Every year, hundreds die within the walls of Basgiath War College. It's no surprise that many are those who choose the Riders Quadrant. Dragons do not tolerate much, but neither do the ruthless gryphons on the outside of the wards.
At least...
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・・・ ・・・ ・・・
An hour later, I'm bathed, fed, and sufficiently embarrassed. Xaden is sitting at his desk, fiddling with something that looks like a smaller and more compact crossbow that I make a mental note to ask the Matthews about. I've taken residence in his bed since I'd desperately needed to lay down after crying on his chest and the bath didn't help as much as I thought it would.
"But they didn't search Tairn?" he asks. He doesn't look up and I don't know if I want him to. I feel so hollow now, buzzing like I'm encased in a ward of my own that traps all of my sorrow onto my skin. "No. They just dumped my stuff on the ground." I glance around the room as my fingers fiddle with each other. It's in the same strict order he's always kept, even back in Aretia when he was... I think he would've been twelve at the time. "I imagine they didn't search Sgaeyl when you left last." "Only me," he hums with a shake of his head. "They wouldn't be alive if they'd tried." "Yeah," I whisper.
I turn to look over my shoulder but the window is completely covered by massive black curtains that would be too suspicious to swipe away. It gives my attention nowhere to hide. "How'd you get a bathing chamber to yourself?" I ask him quietly. I've decided staring at the bookshelf makes enough sense. "You'd be amazed what you can get when no one wants to share a space with Fen Riorson's son," he answers. His voice is as mellow as mine and it makes my face twitch. "You think I could get the same perks?" I try to joke. He glances up at me for a moment and it feels like a dragon is sitting on my chest, so I look away. "No. I think they'd kill you."
Silence fills the room between us and I can't tell if it's comfortable or awkward. I really need to stop breaking down in front of him. It just gets more embarrassing every time, especially when he's so good at maintaining his composure. I need to remember that he's not the man I imagine sometimes. There are things he's been taught that Fen never would've, because Fen is gone. Things like crying is a weakness that you don't show others, even though his father always encouraged it.
I palm a dagger, pressing the tip of its blade into my middle finger and twisting to check its sharpness. I open my mouth to ask him for a sharpening stone, but, as if reading my mind, he's already grabbed one from his desk drawer. He stands and leans over the end of the bed to hand it to me, being careful to not let his fingers brush mine. "Thank you," I murmur before sucking in a breath. I always need to remind myself that I'm not dealing with Aetos. Xaden isn't the kind of guy to develop a signet like that. I'm fine. To distract myself, I busy my hands, sharpening the blades with a sickening slash every time it travels over the grindstone.
Xaden drops back onto the desk chair but doesn't pick up the small crossbow again like I expected. Still, I keep my eyes aimed down and turn away to dangle my legs off the edge of his bed so I don't get metal shavings on his comforter. "What are you thinking about?" he asks me gently. The metal screams. "My mother." I grind the knife along the stone again as I pinch my lips. It's a better answer than telling him the full truth, which is 'every death I've had to witness right in front of my eyes and was helpless to stop.' Instead, I ask, "Did you ever meet her?" "Once," he answers.
