I push the urge to sob back down, blinking to banish any tears. There’s no way I’m going to cry in front of him.
“Here,” Taron says softly, and I wonder if he’s been staring at me again. “You’ll probably need this.” He chucks over a pillow and I catch it.
“Thanks,” I say, but I can’t bring myself to look at him. He doesn’t notice, and he swiftly clicks off the solar lantern beside the bed.
We’re both quiet for a while as I lie back, gazing out of the window at the three moons emerging from beyond the clouds. I close my eyes, my lips murmuring a prayer to the Ancient Spirits, a silent plea to anyone willing to listen.
“You know,” I find myself saying, “this is my first time in the capital. My sister and I used to dream about this place. Elara would open a bakery here, selling cakes to the high and mighty – royals, nobles, affluent city dwellers.”
Taron stays mute, but in the dark, I see he’s focused on the window, the light of the moons glinting in his pupils.
My curiosity gets the better of me. “Something tells me this isn’tyourfirst time. Do you—”
“Stop.”
His abruptness catches me off guard. “I’m just making conversation.”
“Exactly, Maeve. You need to stop. We’re in this together – sure, I get that. But I’ve already told you not to mistakethisfor friendship. I’m here to free myself, OK? Not to bare my soul to anyone who asks.”
“Free yourself?” I ask. “What do you mean by that?”
Taron’s silence lingers. “Let’s call it a night,” he says. “We’ve got a big day tomorrow.” With this, he turns his back on me.
“My name’s not Maeve, by the way,” I breathe into the dark.
But he doesn’t reply.
Chapter Thirteen
I wake in the night to the sound of moaning. At first I think I’m dreaming again, but then I pry my eyes open. I sit upright, senses heightened, heart thrashing wildly.
It takes me a minute to remember where I am.
Who I’m sharing the room with.
Taron groans again before turning over in bed. He’s still asleep, jerking and muttering, words too slurred to be coherent.
I lie down again and try to go back to sleep, surprisingly relieved. I don’t think I can handle another dream with Elara’s emaciated face in it. The darkness of the room spins before me, the way it usually does before my eyes droop shut. But sleep doesn’t come.
I blink, and the darkness keeps spinning. Not the darkness, but a dark energy, twisting and coiling, spiralling in slow, deliberate circles overhead.
Taron mutters in his sleep again, something cryptic, a string of words. I turn my head to see each word materializing as a dark entity – sharp, slender figures hovering over him, too placid to be Soul Wraiths.
They have long sharp nails that trace wicked lines along Taron’s skin, and their gaping mouths reveal a multitude of razor teeth; their long, sinister tongues hungrily lick at the surrounding air.
They’re his inner demons that he works so hard to suppress, freeing themselves in his sleep. I’m surprised at how tangible they are, a stark contrast to the usual formless struggles most people face in their nightmares.
Whatever is tormenting Taron’s mind right now, it must be a true hell.
Good, I think.Let him suffer.
I try to shut my eyes, attempting to ignore the entities, but their energy is potent. They pull at me like a chain, invisible but unbreakable. They taunt me and, even though the entities make no sound, my ears throb. I can’t block them out, yet I have to. This isn’t my fight.
If I were to cleanse Taron’s subconscious of these demons, it might help him – but why should I? He might have watched my sister die. He has made it clear he doesn’t care about me. He’s been blunt and entirely indifferent towards me.
Sure, he allowed me to say goodbye to Elara. He stepped in to help me stand up against Cyrus when I didn’t ask him to. But still, I owe him nothing.
If allowing Taron to be consumed by his own mind means sacrificing a good night’s sleep, so be it. It’s a price I’m willing to pay.
