Page 49

I can see him surrounded by rows of shelves filled with books, scrolls, and ancient texts in a hidden part of the library. His fingers trace the lines of a hefty parchment, his brow furrowed in concentration as he reads it.

Meanwhile, I am lurking in the shadows, trying to build the nerve to approach him. But the thought of actually confronting Zanyar makes me want to run far away and never look back. Gods! Why can’t I just march over there and demand an explanation? Why do I always have to overthink everything?

Questions and doubts swirl in my mind like a tangled mess. Did Zanyar really leave that horse for us in the mountains? My gut screams yes, but my brain is still trying to deny the obvious. Why would he leave the village and his fellow Ahiras to find me? It makes no sense!

He has made it clear he doesn’t want me to join Martysh and wants me to go with him to Aramis, though I still don’t quite know why. So why would he go out of his way to help me? Was it a sudden attack of conscience? A strategic move in some elaborate game I can not fathom?

The more I think about it, the more confused I become. Craving answers, I’ve come down to the library, knowing he spends most of his time here.

“Lost, Arien?” Zanyar’s voice cuts through my internal debate, startling me so badly that I almost jump out of my skin. He hasn’t even looked up from the book he is perusing. How did he know I was here?

I decide to abandon my hesitations and emerge from the shadows. Only when I’m a few steps away does he finally look up. His mesmerizing emerald eyes lock onto mine with a power that makes my knees wobble. I just stand still, completely forgetting what I wanted to ask.

“What is it, Arien?” His calm tone is a stark contrast to the way my body instantly tenses when he uses my name. It is a maddening mystery, this inexplicable reaction I have to him, the way my breath hitches and every muscle tightens just by his proximity, by the simple act of him uttering my name.

“Uh, well… I have a question.” I clear my throat, trying to regain my composure, and then ask in a single breath. “Why did you leave that horse for us in the mountains?”

There. I said it. Now, all I have to do is wait for an answer that hopefully won’t make my head explode.

Zanyar, the master of dramatic pauses, just stares at me for a moment, those green eyes boring into my soul. Finally, he delivers his answer with the gravity of a king announcing a royal decree: “Because you looked tired.”

And then… he just turns back to his book.

As if that is all there is to it. The explanation to end all explanations.

As if he’d just delivered a three-hour speech on the intricacies of horse-gifting etiquette.

Seriously, what is with this guy? Does he think a single, nonchalant sentence would satisfy my burning curiosity?

His ridiculous answer ignites a fire in my gut that finally gives me the courage I needed to demand an explanation. “That’s not an answer.”

“Perhaps not the answer you were hoping for,” he counters with an infuriatingly calm voice, not even bothering to look up at me.

It’s like the battlements all over again.

I was watching you, Arien. Just like that.

No context, no reason, no follow-up. As if I’m supposed to just nod sagely, accept his pronouncements, and follow him blindly wherever he chooses to lead.

Why? Why does he act as if I’m some inferior being who doesn’t deserve an explanation?

Crossing my arms, I say, “No, it was a dumb answer that only spawned a thousand more questions, and you know it.” My voice is loud with frustration.

Zanyar doesn’t flinch, but he finally looks up to me, blinking those long lashes of his, and says, “Then enlighten me with those questions, and I shall endeavor to answer them.”

Oh, the sarcasm! I swear, I am a heartbeat away from snatching that book from his hands and throwing it at that beautiful head of his.

“You’re a Fire Eye. And Fire Eyes know how to track people in the wilderness. The village you left Lila in was west of where we were. Which means you must have tracked us to get that far east. You did not just cross paths with us by accident.”

He remains silent. Those maddeningly calm eyes linger on mine with an infuriating calm.

“That wasn’t a question,” he finally points out, as if I am a dimwitted student who’d forgotten how to formulate a sentence.

My anger is starting to simmer, and my eyes narrow on him. “Why? Why did you track us? You clearly declared that you had no intention of helping me win these trials. You even told me to forfeit! So why do something completely different?”

“I didn’t leave the horse to help you win,” he says, finally making an attempt that resembles an explanation.

