The Tears of Elios (6 page)

“Why wouldn't you look Galen in the eye last night?”

The directness of his question stopped her in her tracks. Did she dare tell him about the silver haze? “You told me not to stare,” she finally replied and began folding the blankets.

Master Tyrrus wasn’t convinced with her answer, but he didn’t pursue it. “Well, because of the way you acted last night, he doesn’t trust you.”

“Whatever have I done to make me untrustworthy?”

“You're a human who can't look an elf in the eye. To Galen, that is a confession of guilt.”

“But I've never even seen an elf before.”

“I spent most of the evening trying to explain that to him, but he wasn't convinced. He told me he was going to keep a close eye on you while you’re here, which was a vast improvement over his original plan to teleport you somewhere in the middle of nowhere.”

Frustration welled up within her. She was being convicted for a crime she no idea she was committing. “But I haven't done anything!”

“There was something about you that unsettled him. He wouldn't tell me what it was, but I've never seen him agitated like that before, which is saying a lot about an elf.”

“Was it because of that spell he tried to cast on me?”

“What spell? Oh, that one. That was just a spell to see your aura.”

“My aura?”

“Yes, your aura. Don't you ever listen to me? Your aura tells two things—what kind of magics you’ve cast and how strong the gift is in you.”

“And was there something wrong with my aura?” She looked down at her hands and remembered the warm glow that radiated from them the night before.

“No, though I think he didn't expect the intensity of it. And of course, he demanded to know everything about you—where you came from, how long you have been apprenticed to me, what spells you know—”

“You mean he actually wanted to know more about me?” Her voice squeaked at the end of her question, but she didn’t care. Her heart fluttered in her chest. He wanted to know more about boyish, insignificant her.

His face lit up with understanding. “Ah, so that's how it is then? You fancy him?”

She bit her lip and watched her fingers tangle in each other. “Well, it's just that he’s so—so—” Her cheeks were on fire, and she moved closer to the opening of the tent to catch a cool breeze from outside.

Tyrrus frowned. “Listen carefully to me, my child. It is best to banish those silly thoughts from your mind right now. Even if we forget the situation we’re in, nothing will ever come of your foolish girlish fantasies. Elves and humans don't mix like that.”

Her heart became heavy, weighing down her entire body. “Why not?”

He sighed and beckoned her to him. “I forget that you’re still young, and the world seems to be full of endless possibilities to you. You've been sheltered from the harsh lessons of life. You are mortal, and you will eventually grow old and die. Galen, on the other hand, is immortal. Even when the dust that was once your body is scattered to the wind, he will be as you see him now, and he will forget that you even existed.” His voice softened. “Do you understand, my child?”

She nodded and fought to control the frustration that burned in her throat.

“I'm not trying to be cruel. On the contrary, Kira, I'm trying to prevent you from setting yourself up for heartache. So cleanse your mind from any silly romantic notions and focus on trying to gain his trust and the ways you can contribute to the Resistance. Otherwise, you're just a useless mouth to feed.”

She nodded again as she stood and straightened her oversized tunic. She could at least prove herself useful here, maybe even impress them with her skills as a mage.

“I'll go see if I can find something for breakfast,” she mumbled, not wanting to endure anymore disappointments on an empty stomach.

CHAPTER 6

Pain seared every inch of Ranealya’s being like a branding iron, focusing in her right thigh. She now understood why a minx would chew its own leg off when it was caught in a trap. She would, too, if she could manage the strength to change into one. But the Azekborn's poison was much stronger from the sword than from the arrows that had wounded her in the past. It burned as it pounded through her veins.

Something cool bathed her face. She tried to open her eyes again, but the light was still too intense. A muffled voice in the distance tried to tell her something.
Please, let death come quickly so the pain would end
. The coolness traveled from her face to her right leg, and the pounding slowed. Someone lifted her head. The voice was nearer now, but still indiscernible. Was the Goddess trying to speak to her again?

