Drothiker

18.

It had become impossible to sleep.

Today was the third—third—night Faolin was unable to sleep, tiredness had been relentlessly gnawing at her bones, and yet ... yet sleeping had become a monumental task.

But she wasn't the only one who was unable to catch a shuteye tonight—no, Gnea on the bed atop her was stirring every next minute. Why she couldn't doze off, Faolin hadn't the faintest idea, but she hadn't uttered anything. Neither had Faolin, trying to slip into that haziness.

All her attempts proved fruitless, though, and cursed she couldn't even go out for a walk. Not with those sentries keeping a watch outside, breathing down her neck. She will have to soon fathom a way to avoid xist every morning and night somehow, this place seemed to already be driving her insane. Faolin didn't give a shit about the Enchanted Queen, or the tcoiines; they will be dealt with later.

She just ... needed to get out. There were myriad businesses to be taken care of yet—her past was not wholly to be left behind. She'd made an oath, and the fact that she was even alive ... that must mean—

Faolin needed to flee. Soon.

She sighed and curled to her side, gazing out of the small glass window so high, so near the ceiling, could only perceive the shimmering stars—that, too, to only an extent. The glass was thick—of mejest. She'd surveyed it to see whether she could escape.

No luck. Nothing could be done without that song in her now hollow veins.

She hadn't seen of Aazem these past two nights—since the Pojekk's attack. Since the night he'd gotten a hold of her past.

Ask me tomorrow.

Both nights she'd gone to wash his stallion, he hadn't made an appearance. Neither had his book been poised on the usual spot. Though she'd honed his swords and daggers—she wasn't foolish enough to deny she did that in wait for him.

But he didn't arrive. Both nights.

Maybe he loathed her, as she'd already anticipated, now that he was familiar with who she had been. Being a soldier, so keen on rules and laws, surely he loathed her, might be giving her a wide berth, must be disgusted by her. Faolin hated that she even cared, that she let herself get into these thorny relationships again.

Associating with a soldier, what had she even been thinking?

"What's keeping you up these past days?" Gnea asked from the bed atop her.

Faolin slid out another sigh. "I truly do not know."

Silence fell, thick and heavy. Even their breathing was audible.

"Are you well?"

"Of course I am." Gnea's words were too quick to be believable. When Faolin said nothing, the woman went on. "That body that was found ..."

Ah.

"They sold that Grestel woman ..." Her swallow was within earshot. "I—I just—"

"Syrene wasn't sold." Faolin did not know for certain, though, whether she was alive. Whether the Pojekk's nightmares claimed the human. "His Highness granted her an apartment down in the city."

"What."

Faolin was spared from replying by muffled voices outside the chamber. She sat up, her gaze going straight to the door. Hearing the creak of her bed that sounded with her movement, Gnea stated, "They don't chat usually." The sentries, she meant. But—