I blinked back the tears blurring my vision, my stomach twisting. “As you wish, Grandmother.” Always as you wish.
She nodded, satisfied, and left me alone. I was sinking against the wall, crying into my fist.
My chest tightened, cold washing over me. My teeth chattered.
The cold. I knew that cold. No. No. No.
Not a vision, not now. Please. Please!
The chills continued, my breathing shallow.
It took me a few minutes, but I realized, it wasn’t a vision. It was something else. Panic. Breathing was becoming difficult. I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to scream and cry and run after my grandmother and beg her to take care of me—yet some dark part of me hoped I found her at the top of the stairs, so I could push her down.
I clutched at my chest with my unbroken hand, unable to stop my teeth from chattering. My vision blurred, my heart racing so fast it hurt. I felt like I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t get enough air. Not inside these four walls, not inside this room. Everything was tight, everything hurt.
I couldn’t be in here, couldn’t stay here.
I was out in the hall a moment later, stumbling like a drunk, one hand to support me against the wall as I walked aimlessly, moving without thinking, heading toward the corridors which lead into the Heir’s wing.
The freezing cold washed over me, my teeth chattering. I was unbound, but I could barely do magic now. Not with my broken hand; not this injured or tired. I couldn’t stop shaking or stop the pain in my chest.
A minute later, I was aware of Eric and Bellamy, my loyal escorts trailing my shadow. They didn’t speak. I didn’t know any more if I could trust them. If their loyalty was to me, or just the coin my grandmother gave them.
I realized I hadn’t just been wandering. I’d come to a room. A room I didn’t even know I’d been searching for until I arrived and knocked.
A minute later, Naria opened the door, her blonde hair in a loose messy braid. She’d wrapped a robe around herself, her blue eyes fuzzy with sleep.
“Tristan?” she asked, then her eyes widened as she took me in. My injuries. My sling. The red in my eyes. The tears. She frowned. “What? What the hell’s going on with you? What are you doing here?” Her voice filled with disdain.
“Naria, I’m sorry,” I said, feeling the eyes of my escorts on my back. My stomach turned. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know what you’re doing here?” She placed her hand impatiently on her hip.
“I know we’re not—that we don’t—fuck.” I was trembling. “Please, just, can I come in?” I rested my head against the doorframe. “I don’t—didn’t have anywhere else to go.”
Her eyes narrowed, looking me up and down, then stopping on my broken hand, the splint, and the sling, before staring beyond me, flashing on Bellamy and Eric. She exhaled sharply and let out a sigh. “Fine. Come in.”
She closed the door behind me, took my uninjured arm and led me to the bed, sitting me down on the edge.
I burst into tears. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I know we’re not—that we don’t. I just—I couldn’t be alone. I couldn’t be alone.”
She sat down wordlessly beside me. “Your stave?” she asked, sounding almost bored.
“My-my stave?”
“Yes. Pull it out,” she snapped.
“What?”
“Myself to fucking Moriel,” she hissed. “Cast a silencing spell.”
My eyes widened in confusion.
“I’m a soturion, I can’t do it,” she said. “Neither can my escorts.”
I nodded, suddenly understanding and retrieving the stave from my belt, casting the spell around the room with what little energy I had left.
When the small buzzing sound stopped, and faint blue light around the room stilled, I knew the spell was in place.
