair, just myself with Jayne keeping me company. She had already eaten with the other maids and servants, but she made herself a cup of tea and sat with me. I'm in a bad mood today, and she seems to sense it as she watches me carefully.

"I'm sure he won't be gone long."

I look up from my porridge and raise an eyebrow, as if I couldn't give a damn how long he'll be gone for, but she just rolls her eyes, seeing right through me.

"Come on, I see the starry eyes the two of you give each other when you think no one's looking." My cheeks flush red and I drop my head again, focusing on my breakfast. "What did he say?"

"It's not so much what he said..." I trail off, unsure how to continue, but Jayne gasps and almost slams her cup down on the table.

"He kissed you?" she practically screams, her face beaming but, seeing my tight expression, her grin drops and she frowns at me. "Did you not want him to kiss you? If he did anything against your—" She starts to rant, and I realise she misread my expression, believing I didn't like what Grayson had done.

"No! No, he would never do anything against my will," I assure her, and she seems to settle down, but her frown returns as she leans back in her chair.

"Then why don't you seem happy about it?" I understand her confusion, I am just as confused. My thoughts are so tangled, switching one moment from happy to practical.

"Well, what happens now?" I ask with a shrug, pretending her answer isn't important, when I'm actually desperate to hear her response. What if I've unwittingly entered into some sort of agreement by returning his kiss? I've overheard in some communities that they're bound to marriage as soon as any physical actions happen. I like Grayson, but these feelings are new and fragile, I don't want to be forced into marriage just because I kissed him back and didn't know the consequences!

"What do you mean? You kissed, that's that," she says matter-of-factly, and I simply stare at her.

"So when he gets back, he's not going to expect..." I'm not quite sure what I'm asking, but I never had the chance to speak with him about what any of this meant before he left.

"I forget you don't know about this kind of thing," she murmurs, her expression turning thoughtful. "You only kissed, you're not bound to him for life, Clarissa. When he comes back, you can talk about it and see if you'd like to take things further."

Relief floods through me, and I feel like I can simply enjoy the fact that he kissed me without having to worry about the implications. So instead, I answer Jayne's questions, blushing behind my cup as I try not to think about the fact Grayson could be gone for a long stretch of time. It's going to feel strange without him being around to protect me, but I know one thing for certain, I need to learn how to protect myself.

The rest of breakfast is quiet, and as we return to my room, I see the plain, but beautifully made dark blue dress, and know I'm going to be working with the priests again. I'm worried about what they might have me doing now that they have so much more power. I know they want to kill both Vaeril and me, so now that Grayson is gone, there isn't anything stopping them. I also realise with a shock that I'm disappointed at the thought I might not see Vaeril.

It's not because I like him. It's because I made a promise to him, and I feel bad that I've not fulfilled it yet, I justify to myself, but part of me knows that's not the full truth.

After I dress, I sit in front of the mirror and watch as Jayne braids my hair, and I find myself missing my golden locks. Snorting at that thought, I shake my head, receiving a scowl from the maid as she tries to sort my hair. Grayson explained that the magic that changes my hair is actually woven into the room and depends on the day. If I'm to be ‘Lady Clarissa,' my hair will change to gold, whereas if I'm to work with the priests, it will stay my natural colour. I don't fully understand the magic, but I don't look too deeply into it.

A knock at the door makes my stomach lurch, and I brace myself for the day ahead. Jayne leaves the room to answer the door, and I smile when I hear the voice calling through. Standing, I exit my room and walk into the main living space, beaming as I see Wilson leaning against the doorframe.

"Wilson, I wasn't expecting to see you this morning," I greet, but his smile is tight, and as I step farther into the room, I see two guards are standing behind him. They look mad, but they are behaving around the magician.

"Lady Clarissa, you look beautiful," he says with a flourish as he steps into the room and presses a kiss against my hand. He winks, knowing I'm not posing as a lady today, but it makes me smile anyway. "Grayson thought you might need an escort to make sure nothing happens during your... community service," he explains in a low voice. I smile at his description of my work with the priests. I guess that's a nice way of putting it.

A part of me had been so worried that with Grayson gone, anything could happen, but I never should have doubted him. He's always looking out for me, even when he's not here. Smiling, I nod gratefully.

"You ready?" he asks, and I get the impression that even if I wasn't, the guards would make things difficult for us, so I simply smile and nod once again. "Great!" He offers me his arm, and I loop mine with his, glancing over my shoulder to see Jayne watching with a concerned look on her face.

