Page 17 of The Heart of Nym (The Twisted Roots Duology #1)

She was going to be hanged. Or beheaded. Or both. There was absolutely no way she'd be able to escape the fate of this—she'd just punched him in the gods-damned throat.

"You—" Aziel extended a finger in her direction, his teeth bared as he charged towards her once again. "You are a vicious little creature. You should've been thrown into those camps with the rest of them."

"What's stopping you from taking me to them now?" Nymiria countered. "Go on and throw me into one of those prison wagons and cart me off, then!"

"You aren't worth the trouble."

She hissed as she lunged towards him, something wicked and hot burning through the center of her chest that made her forget who she was talking to.

There was this rage deep inside of her, a hatred in her bones that she didn't recognize.

It felt territorial… vicious. Nymiria didn't realize how close Aziel was to her in that moment, her vision blackened by the insatiable desire to protect. "I'm not worth anything." She growled.

Aziel watched her for a moment, assessing every inch of her face as if it were the first time he'd ever seen her.

After a few torturous seconds of him being so close, of feeling the oily aura of death that radiated from him, he finally moved away from her.

His hands were in fists at his sides, the muscle in his jaw working up and down as he ground his teeth.

Nymiria felt the strong urge to strike him again, to dig her teeth into his throat and rip through his veins.

A twinge of fear sparked inside of her at the thought and she curled her fingers around the iron bars of the fence as if it would keep her from acting out her desires.

"If there is any good left in you, Nymiria… take care of her grave. That is all I ask. And don't forget her name."

What she just did would have surely gotten her lashings, at the very least, but Aziel didn't even demand for her to follow him as he left.

He merely brushed his hair out of his eyes and walked out of the open gate as if nothing happened.

She couldn't understand it. She couldn't understand anything that'd just happened, other than the fact that Dorid had gifted her a grave for her birthday and not something that was her own.

She wasn't angry about this place being a grave, but she was livid at the fact that he hadn't told her.

She'd have treated this place with much more love and care had she known that this was also someone else's final resting place.

And while she understood Aziel's anger and that he was certainly entitled to his feelings, she knew that she did not deserve to be the recipient of his frustrations. Someone she loved was buried here, too.

But that anger she felt… that overwhelming, wild, and animalistic rage that'd flared through her, made her shudder with fear.

Nymiria tugged her robe around her body, ashamed that Aziel had seen her in nothing, but a flimsy cotton shift that was still damp with rain. With a frown at the crumpled and destroyed flowers, she drew in a deep breath and exited her garden and walked back towards the palace.

"You did what?!" Desiree exclaimed loudly, earning a couple of confused glances from the people passing them on the street.

Nymiria felt like crawling under one of the market stalls and hiding from the world. Instead, she lowered her head and drew in a shameful sigh. "I punched him in the throat."

The boisterous laugh that escaped her friend's mouth was something that Nymiria certainly did not expect.

And though she should have felt ashamed for her actions, she couldn't help smiling at the memory of Aziel Haze clutching at his throat and gasping for air.

"Oh, this is rich. This is absolutely delightful.

I have never wanted to hug you so badly in the ten years that I've known you.

" Desiree clutched her stomach as another fit of laughter shook through her frame.

When she was finally standing upright again, she clapped Nymiria on the shoulder and heaved a tired sigh.

"I would pay good money to see you do it again. "

"Not happening!" Nymiria gasped. "I got lucky this time. Next time, he'll probably string me up by my toes and flay my skin from my body."

"Always with such a vivid imagination." Desi shook her head, her tight black curls bouncing around her head. "I highly doubt he'd lay a finger on you."

Nymiria began to protest, but Desi was right. Even when she struck him, he hadn't harmed her. The only time he touched her was when he brushed past her to reach his mother's grave. Even then, it was accidental. "He's rude."

"He's a tormented soul. Anyone who experienced what he had to go through would surely have some behavioral problems, don't you think?"

