“Something?” I press, sure I’m going to scream if he doesn’t give me more details.
Eamon’s shoulders rise and fall several times before he turns to look at me. I can see him weighing his words, no doubt wondering what I will do with the information once I have it. He sighs and splays his hands atop his thighs, clenching tightly. “We found Drakon’s diary buried in the remains of the bunker. We think Vikesh was meant to burn it all when he was finished with you, but obviously that didn’t happen.”
“I want to see it.”
“I thought you might,” he responds in a flat tone. Reaching inside his jacket pocket, he pulls out a small, rectangular book. It is the color of marble, its leather cover worn with use. If I look close enough, I can see the indents on the back cover where he pressed his writing utensil as he scripted the final page.
I snatch it from Eamon’s hand and rapidly flip through. Each page is filled with sketches, symbols, letters that hardly make any sense to me. “Is this written in code?”
“Yes and no. It is written in a Caldonian dialect that even Kyan struggles to translate. He says it originates from Trilar, one of the nearby planets where Drakon spent time. Kyan’s a bit rusty, but he thinks with time he can decipher it.”
“Time?” My voice rises an octave as I clench the book against my chest. Eamon makes a move to steal it away, but I’m not willing to just hand it back over so quickly, not when we’ve fought so hard for this tiny scrap of insight. “We don’t have time. Drakon is on the run and we need to flush him out.”
“We don’t need to do anything,” Eamon snaps, adopting a defensive tone. “You are on mandatory bed rest until further notice.”
“No!” I cry, lurching forward, but instantly gasp as pain lances through my abdomen. I swear under my breath as Eamon easily plucks the book from my grasp, and I sink back into the pillows, blowing out short breaths until the pain eases.
I glare at him, sure he was in on this plan. “That’s why Kyan hasn’t healed me. It’s not because he’s been too busy. It’s because he doesn’t want me to lead this mission.”
Eamon rises slowly, the book held firmly in his grasp. “We thought you might react like this.”
I scowl, clasping my hand against my side. I can feel warm blood oozing through my bandages and a wave of lightheadedness washes over me. “I thought you were my best friend. That you would always have my back.”
His eyes widen for a second and then narrow, his gaze rimmed with ice as he pauses in the doorway. “Some things never change… but some things do.”
I turn my back on him as he turns out the light and closes the door, leaving me alone to fume in the dark.
Four
I lay on the flat of my back, eyes clamped shut. My breathing is steady and deep, almost trancelike. Images flash rapidly behind my eyelids, pictures of people and places I have yet to encounter. My destiny approaches with bone-chilling speed, a destiny that I neither asked for nor would have chosen if given the chance, but fate never stopped to ask my opinion.
My eyes open and my pupils dilate, adjusting to the sunlight that streams in through my window. It is a welcome change from the dreary wintry skies we have seen recently. I can see moisture clinging to the window frame where the morning frost has begun to evaporate.
Although the pain in my abdomen healed several days ago, the pain of being removed from action continues to fester. Two weeks have passed since the battle at Drakon’s base. The first I spent in a near comatose state in the medical wing of the Shard, the second as a prisoner within my own home. Guards stand on either side of the door to my apartment at Kyan’s orders. We both know I could take them out with a single thought, but I won’t. They are innocent.
I look at the open doorway that leads into the bathroom attached to my quarters. Although I may be opposed to most of the modern conveniences I have been forced to endure since moving into Thalar, there is one I embrace as often as possible: a bath.
Despite the fact that it isn’t as refreshing as the waterfall back in the caves, I do enjoy a long soak in the slightly rusty yet beautiful claw-foot tub. It was once white and flawless. Now it has taken on a slightly dingy hue and boasts a few chips, revealing black metal beneath.
My room is simple, no frills like some of the homes I’ve been in. Candles line the wooden dresser on the opposite wall, their wicks charred and burnt to the halfway point. A wooden staff and a crossbow and leather quiver rest against the closed cupboard, reminders of my former life. Four knives of varying lengths are spread across my table, glistening beautifully in the warm sunlight. I love these most of all.