"Remember what I said last night," I say quietly, reminding her of the plan I have with Tor. In case something happened to me today, I want to make sure she knows there is a way out. Tor would help them, even if I wasn't around anymore, I'm sure of it. She simply nods her head solemnly, like she knows exactly what I'm thinking.

"What were you two talking about?" Wilson inquires, as we enter the corridor and start walking slowly. It's quiet, and we barely see anyone, even as we enter the main corridors.

"Oh, just about dresses," I chirp lightly, and I see his eyes sharpen as he looks at me. Wilson knows I'm not the kind of woman who sits around and talks about clothes and jewels, but the guards don't know that.

"I see," he replies, ending the conversation, but his expression tells me this isn't over. When we're alone, I know he's going to grill me.

The rest of the walk is in silence until, too soon, Priest Rodrick appears as if out of nowhere, his expression darkening when he sees the mage on my arm.

"Ready for your penance, 625?" he questions in that dramatic, over the top voice he uses in services to appear better than everyone else. I know now he does it on purpose, having heard his real voice before when he lost his temper.

"That's not her name anymore, and you know it," Wilson growls, taking a step closer to the priest. The guards shift, their hands going towards the weapons strapped to their waists. Rodrick looks at Wilson and sneers, staring down his nose at the young magician.

"Call your dog off," he orders in that haughty voice of his, and I know he's doing it to piss off Wilson. It works.

"How dare you—" Wilson starts, but I cut him off with a hand on his arm.

"It's okay, don't rise to it," I interject quietly, watching as he takes a deep breath, pulling his eyes from the priest to look directly at me. After a couple of seconds, he seems to calm, and I give him a tiny smile which he returns with one of his own. The sound of clapping has me looking up, and I see Rodrick is sneering at me this time.

"My, my, you do work quickly."

Wilson stiffens, but I just shake my head slightly. Now is not the time to pick a fight with the priests, especially not with two guards behind us who are practically vibrating with anger and violence. I know what he's implying, but I don't care.

Thankfully, the priest gets tired of waiting for a response, so he just snarls and starts walking, leading the way. We follow, and the ominous presence of the guards behind us obviously make Wilson nervous—I can tell by the way he keeps glaring at them over his shoulder.

"Where are we going?" he asks me quietly after we enter the older part of the castle. It's usually quiet here, but I haven't seen anyone other than one lone priest who dipped his head in greeting to Rodrick.

I'm not sure what to tell him. I'm pretty certain that Wilson doesn't know about Vaeril, and telling him could put his life at risk. I doubt the priests are going to let him come into the underground room with me, and I'm right. Reaching the corridor with the secret door, Rodrick turns and blocks the way forward.

"This is as far as you go, mage," he jeers.

Wilson frowns and shakes his head. "No, I'm to accompany the lady."

"Yes, to and from her task. This is where you leave her. You can return later today, just before evening meal." The priest dismisses him with a wave of his hand, and I don't miss his brief smirk before he turns to the guards and nods his head to them. Moving from their spot behind us, they step up to my side and each grab my upper arms in their tight grips and pull me from him. I'm quite used to this treatment by now, but Wilson isn't, and he looks outraged.

"You can't expect me to trust you!" he shouts, taking a step forward as if to snatch me back. "Let go of her."

"I'm afraid you don't have a choice." This time Priest Rodrick lets his full smirk be seen, knowing he has the upper hand.

Magic starts stirring in the corridor, and I quickly look to Wilson, whose fists are clenched so hard I can see the whites of his knuckles.

"Wilson, it's okay," I urge soothingly, and relief fills me when he pulls his gaze from the priest and looks at me instead. I give him a small, gentle smile. "I promise."

"Clarissa..." He looks torn. I know he wants to protect me, but he can't risk using magic against the priests again, especially since there are two armed guards holding me.

"I'll see you later." I keep my voice light, and don't give him an opportunity to say otherwise. The guards begin marching me farther down the corridor, and as I glance over my shoulder, I see the mage and the priest scowling at each other. Their lips are moving, so I know they're talking to one another, but I can't make out what they're saying. One of the guards yanks my arm, and I'm forced to face forward as they lead me away. After a couple of minutes, the priest joins us again, and as I peek over my shoulder, I half expect to see Wilson following us, but the hall is empty.

Reaching the door, the priest opens it and gestures for me to go first. I know from the past that they will push me down if I don't descend quickly enough, so I enter the stairwell without complaint, the priest and the guards following me down. The spiral staircase is narrow and I'm not quite sure how the bulky guards fit. It pleases some dark part of me that this must be uncomfortable for them.

