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“If you think that you can manhandle me,” I yelled in disgust, tearing his hand from my arm. “If you think you can just have your way with my life, so be it.” My words shot out at him with more ferocity than I had intended, and he staggered. “But I promise that once you’ve had me trained, your heart will be the first I plunge my dagger into.”
Deafening, my threat echoed through the hush that fell between us now. Kalen’s face was splotched, and red, and he was breathing hard, like he had just run a thousand miles within my room. I felt it, too, a searing heat running up my arms and into my chest. So, I waited. Waited to see which one of us would burn out first.
Without another word, Kalen turned on his heel. A rush of cool air met my skin, was ice to my flame. The rustling of my trousers was the only indication that he had left me, projecting out of the room. I stared down at them, wrinkling the silk between my fingers.
KALEN DIDN’T CALL FORme the next day, or the day after that. Two weeks passed after our fight. We hadn’t spoken, and whether out of anger or fear of the threat I had made, he was nowhere to be found in the armory.
The rumor among the Guardians, Rebekah had told me, was that he’d woken at dawn and canceled all his audiences, delegating the rest of his duties to a few of his trusted emissaries. Kalen gave word he would be on patrol in Grovsney but didn’t stay long enough to say when he’d be back.
I decided not to tell Rebekah about our spat, still unsure if the information he had given me was for my ears only. Part of me felt I could confide in my handmaid, but the ways of this world were too new to me to risk it. Either way, she refused to look me in the eyes while relaying that day’s gossip. It was obvious she figured I had something to do with his speedy departure, anyway. We sat close on the tan-colored lounges of my room, Rebekah going on and on about the latest gossip in the servant’s quarters. I listened and let out a giggle or sigh when I felt it was the right moment to do so, trying my best to focus on a task Rebekah calledneedlework, but all I did was prick my fingers and embarrass my already damaged ego. The whole thing made Kalen’s refusal to see me even more humiliating.
The longer he neglected me, the more I hated him.
The crescent moon marked five days since Kalen had finally returned to the Well. I hissed at it childishly through my window before pulling the curtains shut. Then a light putter sounded against the outside wall of my room.
He’s back.
I cursed the flutter of my pulse, patting down my hair and counting slowly as I approached the door. Anticipating—hoping—to see a brownish-blonde mop of hair fussed around an apologetic face. I schooled my own features into a look of apathy. One that said,I don’t care that you are sorry and I will still stab you in the heart, even though I’d already decided that the threat I’d made against him was moot. If I killed Kalen, I would be alone again. And I would never find my stones. I opened my door. The cool air of the hallway met my skin and chilled it.
No one.
Only a stack of four books and a card were laid neatly in front of my feet. Something was written on the card, a group of letters were in black ink across the front of it. A task or a direction, maybe, but I didn’t try to read what it said. In the bottom right-hand corner, an almost indiscernible “K” was stamped onto the sun-bleached papyrus. I stared at the volumes for a few minutes, unblinking, before I ripped the note into thick ribbons and closed my chamber doors.
In the morning, the books were gone, and I decided to rebel.
When the moon took her first breath of night, I dressed myself in one of the light blue strapped dresses Rebekah had brought me, messily tied up the laces on my shoes, and shook out the braid that neatly held my unkempt hair.
Not bothering to be discreet, I shoved the heavy door to my chambers open with a screech. It was the dead of the night, and I was going to wreak complete havoc. I practiced the smirk I would give Kalen once he came scrambling to lock me away again.
Prancing up the stairs to the main atrium, I allowed myself to admire Leoth in all its glory. Without worry of the other’s prying eyes, my own were free to roam. Paintings of mortal wars long passed sat slightly crooked. Citrine-glazed sediment glitteredwithin the walls. I ran my fingers across it glutinously. This washercourt, the Light Sage, but it was far from polished and regal. Every turn was a sharp jut of rock, every floor cased in the blood and sweat of Guardians. The pathways had been pummeled with urgent steps, not smoothed over with the grace of diplomacy. Uncouth, but still so charming. With each sound of my heels against weathered stone, I felt a growing sense of importance. Duty echoes and I heard it clearly within these halls.
Walking through the endless cavern, I put on a show—for no one but myself, although an audience I welcomed. Swirling around, stomping my heels loudly, and twirling my dress. The stars winked seductively from the clear glass dome above as I danced under their glow. Danced for them, unburdening myself from my misery.
When that didn’t draw any visitors, I decided a song might be in order. But I didn’t know one, so I styled my voice after the birds in my forest back home and belted the melody loud enough so that they might join in from their perpetual day-lit branches in the Binding. Whether or not they did, I would never know. Because they had been stolen from me, or I, from them? It didn’t matter.
All that concerned me now was finding some sort of snappy percussion to round out the softness of my ballad. I sprinted to the pantry of the dining hall and flung open the door. Searching through the dozen metal pots and pans—tossing a few for dramatic effect—I finally picked out a perfectly large and hollow boiler to strike with a mallet I had seen hanging near the prepping counter.
I strolled over to the center of the hall, and let out my arms until I felt the tingling pull of my joints. I couldn’t stop the smile that broke open between the hard apples of my cheeks as I looked up to the ceiling, anticipating the sweet chaos I was about to cause.
I counted three seconds. That was all the time I had to feel smug.
At four, the wind knocked out of me, and my head slammed against the back wall. Somewhere pans clattered to the floor. I tried to cry out, but a hand was clamped under my chin, thrusting my jaw up into the palate of my mouth.
The fear that pulsed through me at impact rushed down my spine—in relief—to hear the condemnation in Kalen’s voice.
“Are you out of your gods-damned mind?” He yelped. A singular curl of his hair fell into his face, shielding me from the glory of his wrath. Beneath the heat of his hand clinging around my neck, I could feel the sporadic drumming of his pulse. He seemed more afraid than angry. His fingers released my jaw, ever so slightly, so that I could speak.
“According to you.” I tried to grin.
“You’re not doing much to convince me otherwise,” Kalen said breathlessly.
“You hurt my feelings and forgot to apologize.” I grinned fully now, and fluttered my lashes innocently, hoping to disguise the anxiety that had sat in my eyes for the last two weeks.
“By the Light, you are such a child.”
He took a step back, releasing me completely and letting his hands slump to his sides. Ragged breaths paced his recovery from our encounter.
“And you—” I tried to think of something snarky to say back to him but was distracted by my increasing awareness of his bare chest. I let my eyes travel down as they searched for the start of his clothing, having enough good manners to stop at the strong lines carving out his hips. A dark knitted fabric hung from them like a shroud revealing some kind of art but shielding the centerpiece.
