Barracks (War of Hearts)

36-Released

"What's wrong?" She joins me at the sink, her hands submerged in water. I'm at a loss for words, unable to explain the inexplicable. If I uttered a single syllable, they'd demand more, and I wouldn't have answers.

Is this how my powers manifest? A warning, a plea for release before it consumes me?

"Nothing. I needed the bathroom," I mumble, my mind racing. But she insists, pulling my hands from their hiding place. 

"You're bleeding," she observes, her gaze fixed on my face, oblivious to my hands.

True to her words, I study the blood rolling down my nose. The crimson hue is almost black, ominous. I glance at my hand—it appears normal. Relief washes over me as I wash my face.

"Is it frequent now?" she asks, concern etching her features.

"I wouldn't be worried," I deflect, but she persists.

"It's the second time I've seen it."

"Humans are weak," I echo her words, my mind racing. What's happening to me?

Himley leaves the room, satisfied. I inspect my hand once more. Nothing. I rub my eyes. This must be a dream, a hallucination. Maybe Himley is right—I need help.

At dinner, Aldaire is absent. He left for the quest without a word. My heart sinks, and the night stretches ahead, devoid of joy. Himley accompanies Gina and the baby, leaving Xavier with me. He walks beside me, silent. He must sense my turmoil, but he doesn't pry. A quick hug, and he's gone.

I stand by the window, gazing at the road leading beyond the kingdom's walls. A spark of hope flickers—I'm sure he took that path and will take the same for the return.

*****

In the morning as I make my way to the library, Superior Jonathan's sudden interest in me catches me off guard. Most of them avoid my path, but he waits by the library's door.

"Leizabeth, can I talk to you?" he asks, and I curtsy, following him to his office. The guards close the doors behind us, and I sit, waiting for the conversation to unfold.

"How has the search gone so far?" he inquires, and I clear my throat, striving to appear honest. "I have a few more days left to find the traitor," I reply. "After the festival..."

His side smile is cryptic. "Ah, I see he's staying true to his words," Jonathan remarks. "Have you thought about your death? The council was generous about letting you choose what you'd prefer."

"Excuse me?" My confusion deepens. I knew failure meant death, but I never imagined they'd planned it so meticulously. Why didn't Aldaire or anyone else warn me?

Jonathan lights his pipe, drawing a puff. "No one told you about your options? What a pity. Maybe they'll choose for you."

My fingers dig into my palms beneath the table. "You don't believe there's a traitor here?" I challenge.

"If there is, it'll be too late," he replies. "We've probably had them for so long that the root is spoiled."

"And you're okay with that?"

"Never said I was," he retorts. "But what can an exiler do? Aldaire hasn't brought evidence worth our time. Only a miracle will save you."

I'm seething. For a superior, he's remarkably pessimistic. "When our new emperor rises," he continues, "there will be changes. We won't have time for egg hunting."

"Why do you take this as some sort of a game?" I challenge, my frustration boiling over. "You and I both know who the traitor is. I don't understand why you don't take action. You have the..."