Xadezhda
Dinner was quiet. Forks clinked against dinnerware as they polished off the last of the venison served before them. Well, not Xadezhda. She had been put off meat ever since the hearts.
She picked at her vegetables.
Still, none spoke. Not even when the servants came to take the empty dishes and replace them with mugs of tea. Not even when they were left alone, silence lingering over the grand hall.
It was like a blanket, covering, smothering, she couldn't breathe. There was much to speak about, and yet, Xadya found herself at a loss for words.
"Are you going to drink that?" Finley asked quietly.
She eyed Airo. He stared at the table.
Her hair had been washed and he had cut it back into what it once was, blunt black pieces hanging roughly at her chin. All the scars and caked blood, the memories, had all been shampooed out and snipped away.
Xadya nodded absently and touched the steaming mug to her lips. It was not Arcane tea. She was glad. Arcane tea would have been a slap in the face.
Wordlessly, she left the table, taking the mug with her. She held it close to her chest, bringing warmth in from the steaming liquid, and she walked the halls of the palace by herself.
Malakhai had stolen the gods from her. He had stolen the Arcane, too.
Nearly a month had gone by and James was still in the hospital. Still recovering. She pushed the infirmary door open and stepped inside. He stayed in private rooms, at Airo's request. Xadya knew them well.
She sat on the bench next to his bed and waited for him to wake. As she sat, she pulled her knees tight to her chest and regarded his wounds. The gash through his pupil, the bruising on his face, his missing ring finger. There was far worse damage underneath. She wondered if he would ever fully recover.
"Staring isn't going to change what happened."
Xadya looked up to see his eye fluttering open. He gave her a half smile, all he could muster. She held her mug out to him and he took a long sip, relaxing into the pillows and letting the tea warm his bones.
"How are you feeling?" she asked in a small voice.
"Xadya." He looked at her.
She knew how he felt. Like a monster had tried to eat him and damned near succeeded.
It hadn't been quick, getting down the mountain. There was the matter of finding Malakhai, after. Finding James. That part had happened so fast she could barely recall the details.
"You should rest, little terror."
She chuckled softly. She was not a terror any longer, but human through and through.
"I've been resting," she said, a lie through her teeth. Xadya had barely slept. Without the comfort of power to soothe her, she had nothing. Each day she holed up in the library by herself, tirelessly searching for answers. She came up empty every time.
Malakhai was gone. She couldn't feel him anymore. She couldn't feel anything anymore.
James leaned his head back and Xadya stood over him, hands holding the sides of his face, inspecting his gashed eye. It extended through his brow and down to his nose, as if Malakhai had taken a talon straight to it. Perhaps he had.
Xadya remembered blood. So much, gushing from his wounds. His eye, nearly torn in half. His finger twirling in Malakhai's monstrous grip. It was the only piece of James that he'd managed to take apart before they had shown up.
