Search for the Extinct [Last of Elves book 2]

Twenty-Five: Ailill

Ailill

“Leave us.”

Nothing more was said until the warriors had left, the door shutting with a definite click behind them. The priestess stared at him, her quick breaths the only sound in the dead silent room. She had changed. Her eyes were weary, and there was grey hair at her temples. The past ten years had taken their toll on her, and he had to wonder what she’d been doing to age that much.

“Why aren’t you dead?”

With a heavy sigh, he rolled his eyes. “I’m sure you’ll be more than happy to try again,” he muttered darkly.

She slapped him hard. “I saw you die!”

He rose to his feet, glaring down at her. “And what body did you find to confirm it?” he hissed.

She met his gaze without flinching. “You were burned.”

He snorted, turning away from her to stand at one of the windows. He was tempted to go onto the terrace, just to see what she would do, but he decided not to. Not yet. A quick glance at his sister showed him that she was watching, amusement lighting her face. She would stay quiet for this, knowing that it wasn’t about her at all.

“It seems not,” he answered the priestess calmly, shooting a cool look over his shoulder at her. Her eyes darkened in fury, and she grabbed his elbow, forcing him to turn around to face her.

“I saw you burn!” she hissed again.

He shrugged, lifting his wrists. “If you’d be so kind,” he said, offering her the chains.

Before she moved, though, a small figure slipped through the doorway, the door closing almost silently. He looked at the young girl, wondering what was going through her mind at the scene in front of her.

Of the two people who had treated her like a normal child. Chained.

The priestess turned slightly. “Aura, this is no place for you.”

He was proud of her when she lifted her chin, her mother’s eyes flashing. It was clearly a refusal. The priestess sighed. He looked at her, lifting one eyebrow in silent question. She just glared at him, crossing her arms in an equally silent and stubborn refusal.

“Perhaps the child can, then.” He looked at the girl, waiting to see what she would do. She stayed where she was for a moment, looking between them, and then slowly came forward. He knelt on one knee, letting her take her time.

“What’s the point?” the priestess snapped. “Neither of us have the key.”

He snorted in amusement. “You know as well as I do that it’s the rope, Naameh.”

Heavy silence fell in the room, the girl staring at him in shock. He waited silently, and she eventually came further forward, her ink-stained fingers making short work of the knots in the rope around his wrists.

She stepped back when she was done, looking between him and her mother. Fear was warring with curiosity in her eyes, but he couldn’t tell which was going to win.

“How dare you!” the priestess hissed, finding her voice. “You …”

“Remember?” he suggested, rising and looking at her. “Yes. I remember.” Unnoticed, he worked his wrists out of the chains, letting them fall to the ground with a clatter. Once more, he moved to stand in front of one of the windows. With a sigh, he pulled the cloak away from his body, draping it over the back of one of the chairs. There was no need for it inside the temple.