The guards at the bottom of the staircase snap to attention as soon as we enter the room. The large doors to the forge are pulled closed. There's a sliding metal hatch that allows them to see inside without having to open the door, but most of the time the elf goes unwatched. I use this opportunity to look around, taking note of how many guards are down here—four—and their weapons—swords and crossbows. They seem so sure that his magical cuffs can contain him, as they have for the last hundred years, that their security has become a bit lax over time. These are all things that we can use and exploit when it's time for us to escape.

"I wasn't sure we'd see her again, not after those mages showed up," a grizzled voice calls out, bringing my attention back to the guards. Turning, I recognise the guard from the last time I was here. He looks pissed off, watching me with a scowl.

"The magicians aren't in control, they are merely an annoyance." Rodrick walks over to the guard who was speaking, and I realise he must be the one in charge down here. The two of them talk in hushed voices. The two guards I entered with grab my arms again and part drag, part march me over to the large door. Two more guards walk over and start the process of opening it, the heat from the forge hitting us as soon as they start. It's heavy, which I can tell from the grunting and straining of the two guards as it opens inch by inch. I wouldn't be able to open it, but an elf shouldn't have trouble with it if the stories of their strength is true.

"This one stays alive," Rodrick calls out, making sure he speaks loudly enough so I can hear him. "Make sure there are no visible wounds. We're being watched." He's talking to the guard in charge, but when I look over, I see them both studying me closely.

"We can get creative." The guard grins and I know I'm in trouble. Wilson's presence may have stopped them from killing me, but it doesn't mean they can't still hurt me. Pushing my discomfort away, I face the door and try to block them out. What they are saying is nothing new to me, but knowing it's going to happen is its own special type of torture—anticipation. I'm always wondering when it's going to happen.

The door is mostly open now and I can see Vaeril's silhouette against the bright flames in the forge, and the banging of metal against the anvil is loud. A shove on the small of my back has me stumbling forward and falling to the ground as the door slowly closes behind me. Vaeril doesn't stop working, but I swear I heard a brief pause when the guard shoved me, yet as I get to my feet, he's fully focusing on his work.

Walking farther into the room, I suddenly feel unsure. Do I go up to him and start speaking? It's not like we are friends, we barely put up with each other's presence, but we have an understanding of what the other has been through. Standing there, with doubt running through my mind, I do the only thing I know how to do—I clean. Ducking my head, I scuttle to the cubby by the door and collect a brush and bucket, filling it with water from the tap. I carry my load to the centre of the room, drop to my knees, and start scrubbing.

"You returned." His words reach me over the clang of the banging and the roar of the fire, and I shudder at his rich voice. I'm not sure why my body is reacting this way, and all of a sudden I'm glad I didn't decide to walk straight up to him. The implication of his words hits me a moment later and I frown, sitting back on my heels as I stop scrubbing.

"Of course I did," I call out, my pride wounded that he thought I wouldn't come back. "I promised."

There's a pause as he stops hammering and turns to face me. He's braided back his long, silver hair, and a leather tie gathers it together at the nape of his neck. His eyes practically glow from the light of the fire, his pointed ears on full display. He looks truly fae, and I realise with shock I'm not afraid of him anymore. I'm still very aware he could kill me in an instant, but I trust him not to. The guards are more likely to hurt me than he is.

Dropping the brush to the floor, I push up into standing and slowly make my way over to the elf's work desk. I don't touch anything, but I look at his tools and semi-finished weapons, and I can feel him tracking my movements with his eyes.

"I've learned that a human's promise is a lie," he finally replies, returning to his weapon in progress. There's bitterness in his voice, and I realise I don't know how he ended up a prisoner here. I want to ask, to know what happened, but I don't think he'll answer.

"Then why did you trust me? Why did you agree to wait?" I ask instead, equally as interested in his answer. He's been tortured, forced to work, and kept away from his people by the humans, so why would he trust a lone human woman?

"I don't know. You seem different than the others. You know what it's like to be seen as nothing ."

He's right, I do. Is that why I feel connected to him? Is it as simple as that? We share a bond over our past experiences? That piece of me that is always angry, that I've been finding more and more difficult to keep quiet, tells me it's more than that. I feel connections to Tor and Grayson also, but I have almost nothing in common with them, yet I have that same pull. Closing my eyes, I focus on those feelings that seem to anchor deep inside me. They all feel different, and right now two of them seem distant, while one of them is bright. When I reach out for it, I get the impression of raindrops on leaves, the freshness of being caught out in a rainstorm, but all of a sudden it seems too far away.