“You were close to the village. That Izadeonian man who foolishly abandoned you in a monster-infested cottage had already found the path to the village and was on his way back to take you. You would have made it back eventually, even without the horse I left. I only left it to give you more time to rest and save you the effort of hiking down to the village. As I said, you looked tired.”

He says it so casually, so matter-of-factly, as if leaving a horse for stranded competitors is just another afternoon activity. As if caring whether I was tired, whether I was safe, is the most natural thing in the world for him. And that, that infuriating calmness, it’s driving me insane.

“Why do you even care?” I spit, throwing my hands up in exasperation. “What difference does it make if I spend two more hours sleeping or hiking or not? What is it to you?”

Again, he only blinks and simply says, “You looked afraid. ”

I barely register his words at first. But then…

Darian mentioned seeing something outside the window that night when I was glued to his chest. Could that have been Zanyar?

Had he witnessed my complete meltdown? The thought makes my stomach churn, and my cheeks burn with embarrassment.

The idea of Zanyar, the stoic, aloof sorcerer, witnessing my moment of weakness is mortifying.

But hot on the heels of embarrassment comes a wave of indignation. And I let it pour out.

“Why even bother tracking us?” My voice is shaking with anger. “Why come after me at all when you clearly asked me to abandon these trials?”

“I’m here to ensure the safety of all the Ahiras. Did you expect me to return to Jahanwatch knowing an Ahira was stranded in those monster-infested mountains?” he states calmly as if explaining basic arithmetic to a toddler.

“I don’t need your help,” I retort, crossing my arms defiantly. “You’ve seldom offered it before, so why start now?”

“I’m the leader of our fellowship. It’s my responsibility to ensure everyone returns safely back to Firelands. Including you.”

Return safely? Gods, even now, he still thinks I will lose and return!

“Well, I don’t want to return safely. I’d rather die in these trials,” I almost yell. “So next time, do us both a favor and leave me to the wolves.”

That, apparently, crosses some invisible line.

He advances with a slow, predatory movement that forces my instinctive retreat, step by reluctant step, until my back hits the cold, hard reality of a bookshelf.

His expression is deceptively calm as he closes the distance, but I sense the tightly leashed tension under that placid mask.

His lethal grace as he strides forward, so beautiful and dangerous, only amplifies his dominance as he steps into my space, eclipsing everything else.

He leans in with a silent, deliberate invasion, until he’s only a breath away.

The heat radiating from his body makes my skin prickle, and his gaze, those emerald eyes, burns with green fire.

That heat, that familiar response I always have around him, flares to life.

I crush it down. It’s anger. Must be anger.

Not any other… feeling. My whole body trembles with a potent blend of anger, annoyance, nervousness, and whatever this volatile ai r is that hums between us as our eyes lock in a silent battle.

“Is that how you thank someone for their help?” His voice is a low, dangerous murmur, a thread of steel woven through silk.

And suddenly, we’re not in the library anymore. We’re back in that darkness beneath the arena. His presence is overwhelming, like a weight that pushes the air out of my lungs. But I won’t cower, just like I didn’t in the arena.

“Why should I be showering you with gratitude?” I say, and I’m surprised to find my voice is a breathy whisper.

I lift my chin, meeting his gaze head-on and forcing more strength into my words.

“You said we would have made it back anyway. Would you have left that horse if you knew we would lose the trials without it?”

“No,” he admits, short and curt, with nothing but ice in his eyes.

That single word is a spark to dry tinder. He stands there, utterly uncaring of the blatant hypocrisy of claiming to value me so much that he hikes across mountains to save me a hike, that he wants me in Aramis while dismissing my actual wishes and dreams.

My blood roars and my fists clench so tightly that my nails bite into my palms. For the first time, violence feels like a viable option.

But I am better than this, better than him.

I’m done with this twisted game. With the heat, he ignites in me.

And with the fury he provokes in me. He makes me irrational, makes me lose control, makes me feel… hot, uncomfortable.

I take a deep, steadying breath before taking a side step in a calculated attempt at a graceful escape. But Zanyar’s hand shoots out, and his fingers wrap around my arm, not painful, but inescapable. I meet his eyes, refusing to yield or show fear.

