Page 19 of Wrath of the Dragons (Fear the Flames #2)

Chapter Thirteen

Elowen

The moon has overthrown the sun by the time we make it back to my old home.

The day was spent preparing everyone for the evacuation with Saskia and I taking charge of sorting the housing assignments, as Cayden, Ryder, Finnian, and the soldiers who accompanied us began loading trunks and crates onto wagons.

The housekeeper who’s looked after the property lit the lanterns and fires once she heard I was back.

I thought I’d feel comfort in coming back here, but it’s strange to look at a site I once called home and realize it no longer is.

My fingers glide against rough wood as I lift the latch, but the creaking gate doesn’t make my shoulders loosen when the sound rises to my ears.

I don’t find solace while walking up the path that leads to the chipped green door I painted several summersago.

Aestilian has remained frozen in time. It’s me who’s changed.

I breathe deeply while twisting the handle, but the unease within me grows as I walk toward the fire blazing in the hearth, knowing that somewhere in the past, I walked here as a different person.

A queen with no army, a rider with no dragons, a woman trying to hold a crumbling kingdom together.

I toss my coat on top of the pile of others thrown over the couch and claim my seat beside Saskia at the table, the combined presence of my companions banishing the loneliness that once cloaked the space.

“Please tell me you have something other than ale,” Saskia miserably mumbles.

“It’s sad you felt the need to ask me that.” I grin, reaching into the cabinet behind me to pull out a bottle of wine.

“You need to continue to expose yourself to ale to develop a taste for it,” Ryder says after taking a large bite of the pot pie, somehow making meat, potatoes, peas, and gravy seem wholly unappetizing.

Cayden rolls his eyes toward the ceiling. “Can you refrain from exposing the food in your mouth?”

“Drink every time they bicker,” I whisper to Saskia and Finnian.

Finnian shakes my hand beneath the table but Saskia blanches. “Do you want to die?”

I laugh into my chalice as Ryder casts Cayden a black stare. “You’ve seen innards fall out of a man’s stomach but food disgusts you?”

Finnian smacks his fist onto the wood, rattling the plates and silverware. “No speaking of innards at the table.”

“When did I become the enemy?” Ryder shouts incredulously.

“Change of plans.” I stand from the table, drinking game forgotten, clasping my plate and chalice in each hand and biting down on the neck of the wine bottle so Saskia and I don’t have to walk for refills. We sink onto the couch and get comfortable, clinking our glasses and filling them again.

The kitchen, sitting room, and dining area are all connected, so despite us moving away from the men, we didn’t get far, and we certainly don’t get silence.

Ryder’s chair screeches as he abruptly stands and carries his dinner the short distance, plopping down on the floor across from us. “Keep pouring, sunshine.”

I look right at him while drinking straight from the bottle. Finnian squeezes into the spot beside me, and Cayden takes the chair closest to the fireplace.

“I set some goats loose in the field for Sorin,” Cayden says.

“They’re so adorable, though.” Finnian groans, and I pat him on the shoulder.

“You can try to corral them while a dragon chases you for interfering with the hunt.” Cayden doesn’t bother looking up from his food while gesturing to the window. “We can watch.”

“And you’ll be out there saving his ass as soon as Elowen starts screaming,” Ryder jests, and Cayden smacks him on the back of the head, causing them both to delve into laughter that the rest of us join in on.

Life is made up of a series of moments and can change in a minute. I’ve never known what tomorrow or even the next hour will bring—death, tragedy, or something else entirely. But on my worst days, sometimes it’s the people I’m with who make it better.

“I’ll show you to your rooms,” I say once the ale and wine are gone and fatigue weighs on us all, leading them down the long hall that branches off into several rooms. The threadbare carpet that was once bright red is now a washed-out pink, most likely bleached from the sun and worn down by boots.

“There are more blankets in the cupboard and extra wood beside every fireplace.”

Ryder rubs his stomach while stumbling into his room, and Saskia claims the one beside his. The accommodations are plain, nothing more than a bed and dresser, but it’ll do. Finnian opens his door and sighs. “I haven’t missed that lumpy thing.”

“You sleep like the dead and I’m sure your snores will be vibrating the floorboards soon enough.”

“I don’t snore that loud.” He chuckles, but it soon dies out when I don’t respond, and my smirk grows in the silence. “Ellie.” My childhood nickname is drenched in betrayal. “How could you never tell me?”

“It’s comforting.” I innocently shrug. “It’s like sleeping close to a big bear.”

He looks at me like I’ve lost all capacity to form an intelligent thought, and I pull Cayden into my room, giggling to myself as I shut the door. “The bed is much smaller than you’re used to, and your feet will hang off the edge, but—”

“It’s fine.” He unhooks the sword from his waist and sits down as he glances around my room, taking in the book stacks, chair, and small paintings in the corners of the walls that I did when I was bored.

Sparse jewelry is piled into a bowl on my nightstand splattered with candlewax from nights I spent reading.

“The first place I could afford was a glorified closet in a rat-infested building.”

I grimace. “Was there at least a window?”

“Yes, though it wasn’t much of a luxury unless you wanted to smell the filth of the streets or listen to the shouting drunks.”

“How old were you?”

His brow furrows as he does the math in his head, and I glue my hands to my sides to keep from reaching forward to smooth it out. “Around fifteen.” My stomach drops. “Don’t give me that look.”

“I’m not giving you any look.” I avert my eyes and step over to the book stacks, running my fingers along the spines like greeting old friends.