My eyes shoot open and I see Vaeril watching me with wide eyes, which he quickly narrows at me.

"What did you do?" he demands, dropping his half finished weapon and striding towards me. His hands are clenched into fists and he looks torn between shock and anger. I throw my hands up in front of me in a gesture for him not to come any closer, my eyes wide. I have no idea what just happened or why he's so furious.

Did I just break some elven rule I didn't know about?

"I—" I start, my brain trying to scramble an answer together.

"How did you do it?" He makes a gesture through the space between us, cutting me off.

"Do what?" I demand, thoroughly confused. He seems to be working himself up the longer I fail to explain, and I get the feeling he's not actually angry at me. With a low growl in the back of his throat, he finally understands I don't know what's happening, and he pulls his intense gaze from me, starting to pace.

"You touched my spirit," he tells me, his expression frustrated. "No human should be able to do that."

"Your spirit?" Everything he said makes no sense to me. I touched the connection between us, not his…spirit? I track his movements with wide, confused eyes. Realising he's lost me, he lets out a frustrated sigh and turns back to face me.

"I think you people call it a soul? The essence that makes up a person."

I ignore the ‘you people' part of his comment, since I'm pretty sure he didn't mean to insult me and I'm used to far worse comments, so I simply shrug it off. That is until I realise what he just said.

"Oh." We're silent for a couple of seconds, and the implications roll around in my mind.

I touched his soul!

"Wait, how did I touch your soul?" My voice is loud, and I wince as it echoes off the walls. The last thing we need right now is for the guards to hear us and investigate.

"That's what I want to know!" He turns away from me, and I think he's about to start pacing again, but instead he stares into the fire. When he begins speaking, it's more to himself than to me. "Even among my people, it's almost unheard of, and only those who are—" He suddenly stops and his eyes widen as he quickly looks at me. "It doesn't matter," he blurts out, and I glare at him, knowing he's keeping something from me.

"Wait, tell me what you were going to say."

"No." He's completely shut down with his arms crossed over his chest, and I know he's not going to tell me anything. All of a sudden, a thought comes to me.

What if it's something to do with his culture and he can't share it with an outsider? What if I'm asking him to betray his people by telling me?

"Vaeril…is this something I can't know because of your culture? Something that outsiders can't know?" I ask delicately, unsure if I'm even phrasing this right. I don't want to unwittingly insult the one person who can help me get out of here. "If you say yes, then I will drop it and won't ask again. But if not, I deserve to know."

He watches me with a strange expression on his face, like he's seeing me for the first time. I feel naked under his gaze and shift from foot to foot nervously, but I don't look away.

What's taking him so long? Why is he looking at me like that?

"Yes, it's part of my culture." His gaze stays steady on mine as he speaks. It's the truth, I can feel it, but something about it feels off. He's not telling me the whole truth. I wouldn't know if it wasn't for this connection between us, where I can reach out and…touch his soul.

"Okay. I won't ask again," I say with a nod, and that strange expression crosses his face again, like I've surprised him.

"Thank you." It's my turn to blink at him in surprise. I never thought I'd have an elf thanking me. We watch each other, our fragile truce between us still so new. "You're not what I expected a human woman to be like."

That makes me chuckle, a sound that causes him to tilt his head to one side as he observes me. The gesture reminds me of the cats I sometimes see around the castle, the way they watch a mouse if they're trying to decide if it's prey or not.

"I am no normal woman, trust me," I joke awkwardly, feeling strangely exposed under his gaze. "You're not what I expected an elf to be like either."

"And what did you expect me to be like?" He doesn't smile, but his voice is lighter, and I get the impression he's amused at the route this conversation has taken.

"I'll tell you when we escape." The comment was meant as a jest, but he takes me seriously and nods, his face returning to the stoic expression I'm now used to. He picks up a weapon from the workstation and starts polishing the blade, and I notice his arm is shaking. The remaining cuff is making it difficult for him to be away from his work for long.

"You have a plan?"

He's focusing on his work now, but I can see the faint gleam of hope in his eyes. I know he can't see it, but I nod in agreement before sighing.

"I can't leave, but we will soon."

His polishing slows and eventually stops, his hand tightening around the rag in his hand.

