“You were.” His voice is steady, certain.
I look away. “It didn’t feel like it.”
“You walked out.”
“Because I screamed at a hallucination and scared the trees into letting me go.”
His mouth quirks. “That is one way to handle it.”
I don’t smile. I want to. I want to collapse into his side and forget everything. But I can’t. Not yet. I can’t look at him for too long. I’m not ready to know what he sees in my face. My skin still remembers the feel of illusion; of his body pressed too close. That version of him who did not stop. Who did not listen.
“I thought I had more time,” I say.
“The Rite is picking up the pace.”
Of course it is, and I bet his precious council is behind it. They’re trying to break me. Break all of us. I let out a shuddering breath; eyes fixed on the ground. My knees still tremble, but I’m not sure if it’s from the trial or him. I’m not sure it matters.
“I need to get cleaned up,” I say, pushing to my feet. There’s something like pride in his eyes. But it doesn’t soothe me the way it should.
“Come on. You need food, drink, rest. All will help.”
“Help what?”
His expression darkens the way it always does when he thinks I’m in danger, making bad choices, or talking back. “Whatever it was that made you look like that.”
I flinch. He notices but pretends he does not. I hate how much I wish he would, because I know I’m not ready to talk about it. Caziel says nothing as he leads me away from the arena and toward the citadel. His stride is measured, his posture careful, like he’s trying notto spook me. I don’t know how to ask him to stop doing that, either. My legs ache. My hands are clammy, and there’s a strange sensation in my chest like something’s rattling around in there, something I can’t dislodge. A ghost, maybe. A memory. A version of myself I’m not ready to look at.
We wind through the castle for an eternity, or maybe minutes, the route is familiar, like coming home. He stops in front of a door I recognize as his, and holds it open for me without a word. I hesitate. Just a second.Do I want to be alone with him?Then I step past him into the chambers.
The heat is immediate. Warmer here than the hall. Not oppressive, but steady. Comforting, maybe. I rub my hands together, trying not to notice the fine tremor still in my fingers. The room smells like smoke and something faintly herbal. Like the oil he uses. There’s a hearth lit near the back wall. A book open, face-down on the armrest of the chair beside it. A blanket folded with military precision on the edge of the low bed.
I don’t sit. I just stand there, wrapped in too much silence.
“You’re safe,” he says softly, closing the door behind us.
“I know.”
A beat.
“Are you alright?”
“No.”
“Are you—”
“Please don’t.” It comes out sharper than I mean. Too harsh, barbed. I shake my head, trying to soften it. “I’m not ready to talk about it.”
I see him bite down on the impulse to push. His jaw tics once, but he nods.
“Can I get you anything?” he asks. “Food? A bath? George?”
“A reset button?”
He huffs a breath. Not quite a laugh, but the corner of his mouth lifts.
“Fresh out.”
I lower myself slowly onto the edge of the bed, keeping my back straight, my gaze fixed on a seam in the floorboards. I’m aware of him watching me, hovering at the edge of the hearth like he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to sit. I wish he would.
