The Heirs of Death

40. Hollow

HOLLOW

I'd picked one of the largest bottles I found in the dark chamber, momentarily surprised when I realized all of them were kavaer. And bearing our castle's crest. I didn't linger too long on it, instead opened the bottle, poured the magic I needed inside, sealed it, picked two glasses, and got out in a minutes' matter.

I found Blake already seated near the glass wall, staring out at the storming weather. The rain hit the glass loudly like shards rattling against each others. He kept staring out, not turning to acknowledge my presence as I got into the sitting room. I wondered if he actually heard me coming in, or the gentle sound the glasses did as I placed them on the low table.

Either he did or did not, he kept staring out, stares vague. I didn't risk going through his mind. And so I poured both the glasses, made my way to where he sat, and offered him his share. He blinked then, more than once. He looked beyond tired. Exhausted. Drained to the last bit.

He took his glass, half of it gone in a blink.

I sat in the armchair, well conscious of his eyes, how they followed every movement, how keen they were as I slumped in my seat, head reclined and resting on the top of the backrest. I watched through my lashes as he drank the rest in one go, already refilling. Good—the more he drank, the more the spell I created and polished for weeks would merge within him. It was just a matter of time.

"I wonder," I whispered between the small sips I took, "why you haven't invited me inside after all those weeks.''

He didn't reply, only stared, eyes going up and down again and again as though looking for something he couldn't quite put his finger on. I was at the end of my first glass when he breathed, voice rough and void, "You know why."

Oh, I did as I read his eyes, his thoughts, the slight tensing of his grip on the stem of his glass. It surely didn't make me feel better.

"Was it a success?"

Blake Armedes leaned back in his seat, not a trace of the darkness he usually wore like skin around, and hummed, not bothering with words. I poured myself another share, knowing his eyes traced the throbbing scars as I moved, following them until they vanished beneath the hems of my clothes.

I ran a finger across the one stretching from half my arm to my wrist, a white, stark line years did not erase. "I was fifteen, kept awake through it all. Watched as the heated dagger went in and out, feeling it hit bones."

I could swear I saw the muscle beneath his left eye twitch as he listened.

"Who did it?"

I downed my glass, the liquid cool in my throat. It tingled, it eased my nerves, drowned out the furious pounding of blood in my ears until the cold rushing in my bones minutes ago was no more than a memory.