Page 21 of To No End (Tales of Forgotten Fae #1)

CHAPTER

20

“I promise you that your bodies will be nowhere near as exhausted as your minds when I’m done with you.” It was about the least motivating way to begin a class, but at this point, I’d come to expect nothing less from Saryn.

Before he divulged his own plans, Theory made a point to explain how general studies would work. These instructions felt more akin to my time at the academy than anything else we had covered thus far.

Saryn went on to explain that between our physical training schedule and our curriculum with him, we wouldn’t be setting aside formal time to spend on typical academics—we’d need to use our free time for that. Despite there being no official classes on the subject matter, we’d still be required to master this knowledge; he noted the library in the common area.

Any of us who didn’t already know the histories, politics, and religious texts of the last few hundred years would be expected to learn them. Those of us who already did were encouraged to dive deeper. They emphasized that we must be able to blend in with the nobility and common folk alike. This meant knowing the histories from all angles to avoid the risk of bias revealing our true identities.

I had never really thought of viewing text in this way. Usually, I just read books and took them at face value, black and white, facts and figures. But now they encouraged us to read between the lines, question everything, seek out all truths and use our peers to garner a more worldly view.

Cairis was the least academically inclined since his father had sent him to work in the mines rather than affording him the education of his legitimate siblings. I made a mental note to set up an arrangement whereby I’d tutor him in general studies if he showed me some sparring tips and tricks. If Varro had grown up sailing the Endless Tides, then he was likely the most worldly of us all, but I wasn’t about to go rub shoulders with him. Not until I figured out what involvement he’d had with his traitorous father.

I was curious to know if he spoke the old tongue like me, but secretly I hoped I was the only one that could. I didn’t think there was much that made me special or unique in this group. If I could have just one thing that only I could do, I’d consider it an accomplishment.

There was also no doubt that Nori likely knew the religious texts better than any of us. Honestly, I hadn’t been a believer in much of anything; those tomes seemed more like fables to keep the questionable morality of the Fae in line. I supposed I’d always thought of myself as someone with an intrinsic moral compass, but I was unsure what good that would do me now that I was expected to go against everything I’d been raised to do. Be a lady, be polite, be smart but not smart-mouthed, know how to fight but never raise a hand, represent my family well, maintain a good reputation for the Honored Fae, serve as a member of the High Court, marry, carry on the family name and brings heirs into the world. None of that seemed to be the case anymore, and that sent my moral compass spinning.

In summary, the message was straightforward: read in your own time, tutor each other, and don’t waste Theory and Saryn’s precious attention with general studies unless you have an important question. I was curious to see if there were any recorded histories of the Offering and the Order. It was unlikely, but if they were anywhere to be found, wouldn’t Basdie be the safest place to house them? Unless the Order and everyone in it truly was lost to time.

“Now that we’re past the boring stuff”—Theory rolled her eyes at Saryn as he continued—“let’s discuss my area of expertise…magical abilities. Power.”

“Over the next few days, I will be doing private evaluations with each of you. This is for me to determine where your current strengths and weaknesses lie, and where you’re lacking entirely.” He eyed Nori.

He continued, “I don’t need you distracted by the judgment of your peers during these evaluations, as it may impact your performance. Once we find a baseline, we can improve, and that includes confidently channeling your capabilities in the presence of others.”

I was secretly grateful that these so-called evaluations would be behind closed doors. After spending most of my life suppressing the use of magic, I wasn’t entirely sure what I was capable of. Now that we had all been imbued with more power, I was eager to discover what that meant—but not at the risk of becoming a source of amusement for the others.

It was clear some of us had grown up using less magic. Never did I think I would be grateful for getting the chance to be alone with Saryn, even after the altercation in the training room. This was the only exception.

Over the next few hours, Saryn explained each type of ability we could potentially have in our arsenal with enough training. He emphasized that not everyone could or would be expected to master them all. He’d snarkily mentioned which ones would require more skill, focus, strength, and energy, implying that some of us weren’t cut out for it. But that didn’t mean we’d be considered total failures, so long as we showed promise in other areas. The lesson began simply enough, but every transition revealed new complexities and difficulties.

