The Bounty Hunter

Chapter Twenty Five

Chapter Twenty Five

Safita was sure that Favia would be able to sense her discomfort, see all the blood drain from her face and hear her heart hammering against the ribs which trapped it in her chest; Finred’s eyes blazed green, directing all the fury of the world at her and for once she was terrified. He looked positively feral, as wild as she had been for all those years, and she swallowed, feeling her throat dry up and shiver ripple through her body, her hands went cold and she felt her skin prickle. Her stomach twisted painfully and she nearly collapsed on the cool marble floor; she had never been more sure that she was about to be sick than she was at that moment but, as Finred took her freezing fingers in his hand and directed a mocking smile at her, she pulled herself together, using every piece of willpower that she had to smile at him like she had never met him before and to look as if she was perfectly fine. “It’s so lovely to meet you Prince… Thannaerus,” she said stiffly as he bowed over her hand.

“Are you alright Miss Rivers?” he asked, taking a cruel pleasure in seeing her look so discomforted and disconcerted – she had turned up in his home, he was the one who ought to feel threatened by her, especially after all she had done – she should have known that he would be here, it was, after all, mostly thanks to her. “You don’t look too well.”

“Yes you really look very pale Safita,” Favia added with concern as she eyed her friend. “Do stop baring your teeth so,” she whispered teasingly to her, “I know you didn’t want to be forced to fraternise with anyone but it’s quite obvious that you’re gritting your teeth, not smiling.”

“You’re right Favia,” Safita said, suppressing a shiver, “I really don’t feel very well. In fact I feel rather faint; I think perhaps it might be better for me if I went outside; it’s so dreadfully hot in here.” Without saying goodbye to either of the people she was leaving behind she pushed through the crowd, heading out towards the doors she had been moving towards with Favia earlier and bursting into the cool night air. As she panted, filling her lungs with the crisp air that had replaced the heat of the ballroom, she rested her head on a cool stone balustrade, shutting her eyes and letting the shaking overtake her body. If this was guilt then she wanted to go back to being as uncaring as she had before she had met Finred, if this was love – which she highly doubted – then she also wanted to go back to the time before she had met Finred. It had been so much easier then, to wall herself off and protect her heart, to feel nothing and live life without caring and it had never hurt her like this did; no pain she had ever experienced before could reach anywhere near the ice which burned through her veins and wracked her body with painful tremors as she bent over double, the balustrade taking all of her weight.  She let the coolness of the stone seep into her forehead, soothing her remorseful thoughts and calming the raging fire of the illness that was blazing through her body, and her mind numbed, letting her lose track of the time.

“What do you think you’re doing here?” a voice muttered from behind her, penetrating the darkness behind her eyes and disturbing her from her torment.

“I was under the impression that I was attending a party to which I was invited,” Safita replied coldly, barely lifting her head from the stone upon which it rested.

“You know what I meant,” the voice hissed as it came to stand beside her, “don’t try to be clever.”

“Stop overreacting then!” she said, mustering as much energy as she could and pushing herself, by some sheer force of will previously unknown to her, up to face Finred. The man who stood before her wasn’t really the man she knew, he wasn’t Finred in his once fine cloak with his hood up and muddy boots stretching casually out into their camp; he had lost the fine growth of stubble that she had last seen him with and the bright twinkle in his eye, the happiness of being truly free, the freshness which being outside gave to his face. Instead he was Thannaerus, constrained and constricted, dressed in clothes finer than she could really understand, perfectly clean and gleaming not from health and happiness but from the artificial light of the glorious aristocracy. Even in his glorious anger he still looked like he had stolen the sun and bathed in it, still radiated light and charm wherever he went, but it had been tainted, had faded like the sun as it heads towards evening or rather had been engulfed by the sheer power of his rage and had burnt itself out.