Instead of completely freezing like I did before, my instincts took over.
Adrenaline pumped through me as I jumped from the floor and away from the tip of Siridan's blade, putting a considerable distance between us by hopping over a box that stood behind me with enough finesse to surprise not only him – but myself.
I had possibly grown accustomed to thinking of Siridan as harmless during his days of slumber, so although I still harbored fear, it didn't render me paralyzed.
When I leaped, Siridan followed, closing the distance with terrifying speed. Even immersed in a fear-fueled rush of energy, I couldn't hope to come close to his physical capabilities. I instantly found his face a breath away from mine, a wild look in his unfocused eyes.
An attack didn't follow, but I continued backing away. I had no time to process any of it. I wanted to survive. Without thinking, I jumped away again, preparing for a flip by tucking my legs against my stomach, compressing my abdominals, and—
Crash!
As one might expect, while my instincts were well-trained, my muscles were not. I fell and banged backward against one of the crates, knocking its lid off and spilling its contents. Searing, blinding pain went through my back, spreading out from the point of impact.
My eyes forcefully shut as I suppressed my urge to shout – unnecessary as that might have been; Siridan's large hand clamped onto my face and sealed my lips, and as my horror-struck pupils dilated and opened to spot the one that held his sword, it… went limp?
Siridan looked down at me with a condescending glare, though something about his eyes rapidly darting away and avoiding eye contact with mine told me he realized his mistake. "You nuts? How are you gonna hold someone captive with no weapon!?"
I let out a pathetic, defeated whimper against his palm. He clicked his tongue, then lowered his hand, allowing his shoulders to slump, and dropped into a hunched squat in front of me. "Aaaand you hurt yourself. Don't try to pull a circus act if you can't do it. —Let me see that."
With a wounded look in my eyes, I shook my head, only barely holding myself back from crying. There was no way I would let him 'help' me. I didn't hurt myself – it was his fault! I didn't do anything wrong. He was the one who attacked me despite everything I did to prevent his anger.
Siridan looked over his shoulder back at the mattress he woke on. He took a deep breath and wiped his eyes on his sleeve. His mouth twisted in discomfort, and after a few more moments of staring back with guilt, he flopped back down to the ground, spread eagle.
"Aaagh, great..!" His chest puffed out as he blew a raspberry at the ceiling. "Listen, I'm sorry, but waking up next to other people's never been my thing. I didn't realize who you were or where I was—"
"—So you just started swinging..!?" I demanded and leaned forward with the support of one hand, still biting back the pain of the impact. I looked down at the canisters of various spices that had broken when the box tumbled over. "What kind of maniac does that???"
His head tilted up. "Oh, I don't know! Maybe one with a scheduled execution and a hoard of puppets after him!" His retort was loud, and he seemed to realize that. He quickly lowered his head back to the floor with a soft bang.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
I reached for my aching lower back, traced a line over the fresh bruise with a soothing finger, and lazily muttered a brief incantation in a whisper.
"Mih. Spare us of our suffering."
Siridan didn't move and stop me, so I figured he recognized the spell – a piece of magic made to alleviate pain and calm any associated negative emotions. I felt my anger subside ever so slightly, and with it, the red-hot throbbing on my back faded into subtle pulses.
Treating the pain rather than the injury itself was not a perfect solution, but as my Healer's Guide said, 'A feeling of safety is the first step on the path to healing even the most life-threatening of wounds.' I could only hope it was right.
I sat there awkwardly with my limbs huddled against me for a silent while, glaring scornfully at Siridan, who continued to splay out childishly over the floor as if I were the one who did something wrong to him.
Eventually, the silence was broken by the hungry croaking of his stomach, but he stayed still despite the nearby meal.
"So…what? You're just going to waste the food I got you?" I finally spoke again, still palpably rattled. "I've been trying to feed you for days. At least make sure this one doesn't go in the trash."
Without saying a word, Siridan sheepishly peeled himself off the floor, walked over to the platter, and sat beside it to shovel the rice into his mouth. I, of course, was still upset, but I felt a mild relief after settling down from my anger and seeing him move and eat again.
Suffice it to say, if not for the emotional serenity granted by my spell, I would've spilled his food and drink all over him instead.
My fingers drummed on the floor, brushing through the multi-colored mess created by the spices that spilled out from the crate. After careful deliberation, I decided to take advantage of the tense atmosphere and the guilt that likely ate at Siridan after hurting me. "…Say. Why'd you kill Paa'il and Jin?"
He looked up from his meal with a deadpan expression and spoke up with a half-full gullet. "Really? That again?" He tilted his head, and his hair spilled over his shoulder to rest neatly over his chest. I told you that didn't happen."
"Then what did?" I asked scathingly. Already, I began to regret bringing it up – and the few days I spent trying to nurse him back to health. If he was going to keep that attitude, there wasn't any point in questioning him.
His shoulders rose into a subtle shrug. "Beats me. I never heard of those two before I started getting accused of murdering them. Someone either wanted a scapegoat or framed me on purpose to ruin my life. And now you know all I know. Happy?"
He said it like he was doing me a favor, and I couldn't feel any more disgusted at what I was hearing. He might've thought I was just some uninvolved and clueless girl, but I knew better than anyone else that this was a lie, and his cold yet perfectly guileless mannerisms made me feel ill.
"I mean, you can't seriously expect me to believe that, right? I'm not stupid." I brushed my hair away from my face, offended. "Are you saying everyone in this village had a mass hallucination about you being friends with th—"
"Shh."
Oh, screw this. No way. He's not going buy me with an act, and certainly not by hushing me!
"I'm not letting you shut me up!" I straightened up indignantly despite the residual pain in my back. "You can't just make everyone stop talking about it just to feel better about the murders you committed! I'm not going to help you at all if you don't talk like a normal—"
He hushed me again, though that time, he turned his attention toward the door. "Lots of people moving out there," he said suspiciously, picking up his mug to refill the gourd on his sash with the drink. "Where are we – and where's the exit?
"We're still at the inn," I replied, confused. "–But it's an active hour. Lots of people are going to move all over the place. I doubt any of them will come to the basement."
Once he filled his gourd to the brim, he shook it lightly and inspected it, then took a swig of the leftover droplets in the mug. "Whatever's going on, I don't like it," Siridan whispered, wiping his lips with his thumb.
I didn't understand what he was trying to say. Was he really able to tell whether or not those footsteps belonged to people or Sects..? I knew his senses were sharp, but I never heard of a human honing them to that degree before.
"Sorry, missy," he languidly groaned, standing up, "but I think you used up all the time you had to make a good decision and get yourself out of this situation."
I looked up at the swordsman as he moved to position himself between me and the door, but before I could shake away the shock that came with his statement, he spoke again.
"Ever been a hostage before?"