Page 39 of Upon Buried Embers (Upon Buried Embers #1)

Rohan

I sit at the table, looking down at the hair in front of me.

I haven’t moved since I told her to leave, since I couldn’t stand to look at her any longer after what she’d done.

A part of me didn’t want her on the receiving end of my anger, but the other half of me wanted to rage at her, and if she hadn’t left when she did, I would have.

And I wouldn’t have been able to stop everything from boiling over and her being the collateral damage.

I let my hands rest on either side of the braided hair.

It’s a little lighter than mine, but darker at the roots.

My fingers twitch, but I don’t dare touch it.

How could she do this? How could she defy my rules and for what?

Why has she done this?

I hear Drogonah roar in the distance, but it’s muted as rage and sadness war within me.

Is she with them now? Hiding out in the cave?

I look at the end of the hair. It’s different from how she used to do it.

Did she say she only did one? Does that mean the other is left on his reins?

I try to get up and check, but I can’t stop staring down at the braid.

The ribbon is tied wonky, but she was right, it’s the best braid she’s done.

My finger inches closer, and my pointer finger touches one single strand.

Another roar.

Another strand, and another, and another until the braid lies in my hand.

I hold it gently. It looks off against my roughened skin, like I have no right to touch it anymore because it isn’t hers now.

I go to the fire and lift my hand. I hover there, willing my palm to open and drop it, wanting to burn away what she did because it doesn’t matter anymore, it isn’t the same after she changed it.

But my fingers won’t open, and there’s a subtle shake to my hands that makes me tense with the weakness of it.

It’s not the same, Rohan. Drop it.

I drop to the floor instead, squeezing the hair in one hand and run the other down my face.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

The windows rattle in the cabin and I eye them, and the storm raging outside.

It’s a good thing I made sure Nora was getting the extra furs she requested. Melle will be warm tonight.

I look to my own bed through the curtain, and then the pole, the rope still attached there. I rub the hair between my fingers.

It has been washed and re-braided, it isn’t the last thing she touched anymore.

My gaze drifts back to the pole.

That is where she’ll sleep from now on. She isn’t getting into my bed after what she did.

But there should be one more.

Dropping the braid back on the table, I rush out of the cabin, and I’m instantly hit with the snowstorm. I pause, barely able to see in front of me, but I could make my way around camp with my eyes closed.

I enter the stables, not bothering to brush off the snow, the cold unable to penetrate me as I make my way to the back room.

The horses neigh when I enter, and Serah tries to get my attention, but I have one single focus right now.

Entering the room, the smell of leather invading my senses, I make my way over to Drogonah’s saddle, then grab the reins above.

Staring at where she untied the braid that she left on the table makes the rage come closer to the surface.

I take a breath, trying to gain control.

I quickly move my hand along, reaching the other end and find the hair there, intact and braided as it was. I drop my head to my chest, eyes closing and breathing out a sigh of relief.

I still have this.

But I nearly didn’t.

I stay there for a long time, wrestling with relief and fury. Grief and sadness.

The longer I stay, gripping the hair that’s left, the more anger wins out.

Growling, I rip the reins off the wall and make my way back to the cabin.

It cannot be trusted to stay here.

Everyone knows not to touch it, including her.

So why the fuck did she?!

Why did she think she had the right to do what she did and disobey orders?

Snow falls heavier now, but my rage is ever greater. It feels like an inferno building within, waiting to be unleashed and I can’t stop it.

How dare she.

How. Fucking. Dare. She.

I see the light in the cabin just up ahead.

She’ll be in there now, I’ve been out long enough for her to come back.

She’s probably in the bath, or went to bed at the pole.

If she thinks she’s getting away from this she has another thing coming. She’s about to find out just how barbaric a Dragonbond can be.

Stepping back inside the cabin, wet boots trailing snow across the floor, I stomp over the roses she dropped. “Elf! Come here, now,” I bark out.

I wait, chest heaving. Nothing.

“Do you really want to make this worse than it already is?” I step into the bathing area and peel back the curtain.

Empty.

I growl and turn to the bedroom.

“You think you can just go to sleep after what you have done!” I shout, ripping the curtain aside and I’m greeted with… nothing.

I pause, frowning as I make my way back to the sitting room, looking around the space.

The book and a few letters are on the table, the food Agnis brought earlier sits there, now cold.

I spin in a circle.

Where the fuck is she?

I place the reins on the table as the back door bangs open, flurries of snow blowing in on the wind and the cabin plunges into darkness, the torchlights extinguished. I stare into the snowstorm while the roses that she brings me every day swirl around me.

Leave.

That’s what I told her.

Hours ago.

But where did she go?