Shadow Touched

14. GREY

I wake up confused about how I ended up in my bed. My head throbs. It feels heavy and thick like it does after a Lost Weekend with Finch. That must be it. I've been passed out drunk—no wonder I had such wild dreams. Dreams of depravity, power and a tiny, beautiful obsidian smoke-filled jar.

With my eyes still closed, I let out a groan as I try to throw off the thick blankets that cover me. My arms don't move. My eyes shoot open as I fight to move. A strong hand pushes against my chest.

"Calm Grey. Calm." Finch's urges in his deep, lightly accented voice. His face hovers above me, lines of concern etched across it. His gem-coloured eyes are soft. I push harder against him.

"Why are my arms tied up?" I ask. I mean to sound cold, but the question is more of a croak, my throat dry from lack of use. "What is—how long have I been out?"

Rather than answer, Finch pours a glass of water from a crystal pitcher on my nightstand before offering it to me.

"I didn't ask for fucking water," I hiss, even though I would love a glass. I'm scared. I'm strapped to my bed, and Finch—my best friend—ignores my questions. Instead, he's pouring me water like I'm an invalid.

He remains frustratingly quiet and returns the glass and pitcher to their spot. He commands someone I can't see to leave with his back to me. I wasn't even aware there were other people in the room.

"Additional guards," he explains.

I wait. I can feel my blood beginning to boil. Anger that I don't recall feeling before but that somehow tastes familiar bubbles up my throat.

"You have been out for two days." He says this matter of factly. "From what I gather, over the past six months, you've experienced spells of intense insomnia and night terrors that have evolved into fits of rage."

"Is that so" I ask, anger warring with shame. Of course, Finch would know more than he'd let on. He always does.

Ignoring me, he continues, "I would say I'm impressed that you've so successfully kept this hidden from me, but you and I both know you didn't." The words are clipped as they tumble from his mouth, and despite his efforts at restraint, it's obvious he's angry.

Well, that makes two of us.

"When did the sickness return, Grey?"

I don't answer. Instead, I stare at the ceiling above me. It's covered in the never-ending pattern of an ornate fractal made from tiny pieces of coloured marble. The swirls of the pattern melt together, making my eyes cross. As a child, I would lie in my bed and try to count every marble piece until sleep found me.

Now, I stare at the ceiling to avoid answering Finch's question.

"Grey."

"Who are you to question me?" I snap. "I am the heir to the Atheccan throne. You are nothing but a foot soldier." My arms pull against my bindings. Strength courses through my body. It terrifies and delights me. The Vistarian metal bindings that tie me down are thin, but the metal is strong, one of the strongest in the world. The chains expand slightly as I pull against them. I register surprise in Finch's eyes. I'm strong, yes, but I shouldn't be able to stretch the bindings.

As my anger builds, I sense a darkness unfurling in my blood. It bleeds into my eyes as my hatred towards Finch grows stronger.

"You insolent...pathetic...nobody!" I spit. "Let me go NOW."

Finch watches me with a cool detachment. Then, he leans forward and undoes my bindings. And like that, the fury dissipates, leaving me shamefaced and embarrassed.