Through his own sadness and worry, a spark of heat finally cut through it all—anger, boiling white-hot until it drowned out everything else. That same rage against the injustice done to him, which had fueled him from the day he first stepped foot into Drol Kuggradh, now flared anew—this time not toward the warlord or his son, but an elf he had never met. An elf who had held Alwyn’s fate in his hands, and instead of treasuring him as Krujha did, had molded him into a weapon, instilling in him so thoroughly the belief that his only value was in how readily Tessarion could wield his power.
He would do whatever King Ruven told him to do if it would ensure Tessarion was punished for how he’d so callously thrown Alwyn aside, as if he were nothing. If he had to kill the Mage Princeps himself, he would.
Silently, Krujha vowed he would spend the rest of his life ensuring Alwyn knew how precious and valuable he was. He deserved nothing less.
Alwyn’s breathing had finally slowed back to a normal pace, his cries fading, though Krujha could still feel his grief as if it were a physical thing. The elf curled deeper into his embrace, letting himself be encircled entirely. Krujha kissed the top of his head, breathing in the sweet scent of his hair.
“I guess it’s better to figure it out now, instead of alone in a prison cell, like he was hoping,” Alwyn finally said, his voice hollow. Krujha let out a small, humorless huff of a laugh. He kissed him again, but couldn’t bring himself to reply. The thought of what might have happened if Alwyn had taken the fall for Tessarion was too painful to acknowledge.
After a moment, Alwyn spoke again, though the words were faint. “I just want to be done with all this.”
“It’ll be over soon,” Krujha whispered. “One last job, then you can do whatever you want.”
“When this is over,” he mumbled into Krujha’s shoulder. “Will you go with me? I don’t want to ever come back here.”
Krujha pressed him closer, reveling in the warmth of the body wrapped up in his arms. All he could think about now was wanting Alwyn. All his life, he’d been chasing revenge, for so long that it had sustained him; but now it was done, and the only future he could envision was one with Alwyn beside him.
“Anywhere, little spitfire,” he murmured. “I’ll follow you anywhere.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Alwyn
The next few days passed quietly. Ferym continued to work on healing his hands; each evening, some fingers would have more function, as new, tender skin replaced the burns and scars.
He walked a little more each afternoon with Krujha. At first, they just made a slow circuit through the house, then around the courtyard outside, then up and down the street. There were always some stares when they were outside, but orcs in the capital were becoming less of a rarity every day, it seemed, and no one outright bothered them.
As he slowly regained his physical strength, his grief lessened at the same rate. The thought that Tessarion had arranged all of this just to discard him in the end, had possibly even given him this mission with the intention that he would not survive it, devastated him when Krujha said it aloud. But the longer Alwyn turned it over in his mind, the more he thought that perhaps he, too, had suspected as much all along, but had ignored it until it was undeniable. After everything that had happened, the thought of leaving the Order behind, terrifying as it was, had taken on a strange relief, too.When a week had passed, bothof his hands were largely healed, just as Ferym had said. They still felt a little stiff, and the healer couldn’t promise that he would get back the complete range of motion, but they would be entirely functional for basic, necessary tasks. Considering they had been a mess of scar tissue and blistering wounds when he’d arrived, Alwyn would gladly take them.
Though his course of treatment was concluded, Ferym wanted to keep him close for a few more days of observation just to be sure, so they kept their rooms. It was just as well; the thought of returning to his room in the dormitory, while Krujha would be left to find a room at an inn, made Alwyn queasy with dread. He might return briefly to collect his belongings, but with any luck, he would never have to go back to that dormitory again.
He felt well enough to walk around without an issue now, too, so he sent a note back to the Library that he would finally report to Tessarion the following morning. His handwriting was messier than it used to be, but at least he could write it himself.
“Should I go with you?” Krujha asked him gently as he folded up the parchment and prepared the wax seal. Since their meeting with the king, Krujha had been handling Alwyn as if he were made of glass; the first few days he had felt fragile enough to welcome it, but now he felt stronger both physically and mentally. The thought of facing Tessarion made him nervous, but it seemed such a small anxiety compared to everything else they had gone through in the past few weeks.
“I think this is something I have to do alone,” Alwyn said softly. “But I appreciate it. And maybe you can accompany me to the Library, at least.”
Krujha smiled back at him, and Alwyn felt his heart swell in his chest.
“Whatever you want,” Krujha agreed.
They had been cautious around each other while staying with Ferym—a few secret kisses before Krujha left for his own roomeach night was the most affection they had shared. If Ferym suspected anything happening between them, he had kept it to himself. Now, though, Alwyn was feeling almost back to full health; and while he was thankful for Ferym’s hospitality, he was also eager to get out of the capital as soon as possible, just so they could be more free with their affection again. They had not slept together since their tryst in the rebel camp, and that felt like far too long ago.
The next morning, Alwyn dressed himself, glad for the independence, despite the pit of worry in his stomach. King Ruven had told him to interact with Tessarion as normal, so he would have to continue to be the deferent student to his mentor’s face, no matter how their meeting went. Hopefully, the king would enact his plan sooner rather than later.
Krujha seemed as cheerful as ever, whistling as they walked up the path that led to the castle. The city was already bustling with activity, though it quieted down as they passed into the courtyard that would lead to the castle. Instead of heading toward the grand foyer to enter the castle, this time Alwyn led Krujha through the courtyard and down a side path to the Library.
Though it was less formal than the entrance to the castle, it was no less beautiful. The Library had all the same tall spires and bright windows, the architecture perfectly paired with the castle’s. They entered a separate courtyard where clusters of elves in student robes sat on benches or directly in the gardens, poring over tomes or speaking with each other in quiet voices.
Here, Krujha drew more attention than he had in the rest of the city; but since he was with Alwyn, none of the curious stares escalated into anything more. He kept whistling to himself, though. As they approached the entrance to the Library, Alwyn shot him a look over his shoulder. Dutifully, Krujha fell silent, although he kept the familiar amused smirk around his tusks.
Alwyn led him through the winding hallways and stone steps, so familiar to him that he could have made the journey blindfolded. Krujha’s curious eyes, taking everything in, made him appreciate its splendor all over again. For all that Tessarion had wronged him, he would try not to let it entirely taint his memories of growing up as a student of the Library.
When they arrived in the hallway that would lead to Tessarion’s office, Alwyn finally paused. It was a long hallway, stone walls on both sides. Two small windows allowed in some natural light, but there were no other decorations on the walls—purposely nondescript and forgettable, as all the parts of the Library dedicated to the Order’s use were. Just opposite the large wooden door of Tessarion’s office stood a long marble bench. Alwyn had only occasionally seen other elves sitting there, waiting to speak with the Mage Princeps.
“Wait here,” Alwyn said to Krujha, gesturing to the bench. “Hopefully, I won’t be long.”
“Remember everything we talked about,” Krujha said softly; before Alwyn could turn away, the orc had caught one of his hands gently. His golden eyes were bright with encouragement. “No matter what happens.”
