With a glimpse over her shoulder, she made sure the creature hadn’t moved, and finding it still round and curious on the windowsill, she stepped closer to the desk, hiding both book and pen from its view, then snuck the pen into the book and closed it before she turned back to the room and stowed the book—its inconspicuous spine turned toward the bird—into her satchel.
The bird chirped and seemed to jerk its head toward the door, beckoning for her to hurry.
Gandrett’s fear was sparked once more by the thought of the Meister’s disapproval.
There was only one more thing she wanted to bring. The only thing worth bringing if she really thought about it: the thin necklace her mother had slipped into her hands as the men had come to take her. She had hidden it in her fist all the way through the consecration and then to the priory. And unlike the rest of her belongings, nobody had found it and taken it away before she had been able to hide it in a small hole in the wall behind the edge of the desk. Every night, for the first two years, she had held it in her hands so she could fall asleep. And every morning, she had put it back into its hiding place. Today, for the first time, she slid it over her head and hid it under her tunic. She wouldn’t leave behind the only possession of her mother’s. Not if she could help it.
The bird chirped again. But Gandrett was already out the door and stomping down the stairs.
There was nothing she could do. Just go and put her fate into Vala’s hands. Except—
She stopped at the kitchen doors and found the room empty. There was a small space under the counter where Nahir normally stowed her footstool that was out of view from the window and in the blind spot of the door. Gandrett darted through the kitchen, eyes on the window, half expecting to find the fat bird spying, and sought cover under the ledge. She pulled out the prayer book, the pen almost slipping from her fingers as she tried to scribble a note, then ripped out the page and folded it into a tiny square before she let it disappear in her fist—just like the necklace—and crawled out into the open.
The bird landed on the windowsill as she half-straightened, and she dropped the pen, hands still close enough to the floor so the bird wouldn’t see them, then shrugged at it. “At least let me get some provisions.” With all the confidence she could muster, she reached for the top shelf and pulled out the cookie box, holding it out for the bird as if mocking it by offering a cookie through the glass.
The bird screeched in response.
But Gandrett’s hands had already pulled the box back and were now replacing the cookies inside with the note she’d written for Nahir, the only one who’d find her message.
On the windowsill, with the sun on its dark feathers, the bird was chirping angrily as she wrapped the cookies in a dishcloth and shoved them into her satchel.
Gandrett didn’t care. All she cared about was that someone knew that she was in trouble.
The gravel crunched under his boots, loudly and violently, as Nehelon crossed the back of the yard. He filtered out the noise of the waterfall and focused on the few acolytes whose chores took them to this part of the priory. They were young—way too young to be working so hard. At least they weren’t carrying heavy buckets of water. The Vala-blessed were taking care of that by simply having threads of liquid floating alongside them as they marched up and down the fields.
Different from Fae magic, Vala’s magic was designed to aid her people with planting and maintaining crops. Water, the element of life. He stopped pacing for a heartbeat and let his senses test for the girl’s footsteps—or her heartbeat; he would hear her heartbeat long before her footsteps if it kept hammering violently the way it had in his chambers. The shock in her eyes would have been enough to alarm anyone. An expression like that on a fighter like her… it was even worse than the occasional shriek of fear when someone spotted his obvious Fae-traits. Rarely. It happened so rarely. Usually, his glamours held up, but with Gandrett… he couldn’t tell what it had been that had him letting his control slip...
No one heeded him a look, probably afraid of the ire in his face and rolling off him in idle waves as he paced the side of the building.
Where was she? The tenth hour, the Meister had said in his note. She had little time to make it.
Nehelon wasn’t certain how he would feel if he held up his end of the promise—the threat. He had threatened her like a brutalizing bastard. Had tapped deeply into his Fae instincts and let them take over, caught by surprise as she’d broken through his glamour.
How he had hoped he could use the time at the priory to get to know her a little, to understand what kind of human she was so he could slowly build her trust until she was ready.
Yet, now—
Now there was no going back. Not until they were safely away from all civilization, until he could even attempt to release her from the leash he’d put on her by his threat. He had made her see him as a monster—and for good reason. Now there was no way she’d ever trust him. Especially not if she knew all the legends about his people.
He kicked a stone in frustration.
The bird-messenger zoomed into view, aiming toward him, before he spotted her emerging from the residential building, carrying nothing more than a leather satchel. He gulped down the urge to wrap her in his magic and force her motions to be faster. He knew just how unaccommodating the Meister could become when he felt behavior wasn’t up to his standards. But he stopped and straightened his spine, shoulders back and chin up, giving her a lazy smile as she approached, sweat beading her forehead.
“Here I am,” she panted, still out of breath, affected by the magic he’d used on her.
Humans didn’t react well to his abilities. He’d seen it before. No wonder they were still shunning everyone who wielded magic other than the sacred one Vala had gifted them.
“If you’re looking for applause, you’re looking in the wrong place,” he simply said and turned on his heels, beckoning her to follow him.
He didn’t turn to demonstrate power, how little afraid he was of her, but because he couldn’t bear seeing how she cringed at his words. And he hadn’t used those because he meant them. He had spoken like that because, now that she had seen what he was, fear was the safest measure to control her.
He brushed imaginary dust from his shoulder and glanced at the stables as they approached the entrance of the citadel. His horses—their horses—were ready. Disgruntled at the short pause under a safe roof but ready to take on the journey ahead. His things were packed. He had even changed back into his leathers to be prepared for all eventualities—
That initial sword fight with the girl, how easily she had parried his attacks, how she had felled him like an old, sick tree… It had been quite unsettling. Even if he had eventually let her win intentionally, all part of the plan, the extent of her skill and strength still had been a surprise.
He didn’t check over his shoulder—didn’t need to—as they entered the citadel and progressed through the cool stone corridors. His Fae hearing was all he needed to locate the girl’s exact position, which foot she was setting down. His own footsteps were a sigh against the floor as he kept the pace fast enough to make the girl jog to keep up with him. He did it as much to take away any chance for her to confront him as he did to not have to see the fear in her gaze, the sheer terror that spoke through every twitch of her muscles, every blink of her widened eyes. It was, as after hundreds of years, suddenly as though looking into a mirror again.