A Touch Of Darkness

38 || The Truth

By some miracle, I must succeed in getting off to sleep, because the next I know I'm being wrenched out of it by the shockingly loud intrusion of voices. With a jolt, I recognise one, its soft edge balling into a fist that doubles the throb in my chest.

Clutching a spot somewhere near my heart, I stumble to my feet. At least my legs don't protest at the mere effort of supporting me now, although I am momentarily disoriented. No wonder the voices sound so close. I'm right beside the door. I must have fallen asleep curled up against it.

It was the only place I could hear anything of outside. Occasionally, I remember catching the edge of Fayre's deeper breaths. It felt a little less lonely to press myself as close to her as possible.

I've no interest in company now, not when it involves him. I scramble as far from the door as possible, throwing myself back on the right seat and huddling into its corner. My knees draw up to my chest. I'm desperate for someone to visit, to hear something other than my own heart beating on endlessly, yet every fibre protests at the thought of being in his presence.

"Just close your eyes."

A shiver cuts through me like a blade. Maybe it's his voice I want to flee from.

The door shifts. I flinch, hugging my knees in. I've started shaking again. Or maybe I never stopped. I try to quell it, holding my breath, fingers curling into the torn material at my calf, but it's still too soon when the door finally swings open.

Harlow is still in his black tunic, hair combed straight. No weapons hang at his hip -- the same as it was last night, I realise. After all, if he truly is Jeía, he doesn't need a blade to cause harm. Sunlight filters in over his shoulder. I want to creep forward and see more of it, the streets and valley beyond gilded in yellow light, but fear freezes me in place.

"Open the door only when I call," he says to the soldier behind without removing his gaze from me.

"Yes, sir," someone replies. Fayre has been replaced. I don't even get a chance to make out the new soldier's face before Harlow steps through and outside is sealed away once more.

He approaches carefully. There's a bowl swimming with brown liquid in his hands that he sets down on the seat next to me. "For you."

I take deliberate care not to look at it. "I don't want it."

He sighs, perching on the seat opposite, still a pace away. At least he keeps a sliver of distance. "It'll go cold if you leave it."

"I don't care." My voice cracks. Bravery isn't coming as easy as it did last night.

Leaning forward, he tries to catch my eye. I twist away, staring at the wall. I hate that gentle concern shining in his gaze, the softness shaping his features. It isn't real. He's pretending to care, just like Fiesi, just like everyone, only to get what he wants from me.

"I need you to eat, Nathaniel," he says.

"You need me to do a lot of things," I mutter. "I'm not doing any of them."

"Then don't do it for me. Just eat."

"No," I snap. The tunic he gifted marked me as his prize, his property. I'm not taking anything he gives me again.

With another long exhale, he rises. "Perhaps I should leave this conversation for another day."

"No." Desperation leaks out as I whip around to face him. This isn't loneliness, I tell myself. This is a hunger for answers. "No, we can talk. You can tell me what you did to my flame."

He pauses, then returns to his place on the seat, studying me. It's all I can do not to flinch at the pierce of his green eyes. "I locked it away."