The first and most basic would be healing. Being able to heal our small wounds was where the bar started. Healing ourselves from more critical injury was the next level of difficulty, and thus would require more energy. Lastly, the gift of being able to heal others. I thought back to when Nori had held her hand to my cheek, nonchalantly removing all pain and swelling with a brief touch. It made me want to lash out at Theory and yell that Nori wasn’t useless like they all assumed, and that she showed more promise than I did in this area.

The next item discussed was glamour. The mere mention of it made me start to fume in Trace’s direction as my eyes scanned the scar across his eyebrow and both his fully tattooed arms. All the energy he must have expended to keep his true appearance from me, and for what?

I had to admit I still found him just as attractive, if not more, but it felt like a betrayal, nonetheless. Saryn spent a lot of time discussing how this skill must be honed so that one could uphold a glamour toward individuals, small groups, even large audiences for short and long durations. It made me wonder if the entire time Trace and I were at the tavern he only bothered to glamour me, or if that included all the other patrons too.

Discussing glamour naturally led to the conversation about shapeshifting. A much more difficult power to master. I had practically given up any chance of being able to do it at the first mention. To my knowledge, the first time I’d ever seen anyone shapeshift was when we first arrived and Saryn transformed from a sensuous female into the handsome and cunning male before us now.

Unlike the trickery of glamour, shapeshifting was much more than some vivid illusion. You could touch it, feel it, and everything about it would seem real. By the end of his explanation, I pretty much resolved to master glamour long before I’d attempt shapeshifting.

The discussion of mind reading went hand in hand with mental shields. Many Fae had the ability to read minds; it was just terribly impolite. Most people were out of practice, eventually tuning it out completely. This is why many didn’t bother expending the energy to keep up their mental shields. With everyone minding their own business, there wasn’t a need.

Now and then people would slip up and follow it with an apology. I thought back to Gris and how he’d known I was self-conscious in the sunlight, then had proceeded to draw the curtains and dim the lights without me asking.

We were growing tired of hearing Saryn stress the importance of learning to live with our mental shields up at all times. While I understood the importance of it, the idea of it sounded utterly exhausting. He then proceeded to point out that all mind-reading is one-way, and only true bonded mates possessed the two-way communication known as mind-melding. In the old tongue, this was usually referred to as fideli c?ur .

I glanced over at Gia, not surprised to see an expression of melancholy. I couldn’t imagine being cut off from someone the way she had been by coming here. To have had that kind of intense connection with another and have it severed seemed like an unimaginable level of heartbreak I did not want to ever experience.

Saryn snidely remarked that while that two-way skillset might come in handy, it wasn’t worth it to have to deal with a bonded pair, and he thanked the Gods as this was no place for mates.

Next, he covered the act of mesmerization, more commonly referred to as “pushing” someone. In a way, this felt like the most intrusive of the powers he’d listed thus far. It was one thing to listen in on someone’s thoughts, or manipulate what you looked like, but this is when we started to ignore boundaries entirely. Using eye contact, or sometimes a simple phrase, even a change in tone of voice could cause another person to do your bidding.

It was stripping someone of their freedom and control over their actions and decisions. I’d never experienced anything like that; an act like that toward someone of a High household is considered treachery. If you truly mastered shields, then you could not only block someone from reading your thoughts, but your mind would also be impenetrable to mesmerization.

It felt like Saryn had been rambling on forever, as if he enjoyed the sound of his voice. Admittedly, the discussion probed further than I’d ever allowed my thoughts to explore, and that alone was enough to intrigue me. Yet, rapt as I was, a certain weight of expectation pressed down heavily, causing me to slump further into the chair.

He saved the most rare and difficult abilities till the end of his diatribe. Elemental manipulation and transfiguration were two additional, similar powers, but had distinct differences. Wielding elements meant that you could shape the natural material that made up our world. Earth, air, fire, and water. It was practically unheard of to channel the creation of the materials and then wield them. Most who did master this required some form of the element to be present or nearby already, no matter how small, then they could manipulate it; that could mean turning it into a weapon or some form of defense like a shield.

Filling my own bath to the brim with a small amount of water from a canteen is a mere shade of what water wielders could do, but perhaps that meant there was promise for me.

