Day 4 of the War

----------------------------------------

Ayla’s ice-shard room glowed in the sunset as she marched to her bed, sunken into the middle of the circular room in an oval against the washroom wall. She slipped her boots off before sliding under the covers. She curled into a tight ball and pulled the covers over her head.

Her father was missing.

“Miss Ayla, we’ve brought your dinner,” Bahra’s withered voice said from the door. “Are you going to eat tonight?”

“You can come in,” Ayla said, her voice muffled by the thick blankets and fur throws on her bed.

She heard Isla, Kaya, and Bahra shuffle in after the door creaked open. They placed the silver tray on her desk with a clink and wished her a good rest before leaving with quiet footsteps.

How could she rest, let alone well? Even training hard with Zalyn left her sleepless. Her anxiety trumped her fatigue. She didn’t know what else she could do at this point besides knocking herself out. She’d rather stare up into her ceiling until sunrise, trying to imagine where her father would hide.

The smell of grilled eggplant and chicken with garlic sauce, sesame oil, and lemon juice settled over her room. Ayla tore off her covers, the frigid air seizing her muscles, and headed to her washroom after slipping into her fur boots. They tapped against the floor like the soft thump of a drum. She splashed freezing water over her face and scrubbed her redden hands across her face.

She’d scoured the castle for him—any sign of him—as many times as she could for the past two days. She checked the western quarter and the southern quarter for her dad’s boyish smile. Her promise to Loran kept her from the eastern quarter and she doubted her father would hide in the northern quarter, where the gods stayed.

She’d found nothing. Where could he be?

A knock rapped against her door. “Ayla.”

“Who is it?” she asked, walking to the door. Her mind raced with her heart, hoping for once the masculine voice behind the door didn’t belong to Ashor or Zalyn. She opened the door to face Loran’s tall frame, a black fur cloak hiding his figure.

Her heart sank, but she hid it with a growing smile.

“Are you going to let me in?” he asked, a charming smile on his rosy lips. A cloud of condensation rose from his mouth.

“Never.” She moved aside and he stepped in before she closed the door. She turned to him as he lifted his hood from his face and revealed over his untidy mess of dark hair. “Did you make it here without trouble?”

“I’m good at hiding,” he said, patting her head. “Unlike you.”

She scrunched her nose, about to protest, when Loran reached out, touching her elbow and sliding his hand down to hers. He lifted her hand and turned it over, revealing her bare inner wrist as her sleeve shimmied down her arm. He bent over, pressing his soft lips against her skin.

She stood frozen. Mageians and therians never exchanged respect like this, even if the tradition existed in both cultures. Her stomach tumbled, trying to imitate her thumping heart. His eyes drew up to hers, glistening like the sun on the sea.

“I can hide well enough,” she said as he pulled back. She fought hard to control her blush—she didn’t want to be teased right now.

He chuckled, releasing her hand. “Says who?”

She scoffed, warmth tickling her cheeks. “Do I need a witness?” she asked.

He turned away from her with a smirk, taking a look at her soaring ceiling and the triangular windows facing the setting sun, the silver fur piled onto her mattress, and her trunk of clothes. “How’re you? That food smells delicious.”

“You can have some.” She followed his lean form with her arms crossed over her chest as he gravitated toward her dinner. “I didn’t see you eat much at lunch.”

“Haven’t been hungry,” he said. He lifted the tray from her desk and breezed to her bed, sitting on the edge with his long legs sprawled out over the sunken step framing the mattress.

She took a seat next to him, careful to keep her boots off of her bed as she hugged her legs to her body. “How’d they find out you’re involved with the Illutu?”

He shrugged, lifting the cover off the tray and setting it by his feet. “They guessed. Never lived in Eabzu, came all of a sudden from nowhere. Skeptical bunch, I guess.” He picked up the silver two-tined fork and nailed a slice of grilled eggplant, dipping it into the lemon juice. He held up the fork for her.

“Do you have to be so vague?” she asked. She leaned over and took the bite, the citrus tingling her tongue.

