"Did he hurt you again?" Aziel snarled.
Nymiria shook her head frantically, stubbornly declaring to herself that even if Dorid had struck her, she still would not have uttered a word of it. She was still angry with Aziel, still too riddled with her own shame to even deign a response. Him saving her was a catalyst to her swooning for him all over again. Aziel was the epitome of a savior she always longed for, but she never thought that she'd start falling in love with him.
Her body went rigid, her eyes snapping up to meet his in fear that he'd been perusing through her thoughts. He gave no signs that anything besides her current circumstances were bothering him. He just looked worried.
Drawing in a breath, Nymiria righted herself, stepping away from the gentle touch of his hands. "I…" Her eyes flickered to Oran, who was standing by one of the windows with his fingers pressed against the sides of his head, massaging them slowly. "Thank you both. For your help. But I do believe that I will be taking my leave now."
"Nym—" Aziel reached for her as she turned away, but he did not follow.
It was strange, really. All of the other times she'd been wallowing in her emotional distress, he was right on her heels. Maybe he'd truly grown tired of her, or perhaps he had enough kindness in him to not continue goading her like he'd done before. Either way, she was not fond of it. She half-hoped that he'd distract her from her embarrassment, that they would argue and everything would just go back to the way it was.
The moment she entered her room, she let Dorid's cape and her tattered dress fall into a pile on the floor. She grabbed one of her simpler cotton dresses from the armoire, blinking back tears as she pulled it over her head and let the soft fabric swish down around her ankles before slipping her robe over it and cinching at the waist. But it was not near enough to rid her body of the feeling of unwanted exposure.
Nymiria rushed to the bathroom, nails clawing at the skin of her arms until she reached the tub. She turned the water as hot as possible, placing the stopper in thedrain and watching as the steaming water filled nearly to the brim. There was not an ounce of dignity left inside of her, her thoughts muddled by the aching in her bones.
She climbed into the tub, clothes and all, and sank as far under the water as the tub would allow. Water sloshed over the sides, spilling onto the floor, but she couldn't hear it. All she could hear was the gurgled scream that escaped her mouth, the feeling of the blisteringly hot water burning her skin.
She could claw, scratch, and tear at the flesh. She could wash it a thousand times, but it would never rid her of the sensation of an unwanted touch.
By the time the water began to run cold, Nymiria finally pulled herself from the tub. The skin on the tips of her fingers and toes were wrinkled and pruned, her hair half-dry and dripping at the ends as she took wet steps back into her bedroom. The sun was still high, nearing two, if she was calculating correctly. Which meantthat both Aziel and Oran were doing their rounds and Desi would probably be tending to the other courtesans for their social hour.
She was alone.
And while she could have donned a dress and glamoured herself to the image of perfection, there was the likely chance that the guards that were stationed outside of Dorid's office had already begun to spread word of what'd happened, surely giving a twisted tale of her indiscretions and painting her to be the devilish seductress they all believed her to be.
The cawing of a crow drew her attention to her window. Squinting against the rare appearance of sunlight, she frowned and watched as the crow pecked and scraped at the glass of Aziel's window.
Was he feeding the damned birds? Is that why they circled around this tower at all times of the day? Or were they just as attracted to his gorgeously terrifying morbidity as she was?
With a huff, Nymiria shoved herself away from the glass and walked towards her door. There was none of that fear she felt when she first crept into his room to steal from his books, only curiosity.
His room was nearly the same as it'd been a few nights ago, save for rumpled sheets and a few more missing items. Which, she believed, had a lot to do with the fact that he was slowly moving his belongings into his palace in Eadyn. She ran her finger along a locked trunk, her finger scraping through the dust to form a single line on the stained mahogany as she neared the window.
The crow was still pecking away at the glass, squawking and making those terrifying clicking sounds that sounded like some sort of secret language. She smiled to herself as she watched the bird throw its tantrum. Only when the bird whacked its head into the glass did she pull away, her brow furrowing as she watched the bird's head turn to the side, its eyes focused on the wall behind her.
She slowly turned to the wall, teeth biting at the inside of her cheek as she strode towards the cloth that was definitely covering a picture of some sort that was hung over a large wax-coated table. Nymiria let her fingers trail over the droplets of wax, over a single stone that was perched in the center of the table. A gray stone with old runes carved into it that matched the runes on the podium in the forest.
If she'd been smarter, she wouldn't have reached for the cloth covering the painting on the wall. She would have turned around and gone right back to her room. Nymiriawasvery intelligent, but when it came to her curiosity, she was as bright as a burnt-out candle.
She didn't know what to expect when uncovering the frame, but the moment the image of moonflowers began peaking out from where she'd pulled the cloth back, she had the strangest feeling that she knew what waited for her underneath.
With a rough tug, the cloth finally fell away, simultaneously revealing the painting, but also knocking the gray stone and a glass bowl from the table. The glass shattered, splintering and scattering across the floor. Nymiria released the cloth from her grasp, immediately kneeling and began plucking the glass shards off of the ground.
One of the tiny fragments caught the skin of her thumb, making a clean cut down the side. She cursed under her breath at the sight of the blood dripping on the floor and rush to grab the cloth that covered the painting. By the time she'dnearly picked all of the glass up off of the floor and onto the sheet, she bundled it up and tucked it under her arm. Nymiria rose to her feet, eyes moving over the painting with a heavy feeling in her heart.
She was almost certain that Aziel was the God of Death—the new one, anyway—so it made no sense to her why he'd have a painting of another god on his wall, nor why he would have an altar dedicated to her in his rooms. A frown formed on her face when she remembered the fallen stone. She leaned down just enough to snatch it off the ground, but the moment the stone fit into the curve of her palm, it pressed into the cut on the inside of her thumb as more blood began spilling from the fresh cut.
At the tingling of power that was now coming from the stone, Nymiria's whole body went still. She lifted the stone to look at it closer, watching as her blood ran through the runes that decorated it, runes that were familiar to her, but nearly indecipherable due to the weathered state of the stone.
The God Stone.
As soon as the words flashed through her, Nymiria tossed the stone across the room, letting out a hiss of a breath as it rolled to a stop in front of the trunk.
The trunk that was once closed when she'd first walked into the room was now open. After she'd taken the book of witchcraft from Aziel's room, she swore to herself that she wouldn't sneak through his things again, but between the crow, the painting, and the stone, Nymiria knew that none of this was due to some coincidence. No matter how small or seemingly insignificant, nothing truly happened without reason.
Sparing a quick glance at the crow in the window, Nymiria took small and quiet steps in the direction of the trunk. When the contents came into view, she lowered herself onto her knees and reached inside, sifting through the objects. There were candles and collections of stones and gems, pieces of gorgeous jewelry, and a couple of gowns. There was a knit blanket wrapped around and a stuffed rabbit so tattered that its limbs were hanging on by threads. At the very bottom, though, was a black leather journal embossed with silver lettering.
Lilith Haze.
