Nudging me ahead of her, the sword at her waist, which she surely was well skilled at using, made me think twice about challenging her. Her determined steps echoed through the halls, and her stern look didn’t invite conversation, but we shared a common goal.
I stopped and turned to her. “Is there a way for me to speak with the Bavelon before judgment?”
I wasn’t sure how I’d missed the cues, or if there weren’t any, but her eruption of anger surprised a gasp out of me when she pushed me against the wall, her fingers grasped tightly around my neck, fury brightening her eyes and eclipsing her beautiful face.
“How do you not understand the seriousness of this? You don’t just speak to the Bavelon as if they’re your friends,” she spat out, her voice breaking with the heavy anger in it. Her brother was the one who needed this lecture, not me.
Despite my clawing at her hand, it was only when her nails broke my skin that she seemed to realize what she was doing. Releasing me with a thin apology, she turned away from me. I was privy to the full spectrum of emotions that ended in sorrow.
“You’re an ephemeral. Of course you have no idea what is going on,” she mumbled to herself.Ephemeralwas taking on the weight of an insult. Her softened eyes and relaxed demeanor landed the wordnescience.
“You’re upset. I understand that. But don’t ever touch me again,” I warned, massaging my neck. Her anger was misplaced, but it needed to be directed elsewhere.
“Why would he risk death for you?” she asked in a brittle voice. The plea begged for an explanation that would make sense. I didn’t have one to give. I hadn’t realized the severity of their punishments or that death was a possible penalty. Why would Cirrian kill Diehle and save Amelia?
“Is death guaranteed? What about a Quelling?”
“Quelling? Like the three other times he’s been given it,” she said. She strode away quickly as if she couldn’t bear to look at me. Following her up the winding stairs, I thought the lights seemed dimmer than before. The space was colder and more stifling in the magic-thickened air.
Keeping my distance, I followed her back to my lovely prison.
Pointing at my clothing, which was the same from the day before, she said,“Get changed, then we can talk.”
Nothing about her even, emotionless voice made me feel optimistic, but I chose to find some hope in it, anyway. Pointing me toward a closet and dresser, she then left the room. I found heavy tunics, close-fitting pants, a long-sleeve black wool dress, three shifts, and underwear. Having chosen a simple tunic, I met her outside, where she was walking the length of the long hallway, passing closed doors. There were no signs of life other than her booted steps across the floor. Her piercing eyes met mine with appreciation for my clothing choice, as if I’d passed some test.
“Let’s talk.” She extended her hand.
I considered it for a long time before asking, “Where are we going?”
“Dining, for food.”
“I’d like to go outside of…” I had no idea what the structure was and didn’t want to offend her by calling it a luxury prison.
“Unofficially, it’s the Stay.”
“Officially?”
“Vangar,” she provided, her hand still out.
“I’d like to eat somewhere other than the Stay.”
Her mouth twisted at the suggestion, I assumed seeing it for what it was.
“I’ll still need your hand so we can travel outside of it.”
“Can we walk?” I asked. “Or fly?” I tacked on. It would give me an opportunity to see the lay of the land and possible routes for escape.
Sayier’s lips curved into an amused smile. “Fly? I don’t have wings. Those are gifted to the Legion,” she said in answer to my raised brow. “The protectors of the Laytherium,” she added. From the hitch in her voice, there was animosity. I couldn’t determine if it was because she didn’t get the job, or if the wings were something she believed they all should have. From her attire, I gathered she had an official uniform, and since she was the one who sort of arrested her brother, I figured it was within that capacity.
“Walking it is.”
She nodded and led me through winding corridors until we reached a heavy door that opened to the outside world. Gasping from the blast of cold air that felt like tiny needles against my face, I eyed the path ahead, which looked just as treacherous as it had from my window—a narrow trail snaking down the mountainside with sharp drops on one side.
“Watch your step,” Sayier warned as she navigated the path with practiced ease, humor dancing in her voice. I’d foolishly chosen this option. My boots slipped occasionally on loose rocks. Luckily, the light dusting of snow didn’t accompany any frost.
Wind whipped around us, tugging at my clothes and threatening to push me off balance. “This”—I struggled to find the right words as I nearly lost my footing yet again—“was not the wisest choice.” Pride was a stupid hill to die on, especially one shaped like a mountain. I wasn’t too proud to admit when I was wrong.
Fifteen minutes into our descent, my legs ached and my fingers were numb despite tucking them into my sleeves. I regretted not accepting Sayier’s magical transport. Pride would not come before my fall.