Much of the magic discussed today I had barely read about and certainly never saw in person, so I wasn’t feeling very worldly or useful. Sometimes I found myself daydreaming in self-doubt while Saryn droned on; thinking about all the years of my life that had gone by without attempting to master any of this. I wasn’t certain I could, and that scared me. I wanted to be useful, but more than that was the desire to be powerful. To do rare and difficult things, and perhaps, even impress my peers beyond some reckless sparring.

I already knew what transfiguration was and had seen Idris wielding it on full display. Still, Saryn went over it in detail to ensure everyone understood that the ability to physically change any handmade object, no matter what it was made of, was a rare and useful ability. A useful example included the ability to alter one’s clothing when shapeshifting.

Theory made a morbid joke about being able to transfigure wine into poison with a mere wink. A few of us let out a small laugh, but I just looked at her with trepidation because I was certain she was not joking regardless of her playful tone.

The thought of people out there who would do such evil things freely and think of it as creativity or problem-solving was one of the many reasons I struggled to fathom myself being a valued member of the Order. But I had no other choice than to try until I resembled what they wanted me to become.

The second to last power he covered was dreamwalking. Until now, I hadn’t believed this power was real. It was mentioned often in bedtime stories from my childhood. While tucking us in, Mother would tell Versa and me tales of strange figures that danced while you slept, bringing sweet dreams to good children—and nightmares to those who misbehaved. Although it seemed silly now, the story made me think twice about disobeying my mother and father when I was little.

This was the ability to gain access to someone’s mind while they slept, and in doing so, you could plant ideas and visions to influence them, or you could simply watch their dreamscape to learn more about their innermost desires and plans. People were always at their most vulnerable when sleeping, as their shields would be down.

Theory implied that this power was extremely rare and we would not be expected to master an ability that was considered more of an innate gift. She also mentioned that the only Dreamwalker she had ever encountered was now dead, their head on a pike in a town square for all to see when their master learned of the trespasses that had been made.

I shuddered at the thought of it, because Theory had intentionally let her shields down and her thoughts were practically screaming the visuals of it at me, to the point where I could detect the faint copper taste of blood on my tongue. I clenched my fists, trying to break myself away from her barrage of thoughts replaying the savage act.

The final power was the gift of vision, and those with it were commonly referred to as Seers. Much like Dreamwalkers, people didn’t believe in them. Most people treated them like crackpots or individuals who had lost their minds. I thought back to Aster in the woods. Her riddles and rhymes were cryptic, and yet something about her had made me feel like she could see a picture of which I could only see a fraction.

Saryn assured us that while some people pretended to have the gift of vision to swindle a passerby, Seers were real, rare, and born that way.

“A Seer is only as valuable as their ability to interpret their visions,” he added.

“And most refuse to speak of their visions for they believe that increases the chances of them being altered,” Theory noted.

That lined up pretty accurately with the fact that for as much as Aster had told me, it made little sense, and she offered no clarity other than my future was being intentionally hidden. Now that I was here in Basdie and part of a secret order, it all added up, and I had a funny suspicion that Idris was behind the enchantments blocking my future from being seen.

Nonetheless, pieces and parts of the riddle began to consume my mind, slipping in from the corners of my memory. My attention returned to the classroom when a long pause of silence occurred. More silence than I had heard in a long while.

Saryn must have finally grown tired of talking because he dismissed us for dinner, and I had to admit I was relieved. If he had put any more thoughts in my head, I might have exploded. By now, I was questioning which part of my training was going to be the death of me. Saryn wasn’t kidding, my mind was exhausted and all we’d done was discuss magical abilities; we hadn’t even begun attempting them yet.

All the action of the day had built up quite an appetite in me. In the dining room, I decided I was tired of the routine we had all settled into. Sitting in the same order room after room was beginning to irk me; I made a point to wait till Trace sat down, and then I intentionally took the seat next to him before Nori could. She had a confused look when she arrived at the table, but she didn’t make a fuss about it and happily took the seat on the other side of me.

He began to eat with a begrudging look that probably only I noticed, and that’s because Trace had worn a scowl on his face ever since arriving at Basdie. There was no hiding that he was displeased, so the slightest increase in that displeasure was imperceptible to the others.

