Machine of Fire and Blood

NINE

Elden let out a sigh as he lowered himself down onto the cot. His knee was throbbing and he was thankful that he was finally able to sit. After leaving the Luckwell Tavern, they'd gone searching for an inn. When they hadn't been able to find an inn, they opted for a small hostel that they found instead. It costs one drole per person and consisted of a large room scattered with cots.

"I thought we were going to get new clothes," Elden complained, all to aware that his clothes were dirty and covered in Hound blood.

Adithreel shook his head. He was sat on a cot opposite Elden.

"Trust me, you don't want the clothes they sell at the Market. There's no guarantee about where that stuff comes from. It's quite likely that any clothing being sold there was fresh off a corpse," Adithreel explained. "We'll go to a proper market tomorrow. I promise."

Elden let out another sigh as he glanced down at himself. He'd been so confident leaving the Manor, but already, he was starting to feel worn down. It had taken all of a day. He knew that what he was doing was right—if it was his father making the mess, then he should be the one to clean it up—but that sense of freedom he'd felt as he'd sprinted from the Manor was fleeting. The reality of the world was setting in. He glanced at Calaithe and grimaced. She had it much worse. She'd lost the boy she called her brother, and had spent every day since stuck in clothes soaked in his blood. Adithreel seemed to be the only one who had come out of the fight without a speck of blood or dirt on him, which in hindsight didn't really make sense, as it was Adithreel who'd carried Kade's body back. He should have been soaked in blood.

"How are your clothes so clean?" Elden questioned, giving Adithreel a once over.

Adithreel met his gaze. "These clothes were woven by Maia herself. Imbued with her power, they're resistant to tears, wear, and stains. It took me a long time to collect the materials for the clothing, and the sacrifice to have them made was great."

"Oh," Elden frowned.

He wasn't sure how he felt about how Maia required people to self-mutilate to gain her favour. It didn't seem like the type of thing a benevolent goddess would ask of her followers, but then again, maybe he just didn't understand properly. He glanced back at Calaithe. A long, swirling red scar snaked its way down her arm, matching the ones covering Adithreel. She was silent, sitting on a cot on the other side of Adithreel. Elden wondered if she was thinking about what the old woman had said. He himself was wondering what it had meant.

"You know," Elden started, turning back to Adithreel, "you know mine and Calaithe's stories, but we don't really know anything about you. We know you're Datsuneian, and that you want to stop my father, but that's it."

Adithreel raised his eyebrows. "What do you want to know?"

"Something. Anything. Why do you live alone?" Elden asked.

Calaithe was paying attention now, giving Adithreel a curious look.

Adithreel nodded slowly. "My whole family was killed because of a decision I made when I was younger. I was stubborn and only thought about what I wanted instead of what was best for everyone. It was that sacrifice that got me these clothes. Maia gave me indestructible clothes as a punishment, really. I couldn't bring myself to kill myself and dishonor my family's memory, but I tried everything in my power to get something else to kill me. Even Hound fangs can't pierce this fabric."

Elden swallowed, hard.

"Who do I look like?" Calaithe questioned, her voice barely a whisper.

Adithreel didn't look at her as he replied. "Someone who was unimportant to me. Someone who was also sacrificed because of my selfishness. Someone who I'll never forget. You looks are where the similarities stop, though. You're very different people. I like you better."

With that, Adithreel lowered himself down onto the cot, pulling the threadbare blanket over his body and shutting his eyes. Obviously, he was done talking about himself. Elden looked over him to Calaithe. When she met his gaze, she just looked tired. It was the kind of tired that looked like it was seeping into her very bones. Elden tried flashing her a tight lipped smile, but he suspected that it just came out as another grimace. Calaithe didn't return the gesture. Instead, she lay down and pulled her own blanket up, turning away from him. He was fairly sure she hated him. She certainly had every right to.

"Right then," Elden muttered.

He lay down and pulled his own blanket up. He didn't close his eyes, though. Instead, he started counting the number of lines in the wooden boards that crisscrossed the ceiling. He didn't think he'd be sleeping anytime soon.