Flame in the Palace

13. Vulnerable

Myria's night is restless; she spends most of the passing hours tossing and turning in the fur blankets of her bed. Emiri had been quite specific about the meeting time. She worries about not being able to wake early enough to meet him. Her anxiety compensates by keeping her mind roaming and unable to find reprieve. Acknowledging that sleep will continue to elude her, Myria searches through her trunks for a warm pair of pants and is disappointed to discover none.

She releases a defeated sigh and instead looks for a suitable dress for the upcoming lesson, warm but casual. Absolutely nothing formal. Myria shudders when her hands find a thin layer of transparent silk, and she prays Olympe did not commission it for a glacial Nocturnus ball at least. Eventually, she settles for a thick, olive green number with a hood and matching coat and wooden buttons. Once she slips it over her head, she smooths down the skirt with tense fingers and examines herself in the mirror that accompanied them from Ilona. The fabric clings to her frame with a flattering shape, but her hair remains a wild disarray of tangles. An attempt to tame them does not work in her favor, so she leaves it down, loose and unruly.

To wait down the hours, she perches herself on a chair by the fireplace, relishing its warmth as she draws her knees to her chest, pressing her cheek against an arm wrapped around her legs. The black landscape outside her window offers no insight into the outside world, merely rattling with the mountains' swift winds. Her mind replays every moment of the day, imagining the odd clever remark she thinks of hours after each encounter.

Her eyelids droop, lulled by the sanctuary of the flames crackling before her as the day's memories blend in a seamless conglomeration. She recalls Emiri on his horse, Rozenna on hers, Sabine sitting alone, then Rozenna again, then Emiri with a pearl and smirk.

A sharp knock cuts across the images, startling her from the reverie. The fireplace is nothing but cold embers now. Myria jumps to her feet, her eyes desperately trying to focus as her groggy limbs steady her balance. She quickly rubs the sleep from her eyes, grabs her moon crystal from the window sill, and hurries to answer the door.

Emiri is there, leaning against the doorframe as he appraises her presence with the vigilance of a hawk. Something in her appearance pleases him as he offers a faint smile. "Good, you're dressed warmly."

With a jerk of his head, he indicates for her to follow him and swiftly turns on his heel. She struggles to close the door behind her softly and catch up to him. "Is there a reason I had to get up so early?" she asks, schooling her breathlessness as she keeps pace.

"Would I ask you to get up at this hour without a good reason?" he asks, casting a sideways glance at her.

She frowns, unimpressed with the carefree attitude he exudes so early. "You have made me perform some ridiculous tasks for your own entertainment." She cringes, remembering an incident a few days ago involving telekinesis and paint.

Emiri easily maintains a face of indifference, but his voice betrays his own amusement. "If you're referring to the paint incident—"

"I am—" she interrupts, her voice tart.

"I told you it was an accident, plus I've already apologized."

"It's fascinating how your apology didn't remove the stains from my favorite shirt."

He bites down on a laugh, covering it with a cough. "You should bring it to the next lesson, and I'll show you how to fix it yourself."

Myria notices that their path does not lead them outside through the front entrance, but he still expertly weaves her deeper into the castle's depths. The walls here have no torches, so Emiri instructs her to summon a ball of light.