Nymiria shrugged. "I've been through quite a few things, myself and I don't walk around glaring at the world and being hateful."

"No, not at all." Desi confirmed. "You don't glare at the world, you just put yourself in dangerous positions that could potentially get you killed.

Like, I don't know, taking drugs from strangers.

I could also name a few other things, but I'd rather not go down that path with all of these listening ears and watchful eyes running about.

" She shot Nymiria a meaningful glance, one loaded with a thousand unsaid words and unasked questions.

Desiree had been with Nymiria for the past ten years.

She'd woken up in the servant's quarters with a young and terrified Desi looking at her with wide, purple eyes.

They hadn't parted from one another since.

Nymiria was proud to call her her best friend, proud to say that Desiree was the closest thing she'd ever had to a sister.

She'd even worked her magic with Dorid to ensure that Desi was her personal servant.

It was the only way to keep her this close without requesting she also become a courtesan.

And Nymiria did not want that title following her friend throughout the remainder of her life.

She looked up at the summer sky, squinting against the harsh rays. There wasn't a single cloud in sight at the moment, but she could feel the rain coming. There was a certain thickness in the air that was unmistakable. "I think I'm craving something sweet. Like dragon tart." She hummed.

"You're avoiding talking to me, that's what you're doing."

Nymiria smiled, quirking her brow as she made a turn towards a pastry stall.

"I'm not doing anything. I'm just hungry.

" Her hunger was not a lie. In the last day since she'd run into Aziel, Nymiria hadn't eaten.

Her anger and frustration seemed to be enough sustenance to keep her going, but she awoke that morning with a hunger that made it feel as if her stomach was going to eat itself.

"You're horrible."

"Nope, just hungry." She beamed up at her friend as she pulled out her coin purse.

The baker looked at her with squinted, wrinkled eyes.

The old woman's skin was tanned and sagging in heavy lines, surely weighed down by the years of work she'd done in her craft.

Nymiria had a deep respect for the merchants in Yaar.

Day after day, they lined these streets and sold their goods to travelers and locals, but none of them made nearly enough to afford proper housing or proper care.

They often suffered from ailments that left them looking far older than they truly were.

Nymiria knew this baker well. Her name was Dieve and she'd been making pastries since she was just a small girl that could barely see over the counter without the help of a stool or chair.

Her mother and her grandmother had started this business and they were the most popular bakery in town.

You wouldn't be able to tell by the fact that the line outside of the stall only consisted of Nymiria and Desi, but it was early.

Most of Dieve's patrons arrived during the lunch toll.

One thing about being a courtesan was that they were not allowed in the streets beyond a certain time of day.

Always with a companion and never alone, and always wearing a chastity belt.

It was uncomfortable, but Nymiria became rather used to it after the first few years.

And she certainly wouldn't allow a scrap of cheap metal deter her from enjoying a slice of freedom.

Even if everyone knew who and what she was to the royal family and they whispered about her as she passed, she didn't care.

That was a lie. She cared, certainly. And the chastity belt pissed her off more than she would like to let on. But… dragon tart.

It was a sweet crust filled with dragon berry jam, roasted over a the fire for a maximum of ten seconds before Dieve coated it with clear icing. It was the most delicious thing that Nymiria had ever put in her mouth and the highlight of her weekly promenade.

"Dieve, one would believe you are a demon of hell with how well you make these, sent here to tempt us all with sugary treats." Nymiria hummed, leaning over the counter of the old woman's stall as she prepared the tarts. "It's absolutely sinful for something to taste this good."

Dieve let out an annoyed grumble. Even though the old bat wore a hard exterior, Nymiria had a feeling that she actually, secretly liked her visiting every week.

A sharp sting drew Nymiria from her ogling and she hissed as she rubbed at the place Dieve smacked her with a sugar cane.

"Stop leaning on my counter. You're breathing all over the pumpernickel. "

"That hurt." Nymiria snapped. "Maybe you are a demon."