I looked down at his arm to my side, noting the black tattoos peeking out the end of his sleeve by his hand. I had been too brave, too bold with my decision to swap seats, because now I had the burning desire to reach out and touch him. Even if I could just place my hand on his, and feel the warmth of his skin against mine, I might be able to relieve the heavy lump that sat in my throat every time I looked at him.

Trace wasn’t exactly soft or sweet to begin with, but with me, he had been vulnerable—I knew that to be true. It was almost painful to feel the repulsion he emanated toward me. Did this place erase everything for him? Did I mean nothing to him now? He certainly still meant something to me. I had to find a way to talk to him.

After dinner, the others hung around in the common area, perusing the books. Now that we knew it was expected of us to be studying whenever we had free time, it seemed like people wanted to ensure they weren’t stuck with the undesirable texts. Most of us were quiet, likely fatigued with the same exhaustion of the day.

I noticed Nori at a table fiddling with a small sack of items, and I sat down to join her.

“What’s that?” I asked.

She looked up with fond excitement that I had shown any interest at all.

“It’s a game; I brought it from home. You probably think I’m silly for bringing something like this, but I packed it before I knew what this place was really about…” She trailed off, looking disappointed.

Trying to make her feel better and play along, I continued to feign curiosity, “What’s it called?”

“Bones and Stones. Do people play it where you’re from?”

I witnessed Nori pour the contents of the sack onto the table: a number of smoothly polished stones and small bone fragments. My sister and I played many games growing up, but I had never heard of this one—and given the name, I don’t think my mother would have let us play. I wondered to myself if they were animal bones… Certainly a pacifist wouldn’t be carrying around a bag of Fae bones, right?

“No, I can’t say I’ve ever encountered it. How do you play?”

She placed a long stick in between us on the table.

“You’re bones and I’ll be stones. The stick represents our sides of the board. You take your 5 pieces into your hand and hold them in a fist with your arm straight out in front of you over the center of the stick. You close your eyes and then call your hand, evens or odds.”

I listened to the rules intently, hoping that it did not get any more complex than this. I was not one for games with a never-ending list of rules to follow.

She continued, “Once you’ve made your call, release the pieces from your hand without looking. When you open your eyes, we count the number of pieces that fell on your side of the stick and if it’s a sum matching your call, you get a point. However, if the amount on your side of the board is the opposite, then I claim the point. Then we switch turns and repeat till the first person reaches 12 points and is deemed the winner.”

Upon her explanation of the rules, I considered how juvenile the game was. There wasn’t really any strategy to be had, but I was trying to forge friendships and didn’t have much strength to do anything else. After a few rounds of persistently losing to Nori, I began to wonder if she had been cheating or perhaps was able to see through her eyelids. Maybe next time I’d propose blindfolds. It was eerie how accurate she was at guessing on her turn, but I resolved to believe it was because she had played this many more times than I had, or perhaps, next time I’d play stones instead of bones.

Trace may have thought he was being inconspicuous, but I noticed him watching us from the corner of the common room while he pretended to show interest in a book. He retired to his room as soon as Nori let out a small cheer as she claimed her victory point.

Training with Theory, exposing ourselves on the terrace, and then listening to what might as well have been a monologue on magic from Saryn had made for a very, very long day. I found a piece of parchment and scribbled a note on it. Before the others returned to their rooms, I made my way back first and slid the note under Trace’s door asking him to meet in four hours after we were certain everyone else would be asleep.

I lay on my bed, waiting for the time to pass and for the hallways to go still and silent. When I was certain everyone else was asleep, I made my exit and was pleased to see he had decided to follow through. Honestly, I had thought there was a very good chance he would ignore my request entirely. His hair was a tousled mess and his eyes looked worn and tired like mine. He was in a loose-fitting black shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing both marked arms.

I had no idea where I was going to take us to find privacy, but I led the way down the spiraling hallway. That tingling sensation had returned briefly but then quickly waned. Trace kept his distance from me but followed in silence. We walked for what seemed like forever till we reached what presumably was the bottom, as the hallway came to an end and the sound of the waterfall through the glass was even more deafening than it was higher up. We hadn’t been shown this part of Basdie yet; we’d both need to act surprised whenever we were brought here later by our instructors.

To my recollection, they hadn’t called out any specific rules about staying up late, being out after hours, or wandering Basdie. As Theory had said: If the rules aren’t stated, then there are none to break . I reflected on the memory of yelling for Gia to throw me a blade before I attacked Saryn.