“It’s not a problem, Ayla.” He pierced another eggplant, a small scowl on his face. “They tried to have a little fun and they got a few broken bones. They helped me, in the long run.”

She frowned back as he chewed. “How’d they help you? They tried to kill you, didn’t they?”

He offered her another bite, which she took. “The only therian I’ve had a lot of experience fighting against is my mom,” he said, taking three eggplant slices onto his fork at a time. “Now I’ve got experience fighting against ten other therians.” He stuffed them all in his mouth at once.

She could only think of one thing to say. “I’m sorry.”

His expression softened. “You don’t need to be sorry for them.”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

Ayla rested her cheek against her knees. “Maybe you’re the one who needs to look out for Vejen.”

“He won’t bother me again.” He continued eating, offering her a mouthful of chicken dipped in garlic sauce.

She took it, savoring the taste as he finished the eggplant. He started cutting the chicken into smaller pieces and eating them one by one, passing a few to her as he devoured her meal.

“I’m eating all your food…” He glanced at her, his cheeks stuffed. “Sorry.”

She shook her head, smiling. “Don’t worry about it. You’re sharing.” Ayla continued, fishing for excuses so he wouldn’t feel bad. “I wasn’t very hungry. I haven’t…” —she paused, aware of Loran’s expectant gaze. Oops. That wasn’t the smartest thing to say in front of Loran the worrier— “…been up to eating, I guess.”

He stopped mid-bite. “Why?”

“A lot of reasons.” She looked at him as he moved his lips over the fork.

Loran chewed at a sedate pace before he swallowed. “Does it have anything to do with your training partner? All the therians have been laughing about how obvious he is.”

“Obvious?” She plucked a piece of chicken from the tray and popped it into her mouth. “No, Zalyn is the least of my worries right now…”

He stared at her and then turned his attention to the last few bits of food left. “If you say so.”

“I’m worried about Ashor.”

Ayla busied herself with the tuffs of fur on her boots, hugging her knees tighter. She knew this conversation could go wrong if she tried to hide her biggest concern from him, but she didn’t have a choice. Could she tell him about her dad? Would he be angry that she’d kept it a secret for so long?

She didn’t want to take the chance right now.

Loran finished her dinner and set the tray by the cover. “Do you think he’s really that horrible?”

“No,” she said. “He’s not, but he doesn’t think he’s any good at all. Banipal and Sanhareb, they…” She groaned, pressing her fingertips to her temples. Why did everything have to spill from her lips around him?

“They what?” Loran pressed, eyes narrowing.

She sighed. It couldn’t hurt to tell him. “During the three-way fights, they want us to work together if there’s another mageian to eliminate the therian.”

Loran’s jaw tightened as he nodded. “It’s a good enough strategy. It’ll probably work.”

“But we need to win one other to get a majority into the final battle. They’re really putting the pressure on Zalyn and Ashor.” Ayla released a sigh and slipped her hand into her hair. “Zalyn works well under pressure.”

“Ashor doesn’t, though…” Loran sighed and flopped onto the bed as he swore. “Those idiots. If they wanted him to win, they should’ve just left him alone.”

“Have you gotten to spend any time with him training?”

“Yes.” He opened his eyes and reached his hands under his head. “He’ll have a hard time against Vejen, but Medya won’t be a problem for him. She’s not a fighter.”

“He doesn’t like fighting against girls.” She leaned back on her hands.

Loran lifted an eyebrow. “Change that.”

She clenched her teeth and weaved her hands together, stretching until her shoulder blades cracked. “I will. I guess he’ll have to work on his healing a bit for the next few days.”

Loran chuckled before sitting up and jumping to his feet. He picked up the tray, replacing its cover, and hopping up to the floor. The tray clanked as he set it down on the desk again. He moved her chair out and took a seat on the grey pillow-top.

“You saw the gods today, didn’t you?” she asked.

“I did.” He shuffled around the papers on her desk—notes from Naramsin, Zalyn, and Ashor. He lifted her invitation for the War and glanced at her. “You’ll be seeing the day after tomorrow, right?”

She nodded and he returned his gaze to the small car’s silver ink. “How was it?” More importantly, did they ask him about his deal with Ereshkigal?

