Threads of Fate

Chapter 16 ~ Hallucinations Drenched in Blood

    Tissaia hadn't stayed downstairs very long after Azael and her brother returned. They had delivered news of their finding, a short blood trail that was several days old, then announced that they would be moving on come morning. As this would be her last night with access to a bathtub and an actual bed for a while, Tissaia decided to make the most of it.

    She'd left Talarion and Kaius still working on their few departure preparations, and felt Azael's gaze tracking her to the stairs, but the male hadn't spoken to her. He hadn't spoken to her since their first night here, and although he wasn't acting like he was angry or upset, she had the sense that she'd done something wrong. But what, she didn't know.

    Tissaia gave a small sigh and leaned her head back against the lip of the deep copper tub she was submerged in. Water lapped at her collarbone and hair floated around her, already thoroughly drenched and scrubbed. Honestly, she'd been soaking here long enough for her fingers and toes to wrinkle. It was long past time she should've gotten out, yet she had no desire to give up this simple luxury.

    But presently, her stomach rumbled, reminding her that she hadn't eaten much for dinner tonight, and she ought to do so before going to bed. Tissaia stood and snatched an old, yet still soft towel and dried herself rapidly. She set the towel aside and went to grab her clothes, but paused, catching sight of herself in the full length mirror across from the bathtub.

    Her mouth ran dry at the sight of the marks on the backs of her thighs, and the few on her back that were long enough to stretch onto her waist. Her hair covered the rest of them, the exact reason she kept it so long, and why Talarion did too. They couldn't stand to see the scars on themselves or each other.

    Yet several times, Tissaia had tried to force herself to look at them. By covering them, it was like she was trying to ignore that they existed. She was hiding from them, and hiding the only proof she had of what her father was really like. Not that anyone would believe they had been caused by him.

    She swallowed hard, then turned and slowly drew her hair over one shoulder. Tissaia looked again, heart hammering against her sternum. She couldn't stop her jaw from trembling or the terrible stinging that welled up behind her eyelashes.

    Layers upon layers of faded, but no less terrible scars, carved by the tongues of a whip. They had been even worse years before she learned to fade scars with her healing magic. Then she'd done the best to hers that she could, but there would never be any removing them.

    The ones towards her upper back had healed the best. They were barely tangible on their own, not rigid or dark in color. They were smooth and pale, more likely to pass as an odd birthmark than scars. It was the ones towards her lower back that remained harsh and deep. The easiest to hide, and the hardest to see.

    Perhaps one small blessing had come from her never marrying Azael. He didn't know about the scars, and she would never have to let him see them.

    She pried her gaze from the mirror and tugged her clothes on, sucking down several rapid breaths to replenish the ones she'd held unknowingly. Tissaia left her hair unbound and ducked out of her room as soon as she was ready. She breezed down the hall on bare feet and floated noiselessly down the stairs.

    The main floor of the house was empty and she realized with relief that the males had gone to bed. Tissaia turned into the kitchen and began rooting through the pantry for anything appealing. She was about to settle for making herself a rather unappetizing sandwich, when she saw it. Towards the back of the shelves, preserved under a glass dome, was a cake.

    Her eyes widened and she snatched it up, praying to the gods that it would still be edible. She seated herself at the table and lifted the cover, breathing the scent deeply. Her mouth watered as she recognized the citrusy scent of lemon, her favorite. Tissaia cocked her head and poked the cake. The spongy texture dented under her finger, still soft.