Page 68 of To Scale the Emerald Mountain

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

ALEC

Ellya and I sit on the floor, clinging to each other while I whisper incoherent apologies that will never be enough. The stain of Locane’s blood on the top of her head pokes at the beast wanting to rage in my chest. I try to control it and tell myself nothing matters now that she is home.

She is here with me—where she belongs.

Ellya cries openly as she sits cradled in my lap, clinging to me with her face buried in my chest, her tears soaking through my shirt. Her shoulders shake as I continue to hold her, afraid to break free from the moment—afraid she will disappear before my eyes. Stroking her hair gently, I kiss the top of her head often.

When Ellya’s sobs finally begin to fade away and her grip on me loosens, holding tighter to her back, I stand to my feet, lifting her in my arms. I carry her up the stairs of the mezzanine and into her chambers, opening the ajar door with a kick of my foot. My feet carry us through her sitting room and into her bedchamber.

The room is lit with soft glowing flicker lamps, gentle light splashing across the floor. Stopping in the middle of the room, I consider my next move. Ellya is a mess. The blood on her head keeps snagging my attention, and I yearn to wash him from her hair. To gently scrub my fingers through the tangles and across herscalp as I clean away the physical reminder of his wrongdoings. I glance back and forth between the poster bed and the bathing chamber.

“Do you want to bathe?” I murmur softly near her ear.

Ellya shakes her head vigorously and without another word I walk across the room. I awkwardly manage to continue holding her close while I pull back the thin blanket. With great reluctance, I deposit her softly on the bed and pull her boots off.

Covering her gently with the smooth satin sheet, I then pull a chair next to her, and sit—resisting the urge to nestle myself behind her and continue holding her tight. If I do, I will never get up to face what lies ahead.

I stare at Ellya openly, curled into herself. Her hands are balled into tight fists and are still taken by tremors. She is back to keeping her eyes screwed shut, refusing to look at me.

It hurts. Gods, it fucking hurts. But I can only imagine how my pain pales in comparison to hers.

Leaning forward, I brush her hair back from her face. The contact makes her flinch, and I retreat quickly.

“What can I do?” I ask pathetically, my throat tight. She merely shakes her head and more tears slip free, staining the pillow beneath her. “Are you hungry? Thirsty? Can I get you anything at all?”

I am useless. Utterly fucking useless.

Ellya shakes her head again, and I sit back, leaving her be. It does not take long for her body to uncoil itself and her breathing to become deep and even. I could watch her sleep for hours; and I intend to, after the other half of this matter is addressed.

It pains me to leave her, but it is necessary. I mentally reach out to Mhaylene—who Ellya seemed to recognizeimmediately—asking her to stay in the event she wakes up before I return. Standing silently, I place a gentle kiss on her forehead, and then another. Although she is sleeping, I whisper to her, “I will be back soon,” and brush my lips against her cheek.

My nerves scream as I pull away. She moans quietly and leans towards me, as if even in sleep she is resisting my departure. Lowering the lights further, I leave just enough to be able to see. I turn to her one last time before I go, scarcely letting myself believe she is truly here. Before I change my mind and crawl into bed with her—right where I belong—I walk into the hall.

The door closes silently behind me. The palace is eerily quiet tonight, and I know it has nothing to do with the hour. Kraeston is standing guard when I exit. His large frame towers over mine, a feat given my own considerable height.

My eyes turn towards the stairs to see Mhaylene ascending to the landing and heading towards us.

“How is she?” Kraeston asks. His concern is genuine. After all, he has known Ellya as long as I have and has spent much time with her throughout the years, accompanying me on most trips to Brhadir.

“Sleeping.”

“Did she speak to you at all?” Mhaylene asks in a hushed tone.

“She did not. I only asked her if she needed anything. All she would do was shake her head.” I rub my temples. Exhaustion that I have been ignoring is creeping in, its fuzziness blanketing my senses. A headache is forming between my eyes at the prospect of facing Locane. “Will you stay with her? She should not be alone if she wakes up.”

“You are going to see him now?” Mhaylene’s brows rise with her question.

I nod once.

Mhaylene gnaws her lip before replying, “Should it not wait, Alec? You’re exhausted and raw. And you should be with her.”

“It cannot wait. I am fine. I will return to Elly as soon as this is over,” I tell her rubbing my temples again.

“You are not. You have been running on liquor, adrenaline, and fearful rage for months. Kraeston was just admitting his worry earlier—telling me he’s ready to slip you a sleeping draught if you don’t rest on your own soon.” She crosses her arms with apprehension, her knowing eyes taking me in.

Kraeston gapes at her indignantly. “Thanks for throwing me under, Mhay.”