Page 45 of Cursed Shadows 5

Simple things.

He turns his cheek to her and steps out of the tub.

Water splashes over the marble floor.

“How long?” His tone is dull, gravelled by too much rest and the grated sensation left behind by the Cursed Shadows.

He almost cringes at the memory, thick and dense darkness ripping out of him, his flesh, his bone, his muscle—hismouth.

He steels himself against the uneasiness.

Tris pads over to him, a thick and fluffy towel folded in her hugged arms. “Since the end of the passage?”

His nod is a simple swift tuck of the chin.

Tris’s steps are soft, a circle around him as she wraps the towel to his waist. “It has been four phases, shy an hour or two.”

So he has slept for four phases.

That is lengthy, even for the black powder.

His mouth tilts.

The first time he remembers waking, he suffered the anguished doting of his mother and Morticia. Melantha had parked herself on the edge of the bed for the entire time, barking orders and complaints to the healer. It reminded Daxeel too much of Aleana’s sickness, of her phases in bed.

The second time, he called for Eamon—and muttered for him to take the pouch of coin from his nightstand. For Nari. For a healer, for a full belly, for…

His jaw tightens.

For what, exactly?

Did he have any true motivation? Perhaps he considered, in the back of his mind, that the gesture would lure Nari to his bedside.

It didn’t. Even if he slept through it, he would smell her in his bedchamber, somewhere, a mere ribbon of her familiar scent.

Did he offer it to soothe his own guilt, that burrowing sensation deep in his chest, the one that spills like a bucket kicked over, a constant spread of cold tar just sludging through him?

No, it was neither of those.

There was no tangible thought in his mind when, dazed, he looked to the drawer of the nightstand, then watched Eamon fish out the velvet pouch—for her. It came to him naturally, an instinct that is gone but is so learned, so ingrained in him, that he didn’t question it.

Daxeel’s nostrils flare around a deep inhale, a drawing of breath that expands his chest. He shoves the thoughts to the back of his mind, where they must stay.

Nari is not a thought to dwell on, not anymore.

Their connection…

He made sure to sever it.

And it is severed.

Loosening a soft sigh, Daxeel dresses in plain trousers and a sweater before he leaves Tris behind in the washroom, and he heads downstairs.

The dining hall is empty, and it would be silent if it wasn’t for the crackling of the hearth.

But the table is full.

Tureens and lidded bowls line the centre of the table, untouched, the heat and moisture sealed.

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