“You wish to share a bed?”

I glance over my shoulder while undoing the braid Hyacinth did this morning and massaging my roots. “Why wouldn’t we?”

“You don’t have servants here,” he says. “Isn’t that why you wanted to share a bed in Vareveth? To avoid gossip if a servant entered our chambers and saw me sleeping on the floor?”

“Oh, right.” I rise to my feet, tossing my hair behind my shoulders and clasping my hands. My bed here is also much smaller, so there’s no way we’d be able to sleep beside each other and not touch. “I’ll show you to a different room.”

“You misunderstand me.” He cuts into my path and grabs my wrist before I can twist the brass knob.

“I’m staying in this room. The house isn’t warded, we’re in foreign territory, and although our enemies are miles away, we’re still at war.

I’m not taking any chances with your safety.

I’ll sleep on the floor if it makes you more comfortable. ”

He’s so close, looking at me with eyes that make me feel like I’ve just stepped in front of a fire after trekking through a storm.

“I-I’m not going to make you sleep on the floor.”

He draws me in like a weary traveler desperate for comfort, but I’m still stuck in the snow.

Ailliard’s voice echoes on a loop in my mind, making me want to press my palms to my ears and scream.

I’ve faced terrifying things in life and yet the idea that someone could love me for all the years I have left in my life, and the fear that accompanies it, is the one thing I don’t know how to conquer.

I drop my eyes and pull my wrist from his hold.

“El—”

“Can I have a moment? I’d like to be alone.” The lie tastes bitter on my tongue. He’s standing right in front of me, but I miss him. I miss tracing his scars with my fingers and lips. I miss the feeling of being at ease in his arms. Nothing happened in the way I wanted and yet I still want him.

Cayden has a power over me like nobody else, and I hate feeling like I’m building a barrier against my own happiness, but I mindlessly keep piling stones on top of each other, telling myself that what hurts me right now won’t be able to hurt me again.

Nobody can love a vile creature.

He stares down at me for several prolonged beats as the silence between us suffocates me.

It wraps around my throat like a ribbon, cowardice and pain twining together to form a bow.

He reaches for his sword and exits the room, his boots thumping against the creaking wood.

The front door to the house shuts, and I press my forehead into the wall while rubbing at the ache in my chest.

I can’t just stand here, I’ll go mad. Ailliard’s heart thumps through the walls, beckoning me to seek out the source of what’s been plaguing my mind since Jarek told me where the pardons were hidden.

I dig my nails into my palms and step into the hall.

Part of me didn’t want to come back to the house, knowing this would be unavoidable.

The moon bathes the room with just enough light for me to see, and it smells of the dust that floats within the silvery rays.

I tug my pendant along the chain as I step farther inside, scanning the surroundings of a room so familiar yet foreign.

I didn’t truly know the man that stayed here, despite sharing a roof.

My knees hit the floor hard when I sink to them in a daze, lifting the wooden trunk at the base of the bed.

Several folded tunics are perfectly stacked in two piles, and it’s like I’m watching myself outside of my body as I pick one up and hold it to my chest. I sink my teeth into my lip until I taste blood, throwing the tunic back into the trunk and slamming the lid shut.

The cut on my thigh is healed, but the fresh scar throbs when I recall Ailliard shoving his nails into the wound. He harbored such malice, such hatred, and here I am hugging his fucking tunic.

My blood chills when I get to my feet and round the dresser that juts awkwardly into the room. I press my hands into the floorboards until one pops up. I take a deep breath before lifting it and gracelessly let it slip from my limp fingers.

My stomach rolls and I force myself to look away from the contents within, squeezing my eyes shut as if it’ll erase the image burned into my mind.

Why? Why did he betray me? What day did he decide he regretted fleeing with me?

What day did he look at me and realize he’d never care more for me than he cared for a king who wanted him dead?

Tears patter against the wood around me like the beginning of a storm, and I don’t bother wiping them from my face as I trail my fingers over the ribbons I used to wear in my hair as a child.

I’d never go anywhere without something colorful woven into my braids.

Ailliard knew this, and each time he went on a raid he’d bring a new color back for me.

A sob rattles my frame when I flip through the old pages of a gardening manual he used to teach me how to read.

Every inch of my body is shaking so badly I can’t even read the words, so I set it aside and pull out the first gown he gifted me, made of lavender and white fabric.

I practically lived in it before I outgrew it.

I throw everything on the floor, pressing the heels of my palms into my eyes as if that’ll stop the tears, but more keep pouring from me in violent waves.

My breathing quickens and my vision gets spotty.

I try to calm myself down, to not succumb to my emotions, but they overpower me and drag me down into the shadowy depths.

I feel like there’s no escaping when they have me in their thrall.

I claw at my throat, trying to remove an invisible noose but it’s pointless.

Frustrated with myself, I pile all my belongings onto the dress and fold them up.

I can’t be in here anymore.

My boots pound as I make my way to the back of the house and shove the door open, tossing my childhood into the yard before spinning on my heels.

I grab whatever reminds me of Ailliard: clothing, blankets, boots, the mug he always used, the daggers I bought him after saving for months, his seat at the dining table.

I don’t stop until my chest is heaving from exertion instead of anxiety. “Sorin!” My voice is nothing more than a rasp, but the familiar sight of his emerald-green scales brings me comfort. “Burn it all!”

Flames engulf the pile, but it’s not the fire that destroys the tokens of the past; it’s the present.