Something bitter filled her mouth, causing her to choke. The liquid overflowed her mouth and drained down her cheeks onto her shoulders. She swallowed, and the liquid stopped. It was inside her now, coursing through her throbbing veins, cooling them on contact. Relief had come at last. She had never feared death, and now she welcomed it. She would no longer be Ranealya, the cursed one. She would at last come home to a place where she would be welcomed, where she belonged.

Her body grew heavier, and she felt her head sink. The pain was nearly gone now. It was time to go home.

***

When Ranealya opened her eyes, her surroundings were not what she expected. She knew this place. The high crossbeams in the ceiling. The rows of books and scrolls haphazardly stacked on the shelves. The large stone fireplace. A dog licking her face. She recognized all of this, and her hands clenched into fists.

“Ranealya, are you awake?” a voice asked in the distance.

She knew that voice, too, and it irked her. She swatted the dog away from her.

A face leaned over her. The familiar hazel eyes behind the glass spectacles seemed more worried than filled with their usual analytical focus.

“Gregor Meritis,” she growled, “are you completely incapable of following the simplest of commands?” She tried to pull herself to a sitting position—she couldn’t stand to see him hovering over her—but the slightest movement sent a flare of pain starting from her leg and rippling through her entire body. She stifled a gasp and fell back on the bed.

His hands were cool and gentle, and the white magic that flowed from his fingers eased her pain. “I couldn't let you die.”

“I wasn’t talking about that. Why did you follow me into the woods? I told you to run and hide. You were seen by the Azekborn.”

“But they’re dead now. They won’t be coming after me again.”

“They’re dead because I killed them. Now I have this to show for it.” For the first time since the initial injury, she looked at the wound on her leg. The edges were black, but it didn’t seem as severe now as before. Still, it would leave a nasty scar. “I saved your life in repayment for you saving mine. We were even. My obligation had been fulfilled. I was no longer indebted to you. Then you have to go and save my life again.”

He had the gall to grin. “Ah, so that is what this is about? You don't want to owe anything to anyone?” He stood and retrieved a wooden cup from the table. “I thought you were upset because you wanted to die.”

She snatched it from him and sniffed the contents. A sangous potion to restore her strength. She chugged the contents and hurled the cup in the direction of the table. Duke cowered on the other side of the room.

Gregor retrieved the cup. “Just because you're upset doesn't mean you have to act like a child.”

“Maybe you're too young to understand this, but there are many situations that are worse than death.”

“Are you suggesting my company is worse than death?” The downward turn of his mouth doused some of her anger.

She sat up and ran her fingers through her tangled hair. She was trapped here by her injury and further imprisoned by her obligation to him. “How long do you think it will take for my leg to heal?”

He avoided eye contact with her. “Maybe a week or two,” he mumbled.

She sighed. “I suppose I can tolerate your company for that long. Provided you don't do anything else to upset me.” She flashed her sharp canines and took some delight in seeing a bit of fear in his face.

He turned his attention to gathering a cloth, water-basin, and a branch of hykona leaves. She was familiar with this routine and rolled slightly to her left side, allowing him access to her wound. She lifted up the edge of the tunic to her hip, and he blushed.
Had he never seen a naked woman before?
As if her fur-covered body could ever be compared to a woman's.

“I—um—suppose we—I mean, I—should—um—”

“—clean the wound while the spell still working?” she finished for him.

He nodded and began removing the clumps of blackened leaves from the wound. He was about halfway done when he asked, “Why didn't you talk to me when you were here before?”

She thought for a moment before admitting, “I didn't know if I could trust you.” Her voice sounded less bitter than she’d anticipated.

“Me, personally?”

“You, as a human.” The bitterness was as full as she intended that time.

“I see. We humans have absolutely no redeeming qualities except for, due to our ridiculously short lifespan, we decompose quickly after we die and fertilize the flowers.” He smiled at her. “Am I correct?”

“You’ve heard the lectures of Elisus, then?” The Elvan Elder was well known for his dislike of humans and for his doctrine of keeping elves separate from the other races.