“What?” I snap. “I do not have any more questions. Thank you for your gracious answers, as always.”

He takes a deep breath, and I notice a muscle twitching in his jaw. “Why are you angry?” His voice is softer this time as if he genuinely doesn’t understand why I would be angry, which, of course, makes me even angrier.

“Because you’re infuriating! I begged you for help in the alchemy room and again during the second trial, and you refused.

You looked me in the eye and turned away.

And then, then, you trek through a raging storm to rescue me and claim it was just to spare me a walk?

First, you say you won’t help me, then when you do, it is not to help me win .

You don’t care about what I want. Just like every other Ahira.

” I take a ragged breath, my chest heaving.

“Nobody in Firelands cares about anything other than what they want! If you truly cared about me and valued me, you would have helped me with what I asked you earnestly. You would have listened to what I want.”

I am fuming. My anger is a raging inferno.

And honestly, I don’t even know why at this point.

He hasn’t done anything wrong if I am being honest. He’s been truthful about his intentions, and he risked his neck to find me in that storm.

I don’t even know how long he’d been waiting for us outside of the cottage in the pouring rain until Darian left so he could leave the horse behind.

But I haven’t asked for any of that. I don’t want grand gestures or heroic rescues. And the fact that I now owe him a debt makes me even angrier at him.

“I told you, Arien,” Zanyar responds calmly as if realizing that the only way to deal with my outburst is for him to be the epitome of serenity. “I don’t believe what you want is in your best interest.”

“And who are you to decide that for me?” I yell at him.

“I’m not deciding anything for you! I’m only making decisions about my own actions according to that belief. Not yours.”

Damn it. He is right. And that, of course, makes me even angrier. I yank my arm, desperate to escape this infuriating conversation, but his grip is firm.

“Arien… ” His voice is softer than his grasp. And for the first time, it sounds like a plea. I don’t know what he is pleading for, but it somehow calms the storm raging in me— slightly . I take a few deep breaths, and my voice finally regains some composure.

“You’re right. I shouldn’t be mad. You owe me nothing.

We’re strangers. It wasn’t fair for me to have any expectations in the first place.

That’s why I’m asking you to just pretend I don’t exist. Don’t track me through storms. Don’t leave cryptic gifts behind.

If your actions are not meant to help me win these trials, then don’t help me at all. ”

Zanyar seems genuinely lost. He opens and closes his mouth, clearly struggling to find the right words. It is a sight I’d never witnessed before, and honestly, it is somewhat satisfying. Finally, he manages to sputter out, “Have you considered my offer?”

“Yes,” I say, staring right back at him. “And I’m not interested.”

His lips press into a thin, white line, and I’m not sure if I imagine it, but it seems as though his eyes shutter—even the coldness that is usually in them is dissolving. “Why?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because there’s no guarantee that the envoy position would even be approved by the council.

Or that I’d even enjoy being in Aravan. Or maybe it’s because I have no idea why a man who was a complete stranger until yesterday is suddenly offering me a coveted position. No, thank you!”

His jaw clenches. “We are not strangers.”

“Right.” I roll my eyes. “Forgive me for forgetting all those delightful strolls we took through the Firelands gardens. My memory must be failing me.”

“Arien—”

“Stop saying my name like we’re old friends,” I interrupt him. “We’re not. And that’s exactly why I’m not accepting your offer. I’m not about to abandon my dreams for an enigmatic offer made by some enigmatic sorcerer I barely know.”

His grip loosens, but he doesn’t release me. He doesn’t look angry. He looks… thoughtful. His eyes search mine as if he’s actually considering my words and weighing them.

Before I can make another try at an escape, a strange warmth spreads through my wrist. I glance down and see the golden coin embedded in the Martysh band glowing faintly, and it is getting hotter by the moment. Zanyar’s eyes drop to his wrist, and I realize his band is glowing, too.

We exchange a look of surprise and confusion. The coin becomes too hot, too fast, that I’m worried it might burn my skin .

“We’re being summoned,” Zanyar says with a grave voice.

The next trial is about to start.