Page 82 of A Sweet Destruction

My eyebrows pulled together in confusion. “Why? They shouldn’t know who I am. At least not what I look like.”

I was sure there was at least some degree of infamy attached to the business we ran. Black market goods were coveted for their rarity and their illicit nature.

“They do not know you from your business.” Caspian’s voice was thick with a laugh, as if I’d said something immeasurably silly. “They know you for your other exploits.”

His words were well-timed with someone passing us by, their eyes blowing comically wide when they saw me. Or saw my Mark, rather. It was my hand that did it, the head of the snake. “They know me by my Mark,” I whispered.

Caspian laughed again, this time in agreement. “I must say, from the stories I’ve heard, you are quite the fierce warrior. And a gallant rescue at that? All for your love? The romance of it all cemented you in infamy, my dear.”

“I-I…” I gave up on saying anything, my shock stealing my ability to critically think. I knew I’d made…a scene when I’d rescued Ford, but I didn’t know I’d risen to the level of legend.

Suddenly, I had the distinct feeling that I would be unable to run from anything anymore.

“Don’t apologize,” Caspian said, mistaking my shock. He patted my arm, a show of friendly affection that felt entirely inappropriate. “You took care of a general that had caused problems far before his ill-advised capture of your Soul Mate.”

“Right,” I said, dazedly, unsure what vague statement of agreement even left my mouth. The memories of that night started flashing in the forefront of my mind like bolts of lightning. The chill of the winter air, the dank smell of the cells, the piercing screams of soldiers. And blood. So much blood.

Through the haze, I could see a figure approaching. My body recognized him before my mind caught up, falling into the strong arms that banded around me. I felt a hand sweep down my face, drawing up enough sensation to pull my focus.

Ford’s face, once my attention formed around it, was etched with concern.

“Ah, the fateful paranima,” Caspian mused, sounding entirely too pleased with himself. “We were just talking about you.”

Ford’s arms tightened around me. “Wipe that smirk off your face, Caspian.”

“Such unkindness!” the young prince exclaimed, loud enough that I was sure we were starting to draw people’s attention. “And here I was about to ask you to share a drink with me to tell your side of the story from your rescue. Surely you have some color to the legend of the Virterran goddess, our sweet serpenia.”

“Goddess, she is,” Ford growled out. If my body wasn’t frozen with fear, my face a sickly white from the lack of blood, I was sure I would have blushed. “Story, however, you will never learn.”

Caspian stomped his foot, a tantrum clear on the horizon. “Heaven forbid, I want to hear a little romance! The last we know of is her gallantly breaking you out of that cell, leaving a trail of bodies in her wake. How was the journey home? Tell me, did she drag your body all the way back to your camp on that tent? That’s where the security footage cuts off on our end. It’s so—”

“That’s enough.” Ford’s voice left no room for argument. Caspian, shockingly, listened. He wanted to hear no more, but the thing was that there was so, so much more.

I was out of his arms, out of the tavern for that matter, before I knew what happened.

It wasn’t until I was around the corner that I realized there were tears streaming down my face.

If I stopped moving, I was pretty sure I’d crumble. Mentally, I could tell my sanity was balancing on thin legs, my body soon to follow. The only thing I could do was pace back and forth the length of the tavern, hastily swiping away the tears that just kept falling.

“Esme. Esme.” I looked up to see Ford calling my name. Huh.

I wondered how long he was doing that. With a little chuckle, I went back to my pacing. That felt good. Fourteen paces, turn. Fourteen paces, turn.

“Esme, stop. Please.”

Thirteen paces, turn. A wider stride made my heart beat faster. Good. Thirteen paces, turn. Thirteen paces—

“Hey, is everything okay out here?”

“Soren!” I said, like a child would at a fluffy dog. Then another memory flashed, this time of Soren hovering over me, his hands pulled together and pressing into my chest. The blinding pain that followed, my bones bending under the weight of his compressions.

Twelve paces now, back and forth.

“I got it, man,” some very angry-sounding animal that also happened to speak our language said. I looked around, expecting to find a bear and only found two very tall, very imposing figures staring at each other.

Soren ignored Ford’s glowering and stepped in front of me, placing his hands on my shoulders to stop my movements. “Esme, is everything okay?”

Oh no, there went my knees. Even as I was attempting a nod to Soren’s question—surely I was fine—I felt my legs give out.