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Riven did not take a step toward me, he just stopped. I could feel the grass around him relax. Sweat hung from his thick brow, down to his neck. His long mane of raven silk was tied back, though not in its usual half braid, like he hadn’t found the time to weave it. “We need to talk.” He flexed his jaw. There was no warmth in his face,none of the usual kindness that he always reserved for me. Instead, his expression was one of pure resolve.
I had become another thing for him to fight.
“No, we don’t.” I kept walking, but my throat tightened until my breath was nothing more than a wheeze. I had been avoiding Riven for weeks and being the kind Fae he was, he kept his distance, though his burl was lit each night.
That was part of the reason I was finding other places to sleep in the little spurts I allowed myself. I didn’t need the constant reminder of his goodness in the face of my emptiness.
“Keera.” He took a step toward me as his shadows circled around my ankles.
I ignored them and kept walking.
Riven only quickened his pace. “There are things you need to know.” His words were strained and breathy.
“I’m not interested in hearing them.” I had missed the last three meetings with the other rebels. I had no energy left for planning and plotting. My jaw flexed as I stepped by him, pointedly avoiding his pleading gaze.
Riven grabbed my arm.
“Don’t.” I spun around to face him and a gust of wind shot from my hand. It collided with Riven’s chest and threw him onto his back. I stared at my open hand but I didn’t apologize.
When Riven’s surprise settled, he looked up at me with the worst expression of all.
Pity.
“Keera—”
I closed my eyes. “I don’t want to hear whatever you have to tell me, Riven. I don’t have enough strength for hope and I don’t have enough wine for any more disappointment. When you need someone dead, come find me.”
Riven stood and his shadows flared out in every direction along the ground. The usually soft curves had turned sharp as they always did when he was angry. Riven’s face was hard as he stared at me. My breath hitched and for the briefest moment I thought Riven might move to strike. Not to maim, but to spar. I readied myself for a battle but Riven didn’t budge.
Instead, his shoulders collapsed and he rubbed his brow. “I don’t know how to help you,diizra.”
My heart twinged at his special name for me, but it was nothing compared to the burning in my throat or the hollow ache in my core. The fresh screams that fueled my nightmares echoed through the grove for only my ears to hear.
I turned away from him, knowing there was nothing Riven could do to quiet them. “I don’t want you to help me.”
I don’t want help at all.
CHAPTERTWO
IDIDN’T BOTHER SHOWERINGbefore I made my way to the kitchens. Stinking of horse and shit only gave others more of a reason to keep their distance. I stalked down the spiral staircase of one of the Myram’s branches and descended into the city of faelight below. I crossed the grand hall with its root-packed ceiling echoing my footsteps from thirteen stories above. Lunch had already been served so the hall was quiet. The children were playing out in the sunlight while their parents finished their duties. The only ones still there were the older Elverin seated along the shallow pool cooling their calves.
Their boisterous chatting echoed through the circular hall but they went silent as soon as I entered. I clenched my jaw and ignored their stares. Part of me longed for the days when my presence was met with fear and caution instead of pity and disgust.
Familiar voices sounded from the kitchens, and my stomach dropped. I hadn’t expected to encounter anyone in the kitchen so far from supper. I softened my steps and slipped into the storeroom across the hall. A small faelight floated by my shoulder, illuminating the jars of nuts and crates of fresh berries and dried meat. The caskets of wine that usually covered the floor were gone.
My heartbeat quickened as I rummaged through the shelves looking for anything that resembled wine. All I found were two glass bottles, dusty and forgotten on a bottom shelf. There was a smallpopas I pulled a cork of one bottle free and sipped the liquid inside. I spat the oil from my mouth and wiped the rest off my lips with my sleeve.
I grabbed the other bottle, but it was empty.
My skin rippled with heat as the onslaught of rage focused my vision. I grabbed the empty bottle by its neck and stalked into the kitchens. Lash’raelth was standing by one of the giant hearths at the middle of the room. His violet eyes were full of laughter as he towered over Pirmiith, who sat across the stone counter next to Nikolai.
“What did you do with it?” I bellowed, ignoring the way they all flinched at the desperate rasp of my voice.
“Do with what?” Pirmiith asked, tucking one of his tiny braids behind his ear in a transparent attempt of ignorance. My eyes narrowed. Whatever loyalty I had for the Elf who had saved my life from the Unnamed Ones had disappeared.
Just like my wine.
I stalked toward him like a hungry bear. “You knowexactlywhat I am talking about.”
