Page 23 of The Ballad of a Bard

C obalt handed her a tangerine and she began to peel it for him, one side at a time.

“He just walked away?”

“He just walked away.” Crimson confirmed and pulled a slice off, popping it into her mouth before handing the rest to her sibling. Citrus burst across her tongue as she bit into it, the veins sliding down the back of her throat, along with the sweet juice.

“But he said he was going to come back.”

He hadn’t.

At least not while she’d been awake, tossing and turning in the bed as she waited for him to return from his so-called duties. The ones that she solely believed he’d made up, to get away from her. Because West had looked at her then, in the moment, and she’d felt as if her whole world had fallen onto its side. His sapphire orbs glimmered with the light of a thousand moons, his golden skin glowed with what appeared to be happiness- she couldn’t find any other way to describe it, and he looked almost human.

He looked like he’d fallen in love with her .

Something that made every inch of her skin tighten to the point of pain, where her heart felt as though it might burst with adrenaline and fear and delight. And then he’d turned away, the light dimmed and shadows fell over her as he muttered that he had to leave.

As he’d looked like he’d fallen out of love with her.

Crimson had grown tired with every minute that turned into ten, which faded into twenty and so on and so forth. Until she couldn’t remain awake any longer and her body betrayed her. She remembered nothing past the point of closing her eyes, including whatever she dreamed about. There was no recollection to pull from, no ideas that tossed and turned within her brain.

Just pure nothing.

But he’d been there.

In the bed, with her.

When she woke, the curtains were still shut. As if he’d left them closed on purpose, to allow her as much sleep as she required before starting a new day, a new dawn. His side of the bed was neatly made, all organised and even, but there was a tray on her side. A plate full of peaches, nectarines and grapes sat on it, alongside chilled milk and what appeared to be thin pastries with powdered sugar.

But no West.

He was avoiding her, that much was sure.

Cobalt finished the last slice and went to wipe his hands on his green tunic. She hastily grabbed them before he even had the chance to reach for it.

“Don’t be absurd.” She scolded and handed him the cloth napkin instead. He stuck his tongue out at her, and she did the same. Then she wiped the sticky corners of his mouth with a little bit of water and set the napkin aside .

“Maybe he needed some time.”

“Time for what?” She quirked a brow up.

He eyed the tray, searching for more sweets. “To think about his obvious feelings for you.”

When Cobalt found none, she playfully twisted the baby hairs at the nape of his neck. He winced, rubbed at them and shuffled to the very end of the bed.

Away from her.

“That’s not going to save you, you know.” Crimson tsked. “I could just as easily attack from here.”

“It’s not fair. You’re grown. I don’t have all of my long limbs yet. I’m going to be taller than you, you know.” He pouted, his bottom lip sticking out like a sore thumb.

“I have no doubt about it.” She ruffled his black hair and pushed off the bed. “I’ll come back and visit you before I go to bed, alright?”

“Is that a promise, Red?” Cobalt held his hand out to her, all of his fingers bent towards his palm except for his last one. She wrapped her own around it and jerked it down, then up. He grinned and pulled her in for a close hug.

She had him.

He was all that mattered, all that she needed. A stupid Saint wasn’t going to make her happier, not when having their small, two-person family had been everything for the last eight years.

Crimson meant it as she whispered, “Always, Blue.”

When the elusive Saint didn’t come to bed once more, and the clock chimed twelve, she tossed the covers aside. This was ridiculous. He was ridiculous. Crimson wiggled her feet into a fur clad set of slippers and tied the amethyst robe he’d left out for her around her waist.

She didn’t let Cobalt’s assumption take over, didn’t let his words float around her mind like a comet through space. There was no point to it.

The palace was quiet at night, but there were still servants milling about. They dipped their heads in quiet greeting as she passed by and she returned the gesture. There were candles lit still, draping along the walls as she followed the path to the place where he would most likely be. Especially at this hour of the night.

At least, if he was in the castle.

There was a good chance that he could be at the Spinning Compass as well. And if that was the case, she wasn’t making that trek so late at night. Especially not in her thin nightgown and slippers. Crimson sank down the stairs, one by one and followed the trace of pale moonlight as it crept through the cracks of the broken stones. Even buildings fell apart after time, and even simple stones needed to be fixed.

She reached the end of the staircase, wrapping around the turret and reaching the door that led out into the training yard.

Crimson was right.

He was here, alone.

She closed the door behind her, as quietly as she could without alerting him to her presence as he swung a staff around. There was no metal on the end of it, no brutal tip to stab holes into a man. He grunted with each move, working up a thick layer of sweat that clung to him like dew in the morning to grass.

West was fighting an invisible foe, hurling all of his might behind each counter thrust, each parry, each swipe that was perfectly timed in accordance with his trained and precise steps. He moved like the wind, body flowing as if it were made of water, his concentration heavy on whatever villain he’d created in his mind. She imagined it might have been Altivar. He didn’t seem to have anyone else that made him as vexed as the heir did, at least no one that she knew about.

