“We should give our report.” Avian doesn’t look at me when he says those quiet little words, but I can see the guilt in his gray eyes.
Good.
He should feel guilty.
Zilo though, he’s staring at me like he finally wants to call a truce. The set of his lips is uneasy like he wishes to say more but he doesn’t possess the kind of words I’d want to hear.
And we both know that.
Finally, Zilo gives in. He does. He just does it wrong. And instead of amending the broken relationship we’ve never fixed, he turns away and leads the other two men out to give that Goddessdamn important High Hell report.
One by one they exit through the glossy door frame. It’s a slow leave of them walking away, so slow that Roman has time to glance back my way, his lips parting without sound. The hurt in the room is a living, breathing thing that presses down on me.
Does it press into him too?
His attention stays locked on me, his hand lingering on the doorknob.
Say something!
Anything.
Say fucking anything.
Please.
He lazily pulls the handle, and the door glides closed behind them with a quiet, whispered click.
Then the dampness in my eyes hits my cheeks, and I can’t seem to stop it all from coming. The pressure in my chest is too much and forces out the tears faster and faster until I can’t hear anything but my racing pulse in my ears.
“I shouldn’t have come here,” I scold myself.
“Yes, you should have,” an ominous faraway voice answers.
My shoulders tense as my hands fist at my sides, and I’m on the defense in the silent bedroom.
Alone.
The beast deep inside me vibrates against my chest with a roaring warning that doesn’t translate against my lips. I suddenly wish my father wasn’t so adamant about hiding mynatural form. I should have shifted at a young age and embraced that side of me.
Now I’m twenty-one, and the creature is lost inside myself.
And I’m just a fool for thinking my own strength is enough in a realm of immeasurable power.
I scan the room from left to right. The dark colors of the walls, the floors, the furniture and bedding, it all bleeds into one blanket of blackness. Nothing’s there.
Her face flashes white right in front of me, and I lash out without hesitation. The sting of my palm against her face is a snapping sound.
I flinch harder than she does from the realization of what I’ve done.
I slapped the Night Witch…
Fuck.
Her pencil thin eyebrows lift high, and she blinks away whatever she feels from the hard sting of my skin against hers.
“I-I’m sorry, Creatchin,” I say with my shoulders held tight and my words tasting far more formal than I’ve ever tried to be in my entire life.
“Don’t be.” A hint of a smile pulls at her black lips. “Don’t ever be sorry, Cersia. Don’t drown in your emotions of uncertainty. Uncertainty solves nothing! Actions do.” Her thin hands fold one over the other, and I notice how slender her frame is and how beautiful the glittering black lace is that covers her in a wafting floor length gown.