“Short.” He replaced the card and picked up one of the notes. He skimmed it as he continued, “They introduced themselves, asked me a few questions, and sent me off.”

She bit her lip. Interrogation wasn’t her forte, but she had to try. “What kind of questions?”

“Enki wanted to know how I was, what I thought the outcome would be, and what I thought about the last war. Seemed generic.” He held up one of her notes. She recognized Ashor’s signature at the bottom. “Why’s Ashor asking where you’ve been?”

She recoiled to mask her flinch. Why’d he have to pick up that note? “I did a little bit of exploring,” she said. “Familiarized myself with the safe parts of the castle. I didn’t break my promise.”

“Were you looking for something?” He laid the paper down, turning in his seat to face her better. “You usually don’t just go off on your own to explore, Ayla. I know you.”

Ugh. She didn’t want him to be asking her questions like this. It was so hard to lie to him.

She went for the first thing that came to her mind that wouldn’t sound too far-fetched. Her cheeks heated as she spoke. “Maybe I was looking for a way to sneak into your room.”

His expression hardened, a seriousness crossing over his features. His hand clenched on the armrest of the wooden chair and his knuckles faded white. “You’re joking me, aren’t you?”

“Obviously I didn’t find anything.” Her magic felt like it’d been leeched form her face as her mouth dried. “Don’t worry.”

He studied her and then lifted his gaze to the ceiling. His lashes touched his straight eyebrows. “I wish you wouldn’t tell me that.” He stood and pushed the chair back under the desk. He circled her room.

“What?” She frowned, watching him. “Is it really that pointless for me to tell you not to worry?”

“Yes.” He raked a hand through his hair. “I hated seeing you in the arena, Ayla.”

Big brother mode again. She hated it when he did this. She didn’t want his concern when it meant he thought she was incapable of taking care of herself.

“I didn’t like seeing you, either,” Ayla countered. She turned, laying her knees down and setting her chin over her shoulder as he moved behind her. “I don’t want you to be on the other side. I don’t want to fight against you.”

Loran turned on his heel and retraced his footsteps. “We’re not, Ayla.” He stopped, as if frozen, and then looked at her. He changed directions, stepping down to her bed, walking along the edge of ice, and then taking a seat in front of her on the floor. He placed his elbows on his knees. “We’re on the same side.”

“That’s different.” She swallowed, leaning forward. “We’re fighting for the same thing, but in this War, we’re competitors, not comrades. Zalyn’s on my side as much as you are.”

He sighed, his nostrils flaring for a moment. “I know. Just don’t think of it that way. I’m not.” Loran locked eyes with her. “I’d rather die than fight against you, Ayla.”

Her heart felt like it wanted to escape from the confines of her body. Her magic lurched from her skin, leaving her vulnerable to the arctic temperature without its isolation. “Don’t say that.”

He put his hands on either side of her face. Her numbing skin tingled against his hot touch as his thumbs rolled over her cheeks. Every passing moment sent shivers down her spine as her heart slowed, calming with each caress.

“Then stop telling me to not worry.” He pulled away from her and stood, glancing to the window. “I should go. The guards switch over just before sunset and sunrise. I don’t think I should try to sneak out in the dark. I can’t see that well.”

She stood with him and almost bumped into his body. He put his hands on her upper arms and steadied her. Her mind ran in circles as she stared into his eyes, magic rolling like a soft tide. He smelled like the air before rain—as always. Some things didn’t change and for her, Loran was one of them.

She swallowed, breathless. “Will you be okay?” she asked, quiet.

He smiled. “Yes,” he answered with a voice husky as he slid his arms behind her back and pressed her into him. Warmth radiated from his body. “I’ll see you tomorrow at lunch.”

She smiled despite herself, hugging back with a tight squeeze. “So you’re going to start saying that again? I’m glad.” She felt his body stiffen. “I know you knew about the War that day. You should’ve told me, Loran.”

“You’ll forgive me.” He pulled back and kissed the top of her head before his strides carried him out the door.

She missed him already.