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He met me but once. He does not know what type of person I am or how horrible and foolish my decisions have been lately.
He does not get to declare a verdict for me when I know my mistake is unforgivable. He does not get to hold that power, nor will I let him.
Something bursts up from inside me, and I let it out. I attack without thought, without the bounds or confines I normally give myself.
I let it out because, somehow, I know he can take it. And he does, with ease. Each hard clash of my blade, each swift turn and attack. He moves with me as if he knows how and where I’ll move and follows.
I stop thinking. I stop letting fear and pain shove me down, and I just move. I let my body do what it was born to do.
Attack. Defend. Block. Counter. Strike.
The clash of steel becomes a music that soothes, the swift spins and stride my dance. I get lost to the dance, to the elegant entwine of our swords, the retreat and rise of each step.
I let go this time and allow myself to feel nothing. To let everything around me fade away.
The slash of my sword becomes more precise, my movements more swift.
“I knew you were holding back,” Kestral says, looking more intrigued than angry. But my moment of sweet oblivion is quickly ripped from me with the sound of his soft voice. It jolts through me, and everything rushes back.
The pain. The self-loathing. The endless tightness that suffocates.
It’s enough to distract me to make another foolish mistake. And before I realize it, he has his blade blocking mine and forcing me backward, my steps losing their footing as he shoves me up against a wall.
The cold brick slides against my back as he leans into me, the swords still crossed between us.
The sound of our heavy breathing mingles as he pushes even closer to me, forcing me to look up at him and into his eyes.
But what I find there nearly breaks me entirely.
A newfound admiration that’s slightly masked by a sliver of frustration. A strange longing that I don’t quite understand. A disbelief but one that I feel is more for himself than anything else. A stunned bewilderment. Sympathy. Compassion.
Butnotpity. Or judgment. Or anger or suspicion.
Or any of the other things I’ve been placing upon myself.
He’s given me a glimpse into his own soul, and in this quiet moment between us, I allow myself to feel vulnerable, powerless.To feel the regret and remorse for my actions without letting them swallow me whole.
“It. Is.Not.Your fault,” he says, each word a definitive statement on its own.
“Ibrought it here. It ismyfault. The blame is solely on me. If the blame is not mine, then whose is it?” I glance away from him and those eyes that want me to reveal every secret I behold.
He steps back from me, and my sword falls with a clank to the ground. Exhaustion finally makes its presence known, hitting me with the force of a steel ton.
I glance away, hoping the guards will come soon to take me back to my cell. Whichever one they choose.
“The one who set it free,” Kestral replies, making me pause.
I look back at him with a question in my eyes, and his own brighten when he sees it.
“You were followed and betrayed. Yourfriendreleased it.”
The wordfriendsounds like a twisted thorn on his tongue. But what he means finally hits me, making me freeze.
I don’t have many friends here at the palace. For him to assume I am this person’s friend means he would have to have seen me with them.
Which means I must know the person who released the dark creature.
Rage spears through me, ripping the numbness and heavy exhaustion from my mind and body.