There was an arched doorway and we wandered through it, unsure of what to expect on the other side. What we discovered was a small circular room with a steaming pool in its center, not unlike the pool at the castle where we had bathed in the waters of Mirtith.

Using his magic, Trace lit more torches lining the walls—a stark contrast from when he insisted on building his own fires. The water glowed and steam hung heavy in the air, making our skin hot. A sheen of sweat formed along my arms, and I removed one of my layers to relieve myself from the heat. I figured why not dip my toes in while we talked?

I removed my boots, placed them to my side, and sat on the damp ground, dipping my feet into the pool. It felt like warm bath water. Trace took a spot on the ground too, but kept a small distance that made the tension obvious.

The silence between us had begun to feel like a unique form of torture. I wasn’t normally one to apologize, but I figured the only way to get him to be vulnerable was to do so first.

“I’m sorry that I lied to you. I hope you can see why, since we were both in a similar predicament,” I offered, somewhat timidly. “Would it have made a difference?” I anxiously asked for an answer I wasn’t entirely prepared to hear.

“I don’t think anything could have stopped me from wanting you,” he replied, taking a long pause before adding, “My whole life has always been intertwined with every whim of my father or the king, and you were the first thing that made me want another life. One of my choosing.”

He turned to look at me directly—one of the few times since we’d arrived. “I knew where I was headed, but I wanted to believe you were somewhere living your life, freely, and that someday you’d find the happiness you deserve.”

I tried to interject, but he stopped me before I could get a word in.

“I have this rage inside of me now, a rage I’ve been unable to quell since seeing your face unveiled in that pool in the depths beneath the castle. You don’t deserve this, to have your life taken from you. I cannot bear to see you become the monster they want you to be, and for you to see the monster that I already am.”

I reached for his hand, finally feeling the touch of his skin against mine, and I held it tightly, trying to reassure him that I did not see him the way he saw himself. “You’re not a monster, Trace, don’t say that!”

“Cress, you know nothing about me or my past.” His eyes were wide and his words pained. It hurt to hear him say I knew nothing about him, but it also felt true.

“You heard Varro, I’m a black cloak. We’re lethal and savage, we do things I won’t allow myself to say out loud. I don’t even deserve to be in your presence.”

I tried to console him. “You’re military, you were only doing what was commanded of you.”

Trace scoffed and began to shake his head. “We are not military, Cress. The Orni exists in the shadows. We don’t belong to the king, we belong to no one. You know what we black cloaks say? ‘For coin or Cambria . ’ Yes, sometimes our king has employed our services when his own couldn’t get the job done, but we serve whoever can pay the price for our services.”

I was trying to reconcile what Trace was implying. So, he wasn’t Kingsguard, or military at all? He was nothing more than a paid assassin? Someone who just killed for money? My chest tightened with concern, not for my safety, because I was certain he’d never hurt me, but for the looming fact that perhaps the lies Trace had told during our time together concealed much more than I ever had.

My thoughts were a tangled mess trying to make sense of it all. “But how did you become a member of the High Court if you committed these terrible misdeeds?”

“Many years ago, the daughter of a High Lord needed a favor, something unspeakable and unforgivable. She enlisted the help of the Orni, but the price was enormous. Coin alone would never be enough; he demanded a bargain. Her hand in marriage. Thus, he made his way into the High Court via marriage to a Royal Fae. This solidified his power and rank, but he did not settle for the life of a lord. He had far too much bloodlust for a simple life.”

Trace’s voice was shaky; he struggled to get the words out, and that’s when I knew exactly who the daughter of the High Lord was. The female he’d spoken fondly but briefly of—his mother.

I reached for his face to cup his cheek in my hand, and he leaned into the feeling of my caress. His eyes closed briefly, and it was like a world of sadness pooling heavily in my palm. I ran my thumb across his eyebrow with the thin silver scar. He opened his eyes and the hazel bored into me with a beseeching look.

“How did this happen?”

He pulled away from my hand and replied, “Varro isn’t the only one with a terrible father.”

My eyes widened at the thought of Trace’s own father laying a hand on him.

