Sweat beads at my temples as I attempt one more set of press ups. My arms shake with the effort of pushing myself back up again. I feel a trail of sweat trickle down my sternum and into the thin tank top I’m wearing. It is much too late to be doing this, but I hadanothernightmare last night. Once again, I was trapped in that never -ending fog, only this time, I reached the archway and heard that strange far away voice again. But the second I put my palms to the stone, I was pushed all the way back to the start of the dream and catapulted into an endless loop of running for the gate, touching it and never being able to escape.
My plan tonight is to exert myself so much that hopefully I’ll be so exhausted and sleep so deeply, that my brain won’t have the energy to create a prison dream. That’s what I’m calling that place now. It’s endless and slightly terrifying.
As my chest brushes the floor, I exhale and grit my teeth, then push myself up. Once, twice, three times with a sharp short breath in between each one.
I’ve been meaning to ask Tilly if she could try to decipher what my dreams might mean. I know she’s had her fair share of reoccurring ones, but I completely forgot today. I tell myself I’ll do three more press ups and then I’m done. I can’t recall how long I’ve been down here exercising myself into exhaustion, all I know is that I’m sticky with sweat and I feel simply minutes away from sprawling out on the floor and sleeping with the dust balls.
I’m just about to start back up again when I hear the lock of my door unclicking. I pause, then quickly spin my body around into a sitting position, expecting Lillian to waltz on in. The door opens but it’s Sebastian’s dark head of hair that appears through the gap.
‘Zain? You’re back.’ I’m out of breath.
His green eyes flick to my bed, presumably where he expects to find me. But upon realising my voice didn’t come from that direction, his gaze falls to where I’m sat, on the floor.
I watch in equal parts fascination and confusion as he trails his gaze up my body. From my bare feet, along my exposed legs and thighs, to the pair of black shorts I’m wearing until he finally reaches my face. My skin breaks out in goosebumps as I feel his gaze lingering on my skin well after it’s gone.
‘Why are you on the floor?’ He walks over to the bed roll and dumps a black bag beside it, before shrugging off the jacket he’s wearing and hanging it by the bathroom door as if he’s done this a hundred times.
‘I-I couldn’t sleep,’ I answer honestly. ‘Um, where’s Lillian?’
‘She asked for the night off. Said she needs to sleep in her own bed tonight.’ He crouches down and starts rifling through the bag.
Oh. I hope my nightmares haven’t been keeping her awake at night.
While he does that, I shift into a cross-legged position as I observe him. I note how messy his hair is, the curls at the nape of his neck sticking out in every direction. There are dark rings under his eyes that seem to deepen when he turns away from the light the lanterns cast on the walls. He looks exhausted. Do they get to sleep at the camp they travelled to? He was only gone for one night, yet he looks like he’s been gone for days.
‘I see you’ve been assaulting the door thoroughly,’ he says as he pulls what looks to be a leather belt out of his bag. My eyes wander over to my door, where there are dozens of cracks in the thick wood. Many, many more than the ones on the bathroom door. All compliments to the dagger beneath my pillow. I’ve been practising every chance I get and I’m happy to say that most of the cracks areinsidethe target I drew. I’m getting better, more precise.
‘I thought I’d get as much use out of it before you came back and rendered me defenceless again.’
‘I never said I’d leave you defenceless. I said I’d have to get you another one.’ He makes his point by pulling out a dagger from his bag and holding it out between us. Leaving me not defenceless, but speechless.
THIRTY-FOUR
‘Here, take it.’ He extends the dagger toward me, breaking the silence.
‘See how it feels.’
My grey eyes clash against his, searching them for deception. For some sort of test. He must be playing me, because why is he handing me a malachite dagger? I haven’t earned this. When he told me he’d find me another one, I assumed he’d meant a second training dagger. Plain, boring, but effective. Not …this.
For a moment I debate refusing it, but something inside of me pushes my hand toward it. I reach out, and his fingertips brush mine ever so gently as I take the hilt in my hand. That small connection sends a jolt of electricity up my arm. He sits back, watching as I turn the dagger over with cautious movements. Carefully, I trail a finger along the flat edge, where a strip of malachite runs down the centre of the blade, caught between the edges of silver steel. Splitting the blade down the middle with swirls of deep green.
‘Stars, this is …’ Words fail me. I look up, unable to quell the emotions I feel swimming in my eyes – it takes us both off guard. I see the moment he tries to look elsewhere, as if he doesn’t know what to do with himself. But ultimately, his gaze falls back to mine. We’ve been at this push -and -pull game for a while now. I don’t know how to navigate this next part. He’s never … given me something before. DoI thank him? Do I nod and get to my feet, and act like this didn’t just throw me completely off balance?
‘Where did you get this?’ I finally ask. ‘I heard they have them forged only a few times a year.’
He swallows thickly before replying. ‘From my room. It’s one of mine.’
‘How did you earn it?’ I find myself wanting to know more, to learn the story behind the blade. Stars, it’s beautiful. A smile curls my lips as I weigh it up and down, testing out the heaviness of it.
‘Doesn’t matter, it’s yours now.’ He juts his chin toward the door. ‘Go on, give it try.’
I don’t waste a second, I leap to my feet and charge to the back of the room. He rises as well, coming to stand beside me with his arms crossed. His expression morphs into the calm assessing gaze he sports when I’m inside the ring.
‘It’s lighter than the one you’ve been practising with,’ he says, ‘So it’ll be easier to control and handle.’
I nod, lifting the dagger into position, and steady my feet. Sebastian shifts beside me and before I can ask what he’s doing, I feel him walk behind me and curl his hand around mine holding the hilt. The sharp intake of my breath is loud; it fills the room. From the corner of my eye, I catch him smirk.
‘You won’t need as much strength when you throw. It’ll leave your hand faster and fly at a higher velocity than Nicks’s daggers,’ he informs me, adjusting my grip on the hilt before stepping back.
