Page 11 of At The End There Was You

But just when he was about to open his mouth to speak, she came to his side and put a cold compress to his brow. Stunned, he stood there, watching up at her with wide eyes as she wrapped it around his head and tied it securely.

“It helps,” she plainly said, and returned to her seat. “I’ll change it after half an hour when the ice has melted.”

He was going to tell her. He swore it. Instead, he said, “I see.” And then, not very patiently, he waited for that half an hour to pass so she could change it.

She brushed her fingers through his hair after taking off the compress, and Azriel’s body went taunt at the soothing feel. “I’m sorry, it’s all soaked. I’ll get a towel.”

He didn’t stop her. Not when she returned and dried his hair when he was perfectly capable of doing so himself. “You’ve done this before.”

“My mother used to get bad headaches. No one could even get a word in with her because she’d be annoyed at their sound of breathing. But the cold helped. I’d like to think so, at least.” She bit her lip hard as if she was considering telling him something else or not. “Then I heard the maids say that she’d taken so much medicine, she’d be numb even after the grave.” Winter pulled back, a lost helpless look etched in her features. “In truth, I’m not sure if it does anything at all. I just…don’t like not doing anything.”

“It helped.” He lied. “Both the chamomile and this. I’m not so sure about the chocolate though.”

Her amber eyes came a bit more alive. “I’ll bring you more. Maybe the dose was too small.”

His stomach cramped at the thought, but he nodded and forced his mouth to move and say, “Maybe.”

She folded the towel and held it against her stomach. “Anything yet? All you’ve read are history books, none that even mention events with Death’s involvement. Should you not be looking at ancient spells or something?”

“Or something,” he said, stretching back in his seat. “Any you recommend?”

She raised a brow at him. “A joke, I believe?”

“No, honestly curious you might actually have a spell or something. Do you?”

She scrunched her nose and Azriel withheld a smile at the smidge of frustration she showed. “No, but Francina, our cook, might. Her rosemary and onion soup can make you walk the lands of the dead and raise you from the grave at the same time. We can throw that at Death and just hope it works.”

“That might actually be the best idea anyone has come up with so far.”

“I’m going to pretend that was a joke.”

He drummed his fingers on the table, and humorously said, “It was a joke, Winter. He’d most probably dodge it. The whole thing would be futile, and the soup would go to waste. Imagine all those people who wish to tour the land of the dead and be raised from the grave right after.”

She blinked fast. “That was another joke.”

Azriel raised both hands up. “Swear that it wasn’t.” He glanced at the clock and sighed. He’d kept her too late again. “Go. I will see you tomorrow, Winter.” She had to leave, or she would never, just to keep Azriel questioning. He was starting to enjoy it.

Before she reached the library door, she spun to him again. “Do you not rest?”

“I’d hate for anyone to think I am a spinless crook who does not care. A few days without rest will not kill me.” He knew he was no spineless crook, but he also knew he did not care, not even a little. And in five days, he’d be free from the burden he’d taken on his shoulders. The same burden he was still uncertain why he’d taken upon himself to complete when he knew finer men than him had rejected it, given up on saving what couldn’t be saved. The realm was meant to die, and few had defied that fate. All those that had done so were only those terrified of dying, none who wished to live so much as they were afraid of dying.

Her mouth twitched and Azriel wished he’d said something else and prodded her smile to return, to see it just one more time for the day.

Just as she left, another shadow filled the periphery of his sight. The High Priestess remained silent at a wrongly estimated safe distance from him. There was no distance where one had ever been safe from him. But he usually allowed others of such a commodity, only for the peace of his mind though, dealing with fearful creatures was one of his greatest dislikes.

“Miriam,” he acknowledged. “What do I owe the displeasure?”

“You left the library quarters last night. We agreed upon your arrival that you would not do such a thing if you wished to remain here.”

So, she’d had him followed. Had she also seen whom he’d visited last night? Whom he’d watched sleep?

At the rise of his cruel smile, she staggered one slow step back. “I have no intention to harm anyone here.” When he turned to face her, she staggered a few more steps back. “If you were so worried about the wellbeing of your acolytes, why did you allow Winter to be in my presence? Alone, at that. I could have had a town librarian brought here. Is she your spare?”

Her mouth opened and shut a few times, and an even cruller laughter left Azriel, the sound booming in the empty library tower that suddenly filled with shadows of dead souls and creeping monsters that normally hid in the shadows. “Seven days were too much. One would have been enough, you know. To convince Death that not one thing in this realm is worth saving.” Azriel slumped in his seat and sighed. “How long will you disguise the rotting roots you pray to? Will you tell them that their adoration of Life will not make up for the decay of their soul?”

“Human nature comes with goodness and sinfulness. How can you blame us for our nature?”

“I blame all despite their nature if they will not take responsibility for their sin.” He stood. “Pray harder, Miriam. Perhaps one of these days your God will listen and at least have a good laugh.”