“It’s a brand. All the Wick brothers have this. When we were barely adolescents, he tore us away from our mother to begin our ‘training.’ It began with him holding a scalding hot knife against our brow. I wish I could tell you that the act taught us some insightful lesson, but it was just a sick way to signify to the others that we were his sons and to set us apart like livestock. We weren’t allowed to heal ourselves, and nobody else was allowed to help. That’s why we have the scars. Pride can lead one to do terrible things, Cress.”

I longed to hear my name from his mouth, and each time he said it, I had to restrain myself from pressing mine against his. But everything he said was terribly tragic, and I felt overwhelmed with despair for what he had been put through. His father sounded truly evil, and it was hard to fathom that his father might be the same if not worse than Varro’s.

I hadn’t realized just how much normalcy and love I had been raised around. Everyone here had some sort of tragedy befall them at one time or another. Cairis, the bastard half-breed. Nori, the miraculous only child. Gia, the broken bonded. Trace, the tormented. As for Varro, I did not know him well, but House Corliss would forever be stained due to his father’s treachery. Then there was me. Not special, or unique, just a twin, born into a good family who gave me a good life. It felt unfair, and in some weird way, I felt uneasy about my peaceful life.

My peers had been hurt before they came here. They had motivation to be angry and vengeful, but I had no such thing to drive me.

I knew there was a part of me that was speaking with the real Trace for the first time, but there was also a part of me that wasn’t listening, wasn’t accepting it. I had spent so much time with him that there was an idea I’d built up of who he was—and who he was to me.

I did not fear him, yet I should have. I should’ve cared about the lives he’d taken, but I didn’t. My feelings and thoughts were mired in contradiction, and my instincts danced between longing and wanting to run.

I leaned in closer to him, his scent further intoxicating my will. This time, Trace did not back away. I could feel my feet lightly touching his below the water. Eventually, our foreheads rested together, our breathing heavy. I could feel the rise and fall of his chest with my palm resting above his heart. I wanted him to know that if he was a monster, I wanted him to be my monster. Nothing so reckless had ever felt this right.

Our mouths hovered close, the warmth of our breath swirling together in a whirlpool of lustful anticipation. “We can’t do this,” he rasped.

“I know,” I replied.

“Cress…” he said my name like a quiet prayer.

“Yes?”

“This place is going to make us do terrible things. Things far worse to witness than violence.”

“I don’t care,” I said breathlessly.

“Don’t promise me anything beyond this moment,” he panted.

His request sounded like he was begging for a reprieve only I could offer him. Promises didn’t seem like something either of us could make from here on out, so I acquiesced.

“I won’t.”

Before I could say another word, Trace’s lips were pressed firmly to mine and his hands roamed over every curve of my body with the ferocity of someone starved for touch. It was messy and rough; the steam of the room made it more difficult to breathe as we gasped from one intense kiss to the next.

Beyond the first time with Trace, I had never felt nervous—but something about this act rattled me. It felt wrong and desperate, like we were both clinging to something unattainable. It was frantic with unspoken fear and sadness. I fought back the feeling of tears in my eyes and continued to sweep my tongue across his, running my fingers through his hair, tugging and tilting him to my will.

He pulled me on top of him, encircling my legs around him while his were still submerged at the edge of the pool. He ripped my top open and began to place rough kisses all along my moist body. I could feel his excitement between the thin layer of my pants, and the familiarity of his body against mine felt like home, like the most comforting thing I’d felt since arriving here. I rejoiced in it.

He palmed my breast furiously, and each time he pinched my nipples I let out a small noise of pain mixed with building pleasure. I dragged my nails along his back until I couldn’t stand it any longer. I needed the feel of his bare skin against mine. I lifted his shirt over his head and tossed it to the floor.

Trace began to rub his hand between my thighs, causing me to grind my hips. He wasted no time in giving me what I wanted and plunged his hand into my pants, meeting my slick core. My small whimpers echoed in the tiny room, and the sound of them only caused Trace to work me harder.

There were no gentle movements. I began to untie his pants to free him of his constraints. I wanted to see him again; wanted to take him in my hands and mouth. I couldn’t take any more of this foreplay, the desire to have him inside me was too great.