"Why must we wait?" He doesn't look at me as he speaks, but I know I am testing his patience. He's been trapped here for so long, and he finally got a glimmer of hope that he might be able to escape, but now I'm dangling it in front of him like a carrot. I feel bad for making him wait, but if I left now, I would never forgive myself.

"They are going to kill families and enslave hundreds of children. I can't let them go through what I did, not if I have the power to stop it," I share, hoping he understands why. If anyone can, it's him. He starts to polish the weapon again, but keeps his body facing away from me so I'm unable to see his expression.

"What is your plan?"

"I have a connection on the outside who has a type of shielding magic." This seems to catch his attention and he freezes. "He's going to help people leave, to escape unseen." My voice is low. The guards are far away, but I still feel the need to speak quietly. He turns to face me and stares at me with a blank expression. "Until I know that it's working, that people who need it have a way out, I can't go." I take a step back when I realise I'm practically begging him to understand, frustrated with myself. I want him to know why I have to stay, at least for now, but a part of me insists that it's cruel to make him wait. "But it won't be long."

"You're risking your life for the very people who enslaved you." I hear the surprise and disbelief in his voice as he speaks.

I'm not sure what I was expecting him to say, but it wasn't that. He's right, though, although I'd never thought of it that way. The children and the serving families had nothing to do with my slavery. Even had their parents been directly involved, I still couldn't sentence them to slavery.

"They're innocent children," I reason, shrugging as I turn away. To me it seems simple, why wouldn't I help them if I could? Walking back to where I left my bucket and brush, I lower to my knees and start scrubbing again. The guards periodically check on me through the slot in the door, and if they catch me not working, there will be hell to pay.

"They don't deserve you," Vaeril calls out, going back to his work.

Did he just compliment me? The thought swims around in my mine and I keep playing it over and over again. Eventually, I shake my head at myself as I scrub. I'm behaving like a teenager. Pushing those thoughts aside, I focus on my task as I go over the plan to help the children, but after a time, my thoughts return to the elf.

"If you want to go without me, I'll look at your cuff today, see if I can break the magic on it," I offer. I don't look up, I just keep working on the floor, there's a spot I just can't get out. "That way you don't have to wait for me."

Suddenly, I realise that the only noise I can hear is the fire from the hearth and my scrubbing. Something tugs in my chest, causing me to look up, and I see Vaeril frowning down at me like I'm a puzzle he can't work out.

"You won't escape without me." Fact, and we both know it.

"Well, I might be able to get out with the children—" I start vaguely, but he cuts me off with a shake of his head.

"That route of escape will only work for a short time. They will soon realise people are all going to a certain place at a certain time. Even if they don't work out how people are escaping, they will figure out how to stop it, making it impossible to get around without being watched or followed." I hadn't thought that far ahead, and he's right. We'll only be able to do it a couple of times before it becomes too difficult.

"Then we need to make it count." I mean every word I say, even though it scares me. Grayson isn't here to save me anymore, and there's a real possibility that I could die.

"Break the spell." Vaeril holds his arm out to me, and I look at his remaining cuff.

"Oh." Although I offered to break the spell and for him to go without me, I hadn't thought he would actually do it. My chest tightens and a feeling of disappointment fills me as I glance away, staring at the items on his workstation.

"Not so I can leave." His voice sounds angry, like he's frustrated that I would think he'd leave without me. Raising my head, I look back at him and see his fists are clenched and his body is trembling slightly. Is that because of the cuff? Is he feeling the effects of not working, or is it for another reason? "If you get into any trouble, I need to be able to access my abilities so I can find you."

I pause, surprised at his explanation. He would do that? Essentially come and rescue me if I needed it? I finally meet his eyes and I know the answer. Yes, he would. I don't know why he would risk his life to save me when he could just escape and save himself. We're not friends, but then again, I wouldn't call him my enemy, not anymore. So what does that make us?

"How would you know if I was in trouble?"

He just continues to stare at me, his gaze unwavering. I need to know if he can feel this bond between us as clearly as I can. He says I can reach out and touch his spirit, his soul, but does that mean he can feel me like I can feel him?

"I would know."

Not the answer I was looking for, but it hints that I could be right, that he feels this connection as much as I do. I should ask him, but after how shifty he became after the spirit thing, I don't want to make him angry. I did say I would drop it and not ask again, after all.

"Okay, can I see the cuff?" I push up from the ground, leaving the scrubbing brush behind, and take a few small steps to close the distance between us, holding out my hand expectantly. I want to examine it. The previous cuff hurt, and I want to see if there's a better way of removing this one without the same effects as last time.

