A Shield of Faith (BOOK 4)

Chapter 22

YUVEN

Yet another party beset its annoyance on him — unable to fathom what the younger Wardens celebrated this time around. It wasn't the end of training, the lack of a new batch of Trainees prevented the overseeing of the Twilight Oath underneath the blanket of evenfall. Surely it couldn't be a elongated celebration of Evyriaz' rescue from death and corruption both, and a mercy upon Naveera with half of him full of rueful agitation at the lack of comeuppance in their direction for their disregard for a Storm Warden's life. Metal manacles bounced against his wrists when he shuffled under the covers, and he sat up with a sigh at the magick popping in the air. He smacked his brow with the heel of his palm and racked his fingers through some of the wavy ends of his snow-white hair of infuriation. Fangs extended, he sniffed and slid his tongue between them to try and rid himself of the rusty taste in the back of his throat. The blinds rustled against the open window, and he left Maria's side to close it, and the blinds danced to the tune of false hope. Shut out from the mountain air and the sprinkle of stars, he hunched his shoulders and drew his attention to the grounds below, where some of the owlish Storm Wardens wasted their energy for rest well into the night instead of sleeping at proper hours with expected schedules set. A bunch of Fenrer's. Great. A loose bead of sweat rolled down his temple, and he wiped it away to vent out the excess heat with a plume of mist from his nose.

Back to bed, he opted to sit instead of stretching out beside the light of his sun. On the edge of the bedstand, the phial full of distant night skies with the curious taste of compost. Shaky rumbles quivered his stomach when he brought his hands against it in preparation, bracing himself for the impact of a flash long overdue. He held his breath. Held his mind, and he frowned when the tension subsided with only a spittle of black blood escaping his lips. He brought his fingers up to it, then wiped it away and tried not to stew.

I have better things to do.

Forearms across his legs, he breathed to the pulse of his heart. He dragged his finger against his own skin and listened to the soft tick of the moon clock over Maria's worktable. Each hand skipped along the seconds and denoted the minutes. Into the bells. Into the moons. Into the doomed end of Turns. He chewed on his lower lip at the wavy visage in the world. Shoulders against his neck, he jolted back from the tick of his life when Maria hummed beside him, then sat up against her pillow. "Yuven?" her voice came out soft, sleepy and gentle, the rise of a welcomed dawn after a long, crimson night. "Were you woken up by another nightmare?"

He hooked his fingers into his knees and shook his head.

Maria's silence filled an agonized space. "Yuven," she broke it once more and scooted to his side. "Are you okay? Are you feeling strange?"

"When am I not feeling weird, Myl'la...? At this point, I no longer know the definition of that." He drew his thumb across his own lips, but no black blood remained. "All the sleepless night owls decided they wanted to be extra noisy tonight, so I closed the windows." He brushed at his own feathers, biting his tongue when a piece of down caught itself on his fingers, and he went still, slipping his hand from his head to crush the feather into his palm. "You should go back to sleep, Maria. I'll rejoin you soon." Onto his feet, he mumbled, "I have to go talk to Neven about the meeting."

"I thought you already talked to him." Maria frowned up at him.

He tucked his cheek into his palm and wiped away the clammy paste along his bones. "We didn't exactly talk... I know he means only the best, that he cares... but he cares too much." Neven's fatal trait. He cared too much, and it only led to being split a thousand ways. It started with Kayal, and then Irimount and Evyriaz's plight, whose second name was Euron Traye. "But now that I have the space to think about it... I should not have taken out my frustration on him like I'm a child after demanding he stop treating me like one." He slowed to a stop when Maria raised her hand to his chest, drawing it up to his shoulder. "I'm okay, Myl'la," he dragged out the love through his lips, off the song on his tongue when he gripped her slender fingers of a healing touch and ferocious protection. He leaned into her touch when she brought her other hand to slip a finger under his chin, and he whisked out his feathers when a playful smile formed in the lines of thought when she brought her now free hand into them.