Relinquish(63)

“I’ll leave when you stop all of this.” His voice is even and carefully controlled despite the winds that tear at him, driving him back. “You have to stop this before any more people get hurt!”

“I know!” I wave my hand to the side and shove Bastien back into the stairwell. With a twisting of my hand, I slam the door shut, sealing him out.

I slide down the wall, burying my head in my hands as the building shudders around me. It is hard to focus. All I can picture is Niyah’s lithe body wrapped tightly around Bastien. An acrid burning churns in my stomach as I double over.

I never had a reason to feel jealous before. Now I understand what Bastien must have felt all of those months he watched me struggle to accept my relationship with Eamon. Why he had to leave me behind.

I did this to him, I realize as my power recoils, snapping back into me like an overstretched band. I slam backward into the wall, crying out as the wood splinters around me and I collapse inside an empty room, my head cracking against the floor.

Curling in upon myself, I feel the shift in the air. A dim light appears at the window and the howling winds fade to nothing. Warm, sticky blood coats my hand as I touch the back of my head. The room is spinning, but I know it has little to do with me.

“Illyria?” Bastien pounds against the stairwell door as I close my eyes, utterly drained.





Fourteen



I didn’t speak to anyone after Bastien carried me out of the building, couldn’t face the looks of awe and anger as he clutched me in his arms. This was all my fault. They know it just as well as I do.

Niyah may have provoked me, but I let her do it.

Looking back over his shoulder, I realize it’s a miracle that the whole building didn’t collapse on us. The walls are buckled, the boards warped and disfigured. A wide circle of crumbled stone and melting hail ring the building, but as I look ahead, I realize none of the other buildings were affected. Even the hailstorm was localized.

I guess I didn’t completely lose control after all, I think wearily as Bastien storms directly past a pale-faced Niyah and into his building.

It looks hardly any different than the one I was to be housed in. The doors may be spaced slightly farther apart and the walls are a bit less dingy, but otherwise it feels like a mirror image until we reach the second floor.

There are only four doors spanning either side of this hall. I can see where doors were removed and framed, no doubt to enlarge the rooms. Bastien silently carries me to a door at the far end. His fingers tighten as he leans forward and sets me on my feet.

He doesn’t meet my gaze, but I don’t blame him. I deserve the silent treatment, a stern scolding, but this isn’t in his nature. “This is my room.”

That’s all he says. I watch as he scratches the back of his neck, shuffling his feet from side to side before he abruptly turns and leaves me. The sound of the stairwell door slamming resonates through my chest.

I close my eyes and exhale a deep, long breath. I shouldn’t be here. Eamon was right. This wasn’t a good idea.

My knees begin to quiver as exhaustion grips me. I expended far too much energy with my little tantrum. My stomach growls ravenously, but I ignore it and grasp the handle.

I push open the door and feel my breath catch. The room is beautiful.

I step inside and close the door, pressing my forehead against the wood grain as I try not to think of how perfectly it was designed for me. Bastien must have spent days preparing for my arrival, even knowing Niyah would never allow him to give me the use of his room, yet here I stand. That knowledge makes this so much more painful.

The room is large and spacious but slim on furniture. An oval rug covers much of the floor. The furniture is handcrafted, planed smooth instead of glossed with a thick lacquer. A tall, two-door cabinet stands floor to ceiling opposite me. A delicate rose pattern has been etched into the top molding. It sits on wide, rounded legs so it is the perfect height for me.

A simple pot of winter mums stands upon a small rounded table. Two chairs sit beneath it, tucked tightly under the tabletop.

Candles, in various heights and colors, adorn the room. Most of the wicks have burned low, evidence of time spent in the room. Books stack high upon a three-legged table beside the bed and upon the floor.

I push away from the door and gently brush my fingers over the smooth book covers. The pages are slightly yellowed, the binding rippled with signs of water damage, but I can also see pages that have been turned down to mark where Bastien left off reading.

A smile curls my lips as I sink down onto the bed. He still loves to read.

The mattress is soft beneath me yet offers the firmness and warmth of a feathered bed. I reach down and unlace my boots, kicking them off onto the floor. I wriggle out of my pants and draw my shirt over my head, wincing at the muscles that scream in protest.