He dropped his eyes. “Well, I've read some of them. Quite an interesting man, actually. I think the only race he hates more than humans are faeries.” Gregor began packing the wound with the leaves. “So why did you decide to trust me?”

How could she explain to him all the little things that made her feel safe enough to be in the same room with him? “You saved my life, to start with. Then I watched you. I watched you for days from a safe distance.” She focused her mind on her eyes, willing them to become large and golden. She even allowed a few white feathers to sprout from her head.

He grinned. “So you were the owl. I thought as much.”

“I watched you long enough to know you weren’t a threat to me.”
Or anyone else, for that matter
. Day after day, she watched him sit alone in this study, pouring over his books and scrolls. The only human contact he had was the daily meal exchange with his housekeeper. His studies absorbed every moment of his day.

The other thing she noticed about him was his clumsiness, as if he never learned how to use his long limbs. She had seen him trip over his own feet, walk into trees, and even get knocked to the ground by Duke.
Yes, there was absolutely nothing threatening about him
. She stretched and slowly relaxed.

“No, I won't hurt you. That is, as long as you don't attack me or anything like that. I am a Master Mage, you know.”

She resisted the urge to laugh. She could rip his heart out before he cast his first spell. “I'll keep that in mind.”

He finished cleaning her wound. “Can I get you something to eat?”

Her eyes grew heavy.
Must be from the potion
. “No, I think I need to sleep for a bit longer.”

“You've been asleep off and on for almost a week.”

“A week?” Her fingers dug into the mattress.

He nodded. “Well, you had a fever for most of it, talking out of your head in Elvish. I discovered, though, that if I brewed tea from the hykona leaves and made you drink it—”

“A week?” she repeated. She had never stayed in one place for that long a time. It was too risky. Someone may discover her and alert Azekborn.

He pouted. “You're much better now, if that's any consolation.”

She flung her arm over her eyes. She would have to trust him and hope his reclusive lifestyle wouldn’t betray them.

***

Ranealya sat up and hissed few hours later. Her leg throbbed in with each beat of her heart, erasing the last remnants of her sleep. Across the room, Gregor dropped his quill and rose from his chair, but her growl stopped him before he took a step. She didn’t need his help. She took a deep breath and focused on something other than the pain until it slowly subsided. Then she tried to stand.

Gregor caught her as her leg gave out from under her. She didn’t expect him to move with such speed, and she was even more surprised he was able to wrap his arms around her without dropping her in the process. “Careful, Ranealya.” His voice sounded soothing in her ears.

He pulled her to her feet, and she leaned most of her weight on him. “You’re stronger than I gave you credit for,” she said.

“And you’re just as stubborn as I thought you were.” He guided her to the table and lowered her into a chair in front of a plate of food. “Eat.”

She waited until he sat down across from her before she picked a small morsel of bread off the loaf. Her stomach growled in response. When she finished the contents of her plate, she gave the scraps to Duke, who lingered at her feet for them. “How long was I asleep this time?”

He shrugged. “A few hours.”

An awkward silence filled the room. He fidgeted, reaching for a quill, then stopping halfway and returning his hands in his lap. His eyes pleaded with her.

“Is there something you wish to ask me?”

“Quite a few questions, actually.” He grabbed his quill and a piece of paper from his desk and went back to retrieve a bottle of ink, spilling it in the process.

As he sopped up the mess, she peered at his notes. He wasn’t exaggerating when he said he had plenty of questions. She dangled the paper in her hand. “Shall I be expecting a formal Inquisition?”

The tips of his ears turned red. “While you were sleeping, I jotted down a few things I wanted to ask you, things I’d like to find out before you—er—disappeared again.” He snatched the paper from her and organized his writing supplies on the table.

“And how honest do you expect me to be?”

“I hadn’t thought about that.”

She crossed her arms and leaned back in the chair. “You could always ask.”

“True.” He shuffled his papers. “So, um, you’re a—”