Page 54 of Ashes of Aether
“You’ll get blood all over your sheets,” she says, lifting my hand and inspecting the dried blood which coats my skin. “Let me help you wash it off.”
Eliya leads me to the counter where she placed the porcelain bowl and gathers aether into her hands. “Aquis,” she says. Water splashes from her fingers. She finds a cloth in the top drawer and dips it into the conjured water. After wringing it out, she sweeps it across my hands and face. The water is lukewarm as it glides over my skin. Some of the blood dissolves quickly. Other patches are so stubborn she has to scrub until my skin is so red and raw I think it may bleed and undo her hard work.
When I’m free of blood and dirt, Eliya lets me climb into bed. I wrap the blankets around myself and shiver. She casts me a pitiful look, but it soon falters as she yawns. I doubt she slept much last night, either. Guilt wrenches through me.
I don’t know what she suffered from the attack—who she may have lost. And yet here I am, so weak and pathetic that she has to do everything for me.
“Did...” I begin, but my voice breaks. “Did you also lose...” Consumed by my own grief, I don’t know how to ask such an awful question.
Yet Eliya seems to understand my meaning. To my relief, she shakes her head.“No,” she replies. “No one.”
A pang of envy plucks at my heart. The emotion vanishes as quickly as it appears. Though it’s brief, I feel terrible for feeling it.
It isn’t that I wish she lost anyone dear to her. It’s just that I wish I were like her: that I hadn’t lost both my mother and the boy I love in a single night.
“I’m sorry, Reyna.” She scoops me into another hug. Her tears dampen my hair. “I’m so sorry that all this happened to you.”
I don’t hug her back. I stare at the tall mirror in the far corner of the room. Through it, I watch her hug me and wonder whether she feels guilt over losing nothing while I have lost so much.
I know I should tell her she has no reason to apologize. She didn’t steal Arluin and my mother from me. That was Heston. He’s the one to blame. But since he’s already dead, what use is there in hating him for it?
And maybe my father also holds some of the blame. The punishment for practicing dark magic is execution, yet he spared Heston. If he instead executed him all those years ago, none of this would have happened.
Except Arluin would likely hate him for it. But my mother would be alive.
I let out a deep breath. In the mirror, I can see how broken I look. My skin is deathly white, and the rings around my eyes are so dark they appear bruised.
Eliya finally releases me and steps back, wiping her cheeks with her sleeve. “You should rest. As we all should.”
I only nod, still unable to summon words to my lips.
Her gaze trails across to Zephyr, who is crawling up the bed to my side. “And you should come along as well,” she says to him. “Reyna needs to sleep.”
The faerie dragon buries himself into the blankets next to me. He watches Eliya out of one eye, daring her to move him.
“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing.”
Zephyr shuts his other eye in response.
“You’re just being nice so Reyna feeds you more aether. But she really needs to sleep now, so you’d better not bother her.”
His tail twitches.
Eliya pulls the embroidered curtains together, blocking out the sunlight, and she turns off the aether crystals on her way out. “Sleep well, Reyna,” she mutters, closing the door behind her.
Then we are cast in complete darkness.
Zephyr nestles deeper into my side. I stare up at the shadowed ceiling, once more watching as Heston murders my mother. As he breaks Arluin with his wicked magic. Each time, I break a little more with him.
Gentle snores come from Zephyr beside me, and while it seems impossible at first, his sounds eventually lull me into a deep sleep.
Fifteen
Fireblazesthroughthesky,andthick,blacksmokeshroudsthemoonandstars.ThesmogclogsmythroatasItrytobreathe.
The flames roar through the streets, ravaging all they touch. A large chunk of rock hurls toward me. I dart underneath, just as it comes crashing down. The sound booms through the street and rings through my ears. I don’t stop to glance back at the heaped rubble. I just keep running.
My feet are bare, and I wear my thin nightgown. I sprint through bloody puddles. Crimson droplets splash up at me, staining the pale silk of my gown. Even though my feet and my ankles are slick with blood, I don’t pause.