Page 109 of Tower of Ash and Darkness
“Tell me,” I whisper, my voice soft like an angel’s promise, “and I’ll let you pass in peace.”
But the truth is far darker. Little does he know, I’ll give him no peace. I’ll let him linger in agony until the answers spill from him. His eyes lock onto mine, still filled with defiance, though the rage has dulled, replaced by something almost… sad. The tears gathering in his eyes glisten, a reflection of his fear. His mouth twitches as I stroke his cheek with the gentleness of a lover, yet my touch is anything but.
“He will never find it,” he mutters through clenched teeth, the blood spilling from his lips as he speaks.
The words are a challenge, an accusation. I pause, tilting my head slightly to study him. As if he’s figured out the game I’m playing, his eyes harden again, narrowing with spite.
“Whore,” he spits, the word thick with venom.
And just like that, the warmth of my magic fades, and I withdraw my hand, leaving him to die in silence. The bitterness of his words is like a poison in the air, but I don’t flinch. Instead, I watch as his eyes cloud over, and the blood begins to flow freely once again, the life finally draining from his body.
I stand slowly, my gaze lingering on the guard's lifeless form before meeting Callum’s. His eyes betray an emotion I can’t decipher—longing, perhaps, or admiration. His brow raises slightly, and with a single, fluid motion, he pulls his hood over his head, obscuring most of his face.
He takes a step back, his presence still commanding as he turns to face me fully. There’s an almost predatory grace in his movements, the way he stands, waiting, as if he expects me to follow without question.
"Are you coming?" His voice is low, amused, as though this were some game to him.
The question lingers in the cool night air, and I don’t respond immediately. Instead, I study him, weighing his words, trying to gauge the meaning behind that glint in his eyes.
"Where are we going?" I ask, curiosity creeping into my voice.
My new companion pauses, his eyes assessing every inch of me.
"Come and find out," he replies, throwing a wink my way.
Without waiting for a response, he turns and strides off, not bothering to check if I’m following. His confidence, his nonchalance—it only makes me more intrigued.
And then, I step forward, the path ahead uncertain but strangely inevitable. Walking behind Callum felt like a decision I hadn’t fully made—more like an instinct I couldn’t ignore. I trusted him, but there was an undercurrent of doubt, a gnawing sense that I couldn’t trust him completely either. It was an uneasy balance, like walking a tightrope without a net.
But we say nothing, as if what had just happened didn’t exist. If not for the blood staining my gloves and the guard’s final words still echoing in my ears, I might have believed it was nothing more than abad dream. Yet as we approach a camp with flickering lights, my mind shifts, grounding itself in the present.
As we move through the guard campgrounds, the sounds of laughter and music began to fill the air. I’m surrounded by gleaming firelight, the rhythmic beating of drums, and men and women—guards, some of the most disciplined soldiers I’ve ever known—dancing, drinking, their inhibitions unraveling. It’s as though the walls that usually define them as guardians had come crumbling down, leaving only ordinary men and women beneath. They were still dangerous, still warriors at their core, but tonight they were simply… people.
I smiled, but it was a quiet, bittersweet smile. I feel like an intruder, watching from the outside, a princess who should never be part of this world. It’s as though the barrier between who I am and who they are is becoming ever more apparent. I instinctively pull my cloak tighter around my face, obscuring my identity, not wanting to be seen. But there’s something liberating in watching them—watching the strength and power they normally keep tightly controlled spill out in the form of laughter and dance. Something human. The heat of the fire seems to intensify the mood, and for a short while, I almost forgot who I am.
As we pass through the camp, I catch Callum glancing over his shoulder. He wears that smile again, the one that makes me feel like I’m in the lion’s den, and he’s the one holding the key to my freedom. A flush creeps up my neck at the thought, and I quickly turn my focus forward. He leads us towards a wooden building at the far end of the camp, a large structure I immediately recognize as the guards’ tavern.
We enter, and the atmosphere shifts. The air smells of liquor and sweat, the warmth inside a stark contrast to the cool night outside. Callum slides his hood down and saunters to the counter, where he gestures to the barkeep with a fluid, confident motion. His eyes flick back to me, a silent challenge in his gaze—an invitation to join him, to take part in whatever game he’s playing.
I roll my eyes, but can’t suppress the small smirk that tugs at my lips. Without a second thought, I step toward the counter, but as I do,something—someone—catches my attention. Someone that stirs a strange, unwelcome feeling within me.
Casper.
Leaning against the bar, his dark, brooding eyes are locked on a woman beside him, her hair pulled into a tight braid that cascades over her shoulder with an effortless grace. A quick pang of something—jealousy—shoots through me, and I quickly push the feeling down. I don’t need to deal with this right now. I don’t even know what this feeling means, so I tried to shake it off as I focus on Callum.
The barkeep approaches, a tall man with a well-groomed beard and sleeves rolled up to reveal tattoos wrapping around both of his forearms. His eyes are a soft brown, curious but not entirely warm, and I can’t help but notice his playful smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He leans toward me, relaxed and confident.
“What can I grab you two?” he asks, tossing a towel over his shoulder.
I glance up at him and can’t suppress a soft chuckle as I notice his right arm tattoo—a woman climbing a tree. It’s an odd, almost comical image, and I snort before covering my mouth in embarrassment. The barkeeper tilts his head at me, then leans closer, voice lowering with a hint of charm.
“You’ve got a beautiful smile, darlin’,” he says, winking as he straightens up.
But then—he looks past me. His eyes narrow slightly as his posture shifts. I turn to find the source, only to be met with a cold, piercing gaze.
Casper.
His stare is on the bartender, an edge of possessiveness in his look that makes my stomach twist. I can feel the hostility rising, thick and uncomfortable, and when I turn back to the barkeeper, I can see him adjusting his posture, standing a little taller as if sensing the change in the air.
