I’m stunned to hearthe rattle of the doorknob shortly after my dinner plate arrives, the last light of day casting the room in a warm glow. He steps in, bringing the smell of fire and burnt skin with him.
I raise my brows at his disheveled appearance and the several streaks of dark soot covering his face. He surveys where I’m nestled on the couch silently, eyes flickering over the black robe I’d stolen from his wardrobe and the towel wrapped around my head. I probably would’ve dressed if I’d known he’d be back so early, but he’s here now, and I can’t be bothered. “Pet. You look comfortable.”
His words pick at me as if he’s trying to insinuate I have the better end of the deal here, locked in these chambers. It’s especially grating when the daemon has already been picking me apart all day.
I’ve always had bad days with the daemon. Heightened days where I’d be forced to commit some offense so the Grand Prioress would sentence me back to my room with no meals to save me from revealing myself. Days where I could do little more than count down the moments of its endless torture. Other days it would wane so dramatically I’d be left wondering if I’d only imagined it’d been so bad in the first place.
Usually, the daemon could be subdued for a time after I let it wreak its destruction. As I had today, allowing it to empty in the invisible shield around the balcony in hopes that I could break it. It did nothing to the shield except blast back and crack the balcony’s stone floor. I quickly decided not to do that again.
Even after it unleashed, the daemon didn’t dim for a moment, and I can’t deny it any longer. The daemon is getting worse. Has been getting worse since the day I stepped foot outside the Wall.
I crinkle my nose as the unpleasant odor of scorched skin grows even more pungent. “You stink.”
“Do I?” He unclasps his cloak, and I grimace when I see remnants of blistered skin through what’s left of his shirt. His movements are rushed as he tears loose the remaining buttons.
My bitter feelings toward him dwindle slightly with guilt. “Are…you alright?”
“Fine,” he grumbles, not bothering to look up as he tugs the shirt off, wincing when some of the fabric clings to his skin. “I’m on a bit of a time constraint, so you’ll have to excuse me.” He shapes his hand, and I flinch as the roar of flames erupts in the fireplace.
He dallies in his many vials, spending some time perusing them before he pulls out this one and that. I watch curiously as he empties various amounts of each in the cauldron. He gives it a quick stir before tossing them back on the shelf. “Where…” he mutters under his breath as he searches.
He snags another vial and angles his chin down, teeth gritting as he pours it over the burns across his shoulder and chest. The clear liquid festers and bubbles.
“What happened to you?”
“Dragons.”
“Dragons,” I repeat in awe. He corks the vial, stalks over to the cauldron, and flicks his hand. The flames fall to a simmer. A tapping sound has our heads snapping up and to the side. “What is that?” I whisper as the tapping sound starts again.
“Probably Div,” he groans. “At the worst possible moment. Well, maybe not. I can use him.” He makes his way toward the door, pokes his head out, and waves a hand. “Get in here,” he snaps.
I rise as Div comes buzzing in after Sitri. “Div!” Sitri rolls his eyes, muttering something unintelligible under his breath. Div settles onto the back of the couch with a tired yawn. “What happened to you?” I whisper.
“Oh, you know,” he says, yawning again. “Things to be, places to see.”
“You—abandoned—me,” I hiss.
“Can’t say I didn’t warn you,” Sitri grumbles.
“No,” Div says defiantly. “I saved you.”
“You did not! He did.”
“Who do you think woke him up?”
Sitri and I share a look and he shrugs before busying himself back in his brewing. I position my face directly in front of Div and lower my voice to a whisper. “You said you were going to help me escape, and then you immediately came back and woke him up to come fetch me?”
“That was before I knew how stupid you are.”
Sitri laughs, and I realize we’re not being as quiet as I thought. I send him a withering glare, simultaneously shoving Div off the back of the couch. He flutters right back up. “You’re not ready,” he whispers.
“Oh, please do not tell me you two are cooking up another plan.” We both stare up at him blankly. “Whatever, I’d love to see you try to get out of here. Div, come here,” he barks.
Div props himself on an elbow as he lays down against the back of the couch. “No, don’t think I will.”
“Div. Now.”
“That won’t work anymore, I’m afraid.”