Trace picked me up and laid me flat on the hard stone floor beside the pool. He pulled down his trousers far enough to free himself. Impatiently, he pulled my pants off as well, tossing them aside. He spread my legs apart and wasted no time in tearing the thin undergarment from my eager body. It reminded me of all the other times he’d found himself carelessly destroying my clothing.

I gasped when he entered me, reminded of how good this had felt all those times leading up to the day I was delivered to this place. A feeling I thought I’d never have again, from someone I thought I’d never see again. It felt like a fever dream, having him here and now.

Trace pumped in and out of me with fast, shallow movements, and my body arched against the floor, wanting all that he could give me. I felt the stone scraping my back, but I wouldn’t waste time trying to re-position. Not when everything else felt so good. Trace shifted into slow, long strokes and leaned over me, running small kisses along the side of my jaw till he hovered just above my mouth. I could feel his words flutter against the soft edges of my lips.

“Say my name, for I may never hear you say it like this again.”

The truth of it hurt, and I felt the full weight of what he was requesting. All we had was this moment. There were no guarantees beyond this. We wouldn’t survive if we avoided the reality of our circumstances.

I whispered back to him, “Trace.”

He rewarded me with another hard thrust, but stalled again till I repeated his name.

“Trace, please…don’t stop,” I said loudly, the words now echoing.

He began to pace himself, continuously building my pleasure just like he had all the times before. He knew my body and how to work me so well.

“Trace!” I let out a moan while saying his name again.

I looked up at his face, seeing the scar across his eyebrow and then the dark ink running along both his arms, feeling like I had finally seen him for the first time. His eyes darkened, and I saw a glimmer of the viciousness that lay beneath the surface. Perhaps a cruelty I had never imagined. I tried to ignore the parading thoughts of bloodshed and torture that threatened to consume my attention and distract me from this pleasure.

I wrapped my legs around him tighter, forcing him closer and deeper. With each unrelenting thrust, I screamed his name until I was hoarse and, together, we met our climax. Catching my screams in his mouth as he kissed me. We lay there pressed together, his chest heaving against mine as we attempted to calm ourselves.

I wanted to stay with him in that room forever, or make our way to the terrace and escape together into the night sky, but the very real consequences of doing so loomed silently over us both.

What followed felt like a ritual. Together we bathed in the waters. Trace held my nude body and tilted my head back into the pool, letting the water soak through all of my hair as he gently moved wet strands along the sides of my face. He ran his hands across the scrapes and bruises on my back that had already formed, healing them instantly. I did not know if it was the result of him or the healing waters.

If I’d had a choice, I would have kept them. The pain was a reminder of this tryst that would fade with each passing day. He looked at me with tender sorrow.

I ran my hands along his strong arms, tracing the tattoos with my fingertips now with a different understanding of what they represented. A life he did not choose; one he escaped only by having another chosen for him. I wished for him a world where he did not have to use his hands for violence and revenge. His were already stained, and I feared that for me this was just the beginning. Goosebumps rippled across my skin despite the warm waters.

When I could no longer stand the silence between us, I made my way from the pool and began to put on my clothes. He followed suit behind me until we were both fully dressed again. For a long while, I stood there in his arms while he caressed me gently.

We made our way back toward the dormitories. Our steps were intentionally sluggish, trying to keep a slow pace and relish these last minutes together where we could pretend that we weren’t about to be torn apart by duty, yet again. When he stopped at my door, he whispered, “Be careful. I can’t protect you from everything.”

I placed a gentle peck on his lips. Anything more than that and I wouldn’t be able to tear myself away. I’d make the mistake of pulling him into my room and risk exposing us both.

“I didn’t ask you to.” I squeezed the hand I was holding, let go, and turned to enter my room, closing the door behind me without another glance.

I leaned against the door, exasperated from all of it. I wanted him to believe I was confident that I could take care of myself. I wanted to believe it, too. I needed to believe it. But for now, I slid down to the ground, pulled my legs tightly against my chest, and began to let out quiet muffled sobs.

I mourned many things that night. I had to let many parts of myself disappear and die. There was too much to learn, to master, and I did not want to be distracted by my past. Despite Trace being here, I needed to treat him the same as everyone else if I wanted any chance of becoming a different version of myself.

A stronger, more powerful, more devious version. I would not leave here the same person I had arrived as. I drifted off to sleep, feeling heavy and broken.