"You're going to do it now?" He sounds surprised, as if he hadn't truly expected me to remove it. Shrugging, I leave my arm outstretched and he finally places his hand in mine. I lift his arm and twist it so I can inspect the cuff without touching it.

"I don't see why not. Things are getting worse in the castle, and I don't know when we're going to have to leave." My voice sounds calm as I continue to look at the strange, stone-like material circling his wrist. "It doesn't make sense to leave it on."

Vaeril stays silent for a few seconds, pulling his gaze from me and running his hand over his tools like he can't be away from them without being in pain. Surprise runs through me, I thought he would be desperate to get those cuffs off, to be able to use his powers again. To be free. He told me he wanted me to break the spell, but now he's hesitating?

"Is it going to exhaust you like last time?" His question is quiet, but I can hear the seriousness behind his words. He really sounds like he cares how it will affect me. "You would be vulnerable."

My heart throbs. When did we get to the point where we cared about the other person? Maybe care isn't the right word, but we've gone from hate to indifference to... whatever this is. He's right, though, it would make me vulnerable, but I can't think of a better time to do it when we don't know how long we've got.

"I know what to expect this time." With more confidence than I feel, I hold my hand out again for his wrist. I need him to understand what I'm feeling. "If I get caught helping them escape, I want you to go, to leave. Don't wait for me, just go. You can't do that if you still have this on." He raises his gaze from his work table to mine again with an unreadable expression. I know what he's going to say, that he will refuse to leave without me, we made a pact. However, I need to know that if my plan doesn't work, he won't go down with me because I had to help people. This wasn't his plan, he's stuck here longer because of it, yet he agreed.

He stares at me for a long time until, finally, he offers his arm to me again. Taking a deep breath, I use my right hand to brace myself against the workbench, and then wrap my left hand around the cuff.

Pain flares through my body and the draining sensation immediately brings me to my knees. Vaeril curses and kneels next to me so I don't have to stretch, but I couldn't let go even if I wanted to—my hand is glued to the stone. I can almost hear whispers in my ear, like the magic is talking to me. I don't understand it, but it's testing me. It doesn't want to be broken. This spell is old, and I had forgotten how much the previous cuff had taken out of me, but what I said was true, I knew what to expect. The feeling that the spell is angry rolls over me, and if I could frown, I would. How can magic have feelings?

This is taking longer than the first one, and I realise I need to fight this time. Pushing all the adamant demand I can muster into the cuff, I begin to feel lightheaded, and something trickles from my nose down onto my lip.

"Stop, you're giving too much," Vaeril growls, but his voice sounds muffled. In fact, all sound is muffled, even the roaring of the forge is quieter than usual. "Clarissa, stop!" The shout catches my attention, and I lift my head to look at the elf. The movement is harder than it should be. My whole body is heavy, and I just want to curl up in the corner and go to sleep.

Yes, sleep sounds good right now . My thoughts are foggy as I smile up at the elf who is now shaking my shoulder with his free hand. Wait, when did he move his arm?

"Stop, now! I can feel your spirit fading!" he orders, and I'm sure it's the lack of energy that's making me delirious, but I could have sworn he sounds scared. I snort. I doubt that very much .

With one last tremendous push, I feel the spell finally unravel and break. The pain and draining of my energy instantly stops, but I feel exhausted. As soon as I release his arm, I fall back and curl up into a fetal position.

"Clarissa!" He hovers above me and I want to sit up, to tell him to leave me alone, that I need some quiet while I rejig my thoughts.

"I'm fine, I just need to rest for a moment," I mutter, not even bothering to lift my head from the floor.

I can hear his breathing and feel his presence. He's close enough that if I reach out, I would be able to touch him, but thankfully, after a moment, he stands and I hear his footsteps as he walks away. The sound of metal banging against metal echoes around the underground room and relief fills me. I don't want him to know how much energy that took from me, and my whole body begins to ache. Taking deep breaths, I try to calm my thoughts and let my body recover. I can feel his eyes on me, and there's a small tug in my chest every couple of minutes from the connection between us.

Eventually, I feel like I have enough energy to sit up, so I take a deep breath before pushing into an upright position.

"Did it work?"

"Yes." I needn't have asked, I can practically feel his power from here. He is strong if he's emitting this much power and he's not even using it. He could level this entire room without even a second thought, and I just unleashed him.