Page 92 of Fires of the Forsaken
“Iwouldn’tdrag you into this battle. If I had the choice.” Cheriour’s nose wrinkled. “You are too inexperienced. But Quinn has ordered you to ride with us. I can’t disobey him.”
“Quinn’s a goddamn psychopath!” I spat.
“Stop.” Cheriour’s voice was quiet, but stern.
“No!” I squirmed, even as my shoulder gave a painfulpopagainst his hold.
“Be still, Addie,” his drawl morphed into a slur. “Iwilldo what I can to keep you safe. I promise.”
“Andwhywould you risk your ass for me?”
“Be still. Breathe.” His fingers tightened around my arm. Not harshly. More like he was anchoring me. Keeping me upright.
Huk-hic-huk.My lungs made weird clicking/wheezing noises. The room dipped and swayed, while my stomach sloshed and splashed. Like a ship on the high seas.
“Breathe.” Cheriour gave a long, audible exhale, as though demonstrating how to breathe.
I followed the steady rise and fall of his chest, blowing out choppy puffs of air, and inhaling short mouthfuls until the room stopped swaying. And my lungs stopped making those strange sounds.
“This isn’t fucking fair.” I wiped tears off my cheeks. “If the Celestials wanted me dead, why didn’t they…I dunno, grab a gun and pop my brains out?Bam.Over and done with.Whydid they send me here?”
Cheriour was quiet for a long moment. His thumb trailed along my arm, as though apologizing for holding me so tightly, and he let his hand slide away.
And I almost,almost,pulled his hand back. Because his palm had been gloriously warm against my clammy skin. His touch had made me steadier.
Instead, I wrapped my arms around myself and willed the woozy, sea-sick sensation to go away. I wouldnotpuke on his boots again.
“You’re right. This isn’t fair.” Cheriour focused his gaze on the door. “For you. Or for anyone.”
Foranyone.
A stark reminder that a lot of people could die. It wasn’t just my pathetic ass on the line here.
“I’m sorry,” I mumbled. “For, y’know, the meltdown. That was selfish, huh?” My stomach rose into my throat. “But I’m a total wimp. Ican’tfight. And,” I blotted more tears off my cheeks, “this place isawful. Everyone who lives here suffers. And it’s getting to me. Y’know?”
“It upsets me too.” He lowered his head, his shoulders constricting with tension.
I ran a hand over my teary/snotty face as a humorless laugh puffed out of me. “You’re trying to keep an entire country from disappearing off the face of the earth. And I’m over here being a self-centered, whiny bitch. I’m sorry. Really. I don’t mean to make things harder for you—”
“There’s nothing to apologize for.” Cheriour didn’t even spare me a glance as he jerked his chin to the door. “Come with me.”
And I had no strength left to protest.
My feet felt like anvils as I followed him out into the hallway. “Bye,” I said glumly to my guard, who didn’t respond. Not a surprise. Most of the guards ignored me. Probably because I annoyed the crap out of them.
Normally, at this time of day, people would be making a beeline to the kitchen for breakfast. There would be talk. And laughter. And gossip. Typical early mornings on a job. But the atmosphere today was different. The castle halls were crowded, but no one spoke or looked at each other. My sniffles sounded like gunshots in the quiet, tense air.
I kept my head down, scrubbing my knuckles against my eyes. The tears slowed but wouldn’t stop. Not until several minutes later, when Cheriour pushed open a door that led to—
“Is this yourbedroom?” I blurted.
Cheriour inclined his head and stepped inside.
This small room was little bigger than a college dorm. And Cheriour was an absoluteslob, which made the space seemclaustrophobic. Sheets hung off the paper-thin mattress, which was pressed beneath the sill of a teeny window on the far wall. A mountain of trash sat perched atop the ramshackled desk in the corner. Clothes, mismatched pairs of boots, papers, and ashit-tonof pointy weapons littered the floor.
The dude slept with an entire armory at his disposal and enough trash to fill three dumpsters. He couldn’t evenwalkwithout stepping on stuff.
I used the toe of my boot to push a lump of dirty clothes out of the way. “You ever heard of a fun activity called ‘washing your stanky underwear?’Because this is…” the flickering light caught my eye. A short candle rested on the windowsill, its gyrating flame only inches from a stack of papers.