But then again, he didn’t share much with her.

Perhaps it was one of the reasons for her distance isolation, for why she felt so alone here. He knew so much about her, she depended on him. Which was a new feeling in itself, one that she was struggling with.

Crimson hated that she needed him like that.

Never, once in their entire lives, had they needed anyone else. Not when the food ran low, or Heartache gave them the slip. She’d always managed to figure it out, to be clever enough to survive. But now, it was desperation that made her rely on him. It was the wary trust that she wanted to give him, and felt he deserved. It was so Saints-damned hard to trust anyone, when all they did was leave.

But him, Crimson felt safe with.

Him, she trusted.

He could blame it on being a Saint, but she disagreed with that assessment. It was only him, not the powers that he exuded.

“West,” Crimson called to him, and he swivelled in her direction. He tucked the staff behind him, wiping at his forehead. His shirt was tucked over the edge of a long chair, his jacket with it and he wore high waisted trousers that hid the deep panels of his stomach.

Probably for the best.

His chest heaved with exertion, oily in the light of night. “It’s late. You should be in bed.” West set the staff down, the end tapping against the stones that made up the training area. There was no one else around, just the two of them .

“ You should be in bed.” She retorted with a pointed look towards the moon, which was in full form tonight. It seemed to watch them, glued to the middle of the cobalt sky with utter fascination. “You came in late last night.”

West didn’t spare her a glance. “I was busy.”

“With duties?”

“Yes.”

Crimson took a step closer. “Do you ever take time for yourself?”

“I don’t need time to myself.” He answered, dropping the practice staff back into place along the rack of many. “I enjoy what I do.”

“But sometimes it’s good to rest, to take time and relax.” Her focus drifted away from his torso and towards the many shelves of weapons that were left for anyone to take, anyone to try. “You don’t want to overwork yourself.”

“In the hundreds of years that I’ve been alive, I’ve never once exerted myself too far. I know my limits, Heartstrings. No need to worry about me.” He came over to her side, watching as she ran a hand over the daggers.

“Someone does.” She muttered under her breath and plucked one from the table. It was of similar design to her knives, without the decorations or intricate carved hilt. She lifted it up into the air until the moon bounced off the perfectly shined steel, turning it about.

“Do you like it?”

“It’s a glorious knife, of course I do.” Crimson smirked and set it back down. “I was going to ask you for one, in fact.”

“Why?”

She peered over her shoulder at him, selecting another blade and observing it. “Because the ones I have with me… they’re too easily recognizable. They belong to Lyric, not Crimson.”

He blanched, grimacing. “I should have realised that. My apologies for leaving you without a weapon. Pick any of these. We can send it to the blacksmith and have it sharpened for you.” He motioned in front of her. “Whatever you think would be best.”

She didn’t need anything fancy, just sharp.

A scorpion scuttled along the brick wall in front of them and she jumped back, shivering at the gleaming black tail that curled into itself.

“Unfortunately insects are a common thing around here.” West informed her and flicked it off with his thumb and forefinger. It hissed and fell to the ground, scurrying away on hurried legs. Too many legs for her liking. “You’d best get used to them.”

“I don’t want to.” She scowled and picked up a medium length dagger. Crimson studied it, twisting it around until she was sure that it fit her. “This one. I like this one.”

“Then this one it will be.” He held out his hand and she dropped it into it, letting him take it from her. “I’ll send it over tomorrow morning so that you can have it back as soon as possible.” West located the sheath and tucked it away, attaching it at his hip for now.

“Are you done for the night, or am I to suffer another round of you sweating and panting like a beast?” Crimson commented as she spun towards the door and the staircase that would take her back to his chambers.

Honestly, she wouldn’t mind it at all if he continued to look like that.

Saints, she needed to stop adding material about him to her mental, intimate fantasies.

“Someone very rudely told me that I’m no better than a dog. Dogs sweat and pant.” He grinned, but grabbed his shirt and coat from the nearby chaise. “But yes, I’m done for the evening.”

Dogs did other things, too.

She opened the door before she could trace that wicked trail of thought and he followed. “To be fair, you deserved it.”

“I did.” He said with a tone of regret. “I’m sorry for how I left. I shouldn’t have- I don’t know what I should have done, but it certainly wasn’t leaving you like that.”

“Abruptly, you mean?”

West groaned, “Among other things.”

“You’re forgiven.”

He slapped his chest, dramatically. “Well thank the Saints for that.” He hoisted the ivory shirt over his bare shoulders, but left it untied.

Her lips formed a thin line as they reached the top of the stairs and turned into the hallway that would take them to their chambers. “You can’t just go around thanking yourself. ”

“Watch me.”

She stuck her foot out.

West yelped as she kicked his shin. Not hard, but hard enough to hurt. “Attacking a Saint, now that’s a serious offence here.”

Her mouth turned upwards into a wry, cunning thing. “Does it count if you started it?”