The Winter Born [COMPLETED]

Chapter 39 - Bread

I lost count how many days I laid in my bed. The bed is hard and cold like the winter storm outside, but I just stayed in there. The remainings of a fire Ethan made when he visited this morning lays in the fireplace and I find myself watching it intently, body and mind numb.

Ethan had said that I can come and stay at the palace anytime I want. He didn't say if I was welcomed or not. The Valarians hate me, despise me, will kill me in my sleep. Without a second thought, I decided that dying from the cold is better than waking up with a dagger to my neck.

And here I am. On the cold, hard bed-- in the same room which Laila and I shared and in the same house where Father was taken.

Too many taken souls, too many dead.

Dead. All of them. My family. My kin, my blood. Father, Mother. Gone. The house was always quiet after Father's death, but now it sounds like a graveyard and the only sounds are the rippling snowstorms outside of the house.

I do not feel any remorse at the fact that I killed Laila. I do not regret that I killed the murderer of my people. I do not regret that I took revenge. But I hate the fact that maybe somehow, I could've stopped her before. I was blind of her intentions and she was smarter than me. And I hate that.

I glance briefly to the window. It's white, all white-- I can't see further. How is the children-- orphans doing? Are they freezing and hungry? Or are they already--

No, don't. I forbid myself from thinking about them. Their thin, shivering bodies, hollow cheeks, and empty eyes.

Three days, I remember. Three days since the death of hundreds of people. I haven't told the orphans yet. Pathetic.

Useless. Stupid. Vain. Selfish. Weak.

I'm not like that-- I'm not.

Weak.

No--

Murderer.

My breathing hitches against the cold air. I'm choking, my chest getting tighter and I can't stop the words from coming.

You should've died. You are worthless.

I know, I should've died. I should be dead, why am I alive? I can't breathe. I flung away the blanket away, not caring where it will land. I need air.

Take your spear, plunge it into your neck.

I plant my feet onto the wooden floor, but my knees were not used in three days and when I suddenly stand up, it turns to mush and I fall to the floor. It's so cold.

Worthless. Useless.

My mind starts to scream those words. I wanted to scream to the storm, to deaf myself from my own mind.

Death to Valaria!

I feel something start to rise to my throat at the memory of their first and last war cry. I cover my mouth.

Burn in hell!

I don't even know which of them said that. My stomach feels as sick as it was at the smell of Laila's blood.

Filthy Outlanders!

It all flashes in my mind-- the faces of the Outlanders, Laila's blood on the cold snow-- my own spear through it and Mother's bloodied--

Bile rushes from my mouth and out through the spaces between my fingers. It feels warm. Warmer than the bed, at least.

It drips down my tunic and I let it be. I lean against the foot of my bed, relishing at the familiar pain of an empty stomach. At least my mind is clear now, empty and hollow as if the memories before was just a dream.