Frey

Chapter 11

My dreams were wicked that night, all venom and wolves, snakes and beasts, death and fire. I awoke in my bed, light filtering in through the window. The door was open a crack, and I could see Chevelle sitting in the front room. I was hesitant to face him.

I lay there, running back through the events of the night and the stories. Embarrassment flooded me again, and I turned my head to bury it in the blankets, but something strange on the side table caught my attention. I picked it up and examined it—it was a small bird carved of stone. A hawk made of onyx.

I knew at once that it was what Chevelle had been carving. And then I recognized the stone, the large black stone that had pummeled my body for days, and I couldn't help but snicker. I remembered the tiny hawk he had made with magic and my disappointment when it had turned back into a dull gray rock. He had carved me the symbol with his own hands.

I was completely ashamed of my actions the previous night.

I closed my hand around it and noticed the painting on my wrist of a hawk. I knew I had to face him. The carving might have been a peace offering, and it might be my last chance. I stood and walked into the main room, clutching the figure in my fist for courage.

Chevelle was not alone.

A statuesque elf with pitch-black hair and eyes rose as I entered, not in the respectful a-guest-has-entered-the room way, but in a way that led me to believe he wasn't happy to have me, or anyone, find him there. He gripped a long staff so tightly that his knuckles whitened, and he was dressed in casual traveling clothes that didn't seem to fit his posture.

I found myself questioning whether it was a disguise, then I chastised myself for wandering around in ridiculous thoughts so often. They were watching me. Cursed brain fog.

I stood there for a moment, unsure if I should leave the room after I had so obviously interrupted or pretend I had a mission and make my way to Ruby's room. I clearly wasn't welcome there. Neither Chevelle nor his guest spoke, so I lowered my gaze to the floor and took the shortest route to Ruby's door, closing it hastily behind me.

Chevelle said something to his guest, and I groaned internally, wishing I'd heard their low voices earlier. Asher, as Chevelle had called the man, was apparently leaving. It sounded as if Chevelle was trying to persuade him in some way, but the man was short and cold in his responses. Quiet, too. I imagined he didn't want me to hear them. My mind accused me of paranoia.

I heard the front door close as I flopped onto the bed only to jolt upright when Ruby's door opened a few seconds later. It was Chevelle.

My courage was gone again. He seemed to be waiting for me to speak. I tried. "I'm sorry I interrupted..."

He nodded, but I didn't know if he was acknowledging my interruption or pardoning it.

He walked slowly toward the bed, glancing at Ruby's things on the shelves and walls, then sat on the bed beside me. I forced myself to continue breathing and kept my gaze down, knowing a flush was coming.

He reached out and placed a hand under my chin, bringing my face to meet his. The flush that followed was not from embarrassment. Heat flooded my neck, and I felt it might engulf me as he spoke my name.

"Frey."

"Yes." It was all I could manage.

His eyes held mine, and I could swear he was searching for something. He opened his mouth to speak, but the door of the wardrobe flew open.

"Oh." Ruby giggled a tiny bit. "Excuse me. I didn't mean to interrupt." She seemed pleased that she had.

Chevelle's hand dropped, and his face was hard.