AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Years he had stood by my side and he hadn’t said a word, not when I was sobbing and alone, not all the times he had saved me. I knew I should be upset, but I couldn’t even get my mind around it.
He could talk; and worse, he served my Mother. I had heard it, but I had also read his journal. I had also seen my brother, my kind and gentle brother, punch him and promise more lashings. More. As though the Boy had had them before. As though Batian had been the one to deliver them.
Everything, absolutely everything I knew in this world was turning on its head. That fluttering nausea from before was making a grand comeback.
I was missing something, but if he could talk, I was going to find out exactly what.
He could talk. By the Goddess! He could talk!
“I don’t enjoy these conversations, Boy. Do what you were trained to do or there will be consequences.” Batian’s voice hissed through the open gap in the door.
“Yes, your majesty. You have my promise.”
“Good. Because I’m done giving you chances. If something else like this happens,” Batian laughed then, the sound harsh and high before the grind of leather on leather echoed, a low grunt issued alongside it. “Don’t fail me, Boy.”
I was frozen, listening to the Boy's pained breaths as the quick steps of Batian’s boots took him in the other direction.
I stood, staring at the door as I waited for him to enter, waited for answers.
After a few moments the door slowly opened, the Boy stepping in on those silent feet. He froze as he turned, the door shutting behind him as he saw me standing there, staring.
“You can talk,” I said after a minute, trying to swallow down the large knot that had taken up residence in my throat.
He said nothing, he didn’t even move.
“All this time, you could speak, and…” that knot in my throat was getting bigger. “You work for my mother.”
That time he stepped forward, his head furiously shaking as he clicked twice. ‘No.’
“No, what?” I demanded. He clicked and shook his head.
“Answer. I heard you speak. You said you serve my mother. You said you serve the Queen.” He clicked again and as though I was caught in the landslide of emotion, all of that fury I should have felt the second I heard him talk released.
“Don’t click. Don’t gesture. I heard you talk. Talk!” I yelled the words, taking two steps forward. My eyes burned, my body ached, every inch of me was tied in tight balls of agony as that heat continued to ripple below my skin. But he stood there, shaking his head.
“Why won’t you say anything!” I was roaring now. “You’ve always been there. You’ve always supported me. But you serve my mother, and now… now you won’t talk?” I pushed, still nothing. “I heard you, you know, in the fight. I heard you yelling. You’ll talk then, you’ll talk to Batian… but not… not now… not to me.”
The burning in my eyes was boiling over, tears that I had spent so many days of my life refusing to shed breaking through that carefully crafted dam.
He exhaled, the sound sharp and stuttered as he stripped off his gloves, throwing the things to the ground as he raced to me. Those soft, hot hands cupped my face, lifting my gaze to him, lifting me toward the expanse of black that was him.
That had always been him.
For one breath I expected him to rip that off too, I expected to stare into his eyes for the first time. But he didn’t move, he was frozen, his hands hot, his breath rattling through the dark fabric to whisper over my lips.
“Don’t cry, Elara.” His spoke in barely more than a gasp, the deep rumble that I had heard in the arena and in the hall drifting between us. “I never like to see you cry.”
Eyes wide, I stared at him, those tears still falling. Placing my hands over his, I shuddered as his thumbs moved over my cheeks, all of the warmth between us fluttering over my skin.
“Who… who are you?” I asked the question I had wanted to ask so many times before, the question that burned between us like a hot iron, but he shook his head.
“I’m yours, Elara. I always will be. Dalyah is… I… Please trust me. I do not willingly work for her, but cannot say any more.” His hands cradled me softly as he leaned in, that shroud pressing against my forehead with the pressure of what I would assume was his lips, the burn of a promise fluttering between us.
He didn’t even touch me, but my stomach spun all the same, the anger trying to dislodge itself at that touch, at that soft promise.
I looked up, trying to see him, to see anything. There was nothing but black fabric. My hand shook as I lifted it, pressing it against the shroud where his cheek should be. His jaw tensed as I pressed my palm to his face. For a moment it felt almost as if he was right there and there was nothing between us.
His hot breath drifted over my forehead as we stood there, his lips against my skin, his hands soft against my face. My hands pressed against his cheeks, surprised to feel the wetness there.
