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Has it truly been that long?
All that time and Asmo hasn’t even twitched a finger. I’ve had to check to ensure his heart is still beating in that scarred, thick chest of his, and if it weren’t for the faint hint of his snores now, and the deep rise and fall of chest, I likely would again.
I don’t know what will happen if he doesn’t wake up, or worse,succumbs. Will my light simply go out? Will I be torn from my body and dragged into the veil with him, or will I spontaneously combust?
For that alone, I haven’t left his side. I’ve lived in this room, breathing the same air. Griffin has brought me food and books to keep me company, but the more time passes, the deeper the worry settles into my bones.
I can’t even be mad at him for attempting such a thing while my life is tethered to his, because he saved all those people. People my flesh and blood killed. They deserve to live and if it means my life ends along with him to right the wrong my father has committed, then so be it. It’s still scary as hell, though, and all I can hope for is my end to be painless.
"Valeria," Griffin calls softly from the doorway, his voice soft and by far the quietest I’ve ever heard it before. "It's time to get up."
A reluctant groan escapes my lips as I rise to a sitting position in the bed, dragging the thick blankets around me to stave off the chill that wraps around my arms the moment they’re exposed to the morning air. Ears twitching slightly, I rub the remnants of sleep from my eyes. "I can't leave. If I leave, he might not get his shadow back."
"Trust me," Griffin says, strolling into the room to stand next to Asmo’s side of the bed. He reaches out, fingers brushing Asmo's hand as he closes his eyes in concentration. "His shadow is regenerating. He'll be whole again soon."
"But why hasn't he woken up?" My voice is barely above a whisper, my throat constricting and managing to become even drier than it was a second ago.
If it’s not his soul keeping him comatose, then what is?
Griffin shrugs, the action far too casual for the gravity of our situation, but then again he seems to be casual about everything. "Why does Asmo do anything?" He sighs deeply, sinking next to me on the bed. "This kind of magic doesn't just harm the soul; it drains your body and pushes its limits. He's healing internally, but he’s very much alive, just needs time."
“You know that for sure?” Griffin’s eyes dart away from mine.I didn’t think so.“How much time?” I search his face for answers, but he’s schooled it, revealing nothing.
He weighs his head side to side. "I wish I knew." Slapping his hands on his knees, he stands, offering me a hand, a silent demand for me to heed his earlier order to get up. "What I do know is that bathing, changing your clothes, and eating a proper meal won't kill him."
Casting one last glance at Asmo’s sleeping form, I reluctantly place my hand in Griffin’s, but I make no effort to get up. "I don't want to leave him. He shouldn’t wake alone.”
"He'll be fine, Valeria. He likes being alone." Griffin squeezes my hand reassuringly, then jerks me from the bed. "Let him rest, but in the meantime, you need to take care of yourself." He leads me from the room, my feet fumbling to keep up with his long legs and fast pace. It’s like he knows I might change my mind and barricade myself in the room if he wastes a single second.
"A bath and some fresh air will do you some good.” He opens my bedroom door and pushes me inside. “I’ll meet you downstairs for breakfast." Griffin props his hands on his hips. “Now, can I trust you to take it from here, or do you need me to watch?” His eyes drop down my body, a wicked smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “I’m not opposed to it.”
“No, I got it,” I say, resisting the urge to look through Asmo’s doorway. It doesn’t feel right to leave him, but if Griffin says it’s safe… He knows more about this than I do.
He clasps his hands together, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Good girl, now hop to it. The chef has prepared a meal."
"The chef?" I ask skeptically.
"Indeed," Griffin nods, the corners of his mouth twitching like he’s tampering down his amusement. "As it turns out, one of the ghosts Asmo brought back was the chef here, and he might onlybe able to communicate via charades, but he seems to know his way around the kitchen."
Before I can respond, he’s halfway down the spiral staircase, and I resign myself to getting cleaned up. Entering my room, I find a gargoyle woman clutching a broom, her movements jerky and uncoordinated as if she isn't quite used to her new body. She nearly drops the broom at the sight of me, her stone eyes wide with surprise. For a moment, we simply stare at each other, blinking, unsure how to proceed.
A strange sense of unease settles over me as I study her, spotting the simple apron wrapped around her rocky body and her stone features resembling what I assume was her human face.
"Um, hello," I say, stepping closer with caution. "Thank you, but I don't need a maid. I can clean up after myself," I tell her, trying to sound polite and attempting to give her a smile, but finding it harder than it should be. I can’t seem to muster the energy.
Maybe Griffin was right. I need to eat something more than the small snacks he’s brought upstairs—a real meal.
The gargoyle woman continues to gawk at me, then utters a single, unintelligible, "Eep."
“Is that your name?” My brows furrow together.
The poor gargoyle woman looks like she wants to flee, but instead, offers an uncoordinated shake of her head, the stones of her body rattling and grinding from the movement.
“I'm not sure I understand."
“EEEEp,” she says again, dragging it out this time.
All I can do is give her a blank stare.
