It is hard to believe I’m really here though. On Llinos’s home soil. The place I was meant to come and live with her. Colourful tapestries hang on the walls, and my view out over the water is one of perfect crystal blue.
‘I wish you were here with me, Llin,’ I whisper as I sling my legs over the edge of the bed, only to catch my reflection in a mirror. Despite being bedridden for a couple of days, I still look strong. It’s actually hard to believe it’s my body I’m looking at. My ribs are no longer visible, but there’s no fat on me. Just thick, corded muscle. I look like I always wanted to when I was younger.
Like a warrior.
Just as Kyor said, the bath is plenty big enough for two, and the water is steaming. When it’s half full, I slide my body under the surface, closing my eyes as I breathe in the scent of the bath oils. Maybe I should feel nervous about being in water so soon after nearly drowning, but I don’t. Ifeel at peace. Then again, maybe that’s just the paparvy, though I don’t feel floaty and weird any longer.
Only when my eyes start to cycle back into sleep do I pull myself out of the bath and wrap myself in the thickest, fluffiest robe I’ve ever seen, which I found hanging on the back of the door. I may have been living in the High Hold for the past two months, but I sure as hell haven’t been living a court life – this brief moment is enough to remind me of that. Now there’s a real chance I will.
The final eight. The odds have never been better, but I’m well aware that this is no time to relax. There are still seven other competitors, each as desperate for the gifting as I am, and three of them I consider good friends, if not more. No, it’s not going to be easy.
As I tie the belt of the robe around my waist, there’s a knock on the door. The deep voice of what I assume is a guard follows. ‘Miss Kultavaris, you have a visitor.’
‘Send them in,’ I call back, checking that the robe’s knot is secure and I’m presentable. I assume it will be Benny or Jonas, but it’s not. It’s Zara. I feel my mouth gawping, not just because she’s here, but also because of how normal she looks. No weapons. No snarl. And her hair has grown so much since we began this thing that it now covers a large amount of the scar my fire bead caused all those months ago. It takes me a minute to get over my shock.
‘Are you lost?’
It’s not the warmest welcome, but it could still stand to be a darn sight colder than it is. I remember what Kyor said about the guard being there for anything I need and wonder if perhaps I should call him to take her away, but I half suspect that Zara wants me to show that I’m still afraid of her. I’m not.
A slight smile quirks at the corners of her lips. A smile because she wants to attack me? It would be a great time to do it. By opening up the wounds the water caused in my lungs, she could drown me right here on dry land.
As the thought arises, I’m shocked to feel a tingle of magic spread through my palms. Is this what my power does? Raises its head when I feel threatened? From what’s happened so far that makes sense, although it still doesn’t answer the question of where the hell it came from. All magic flows to Mortidem upon death, so how in the Gods’ names did that spectre on the ice pass some to me?
‘I’m not lost.’ Zara takes a seat on the edge of the bed. ‘I just saw Kyor.Judging by the inane smile on his face, I assumed you were awake so thought I’d come and apologise.’
I raise my eyebrows so high I’m sure they hit my hairline. ‘You’re going to have to be a bit more specific than that.’
She exhales sharply. ‘I’m sorry I attacked you when you first arrived. And again after Shim died. I was wrong to lash out.’
The way her jaw clenches, it’s as though it’s physically painful for her to get the words out. Not that I’m complaining at all.
‘And in the battle yard?’ I question. ‘You remember? You were all literally trying to kill me.’
‘That was Hold—’ she snarls, only to cut herself off. ‘That too.’
I try to read her face, see if there’s any sign of trickery, but whatever my new powers are, they don’t stretch to lie-detecting.
Silence fills the room.
She really does look genuine, and having one more ally in this thing would definitely be more useful than keeping her as an enemy, but I’m not going to respond with something as trite as ‘apology accepted.’ A two-minute conversation doesn’t negate everything she’s tried to do to me up until now.
‘I appreciate you taking the time to say that,’ I reply in what I believe is a fair answer.
She nods, only to remain where she is, looking at me as though she expects me to say more. When she realises that isn’t going to happen, she stands up and walks to the door, only to hesitate. ‘Maybe as a gesture of goodwill I could paint your sigils for tonight.’
I frown. ‘Tonight?’
My stomach lurches. They can’t be doing the Ofur tonight, can they? Or maybe they can. It’s been three days and the others are probably all well-rested. But how would they already know it’s happening? There have been no chimes, have there?
‘It’s tradition on the Isles,’ Zara interrupts my mental spiral. ‘People wear their sigils for balls and formal occasions. I’m sure they’ve got some paint in one of these drawers.’ She moves over to the dresser and sure enough, she pulls out a palette. ‘See? I mean, you can check with Kyor when he gets back, but that’s how it’s always been every time I’ve attended a ball here. I don’t see why it’d be any different now.’
Can I really do that? Let her paint my sigils? Pretend I actually like her? There are only three people I’ve ever let paint them before: my parents and Kyor. She’s not a name I want to add to the list.
‘Thank you for telling me and for the offer, but I like to do it myself. As a sign of respect, you know?’
She nods. ‘I understand. I should let you get ready.’ For a second time, she turns to leave, but once again she hesitates, this time to reach to her belt and withdraw a dagger. She’s not seriously going to try that now, is she? Would she kill me for not letting her paint my sigils?
The tingle in my palm grows stronger and a pulse begins in my chest, the energy rolling through my veins. The tingling turns into a deep throb as she turns the blade around, hilt towards me. Offering it to me. What the fuck?
