Relinquish: Book II of the Rising Trilogy (17 page)

I never had a reason to feel jealous before. Now I understand what Bastien must have felt all of those months he watched me struggle to accept my relationship with Eamon. Why he had to leave me behind.

I did this to him,
I realize as my power recoils, snapping back into me like an overstretched band. I slam backward into the wall, crying out as the wood splinters around me and I collapse inside an empty room, my head cracking against the floor.

Curling in upon myself, I feel the shift in the air. A dim light appears at the window and the howling winds fade to nothing. Warm, sticky blood coats my hand as I touch the back of my head. The room is spinning, but I know it has little to do with me.

“Illyria?” Bastien pounds against the stairwell door as I close my eyes, utterly drained.

Fourteen

I didn’t speak to anyone after Bastien carried me out of the building, couldn’t face the looks of awe and anger as he clutched me in his arms. This was all my fault. They know it just as well as I do.

Niyah may have provoked me, but I let her do it.

Looking back over his shoulder, I realize it’s a miracle that the whole building didn’t collapse on us. The walls are buckled, the boards warped and disfigured. A wide circle of crumbled stone and melting hail ring the building, but as I look ahead, I realize none of the other buildings were affected. Even the hailstorm was localized.

I guess I didn’t completely lose control after all
, I think wearily as Bastien storms directly past a pale-faced Niyah and into his building.

It looks hardly any different than the one I was to be housed in. The doors may be spaced slightly farther apart and the walls are a bit less dingy, but otherwise it feels like a mirror image until we reach the second floor.

There are only four doors spanning either side of this hall. I can see where doors were removed and framed, no doubt to enlarge the rooms. Bastien silently carries me to a door at the far end. His fingers tighten as he leans forward and sets me on my feet.

He doesn’t meet my gaze, but I don’t blame him. I deserve the silent treatment, a stern scolding, but this isn’t in his nature. “This is my room.”

That’s all he says. I watch as he scratches the back of his neck, shuffling his feet from side to side before he abruptly turns and leaves me. The sound of the stairwell door slamming resonates through my chest.

I close my eyes and exhale a deep, long breath.
I shouldn’t be here. Eamon was right. This wasn’t a good idea.

My knees begin to quiver as exhaustion grips me. I expended far too much energy with my little tantrum. My stomach growls ravenously, but I ignore it and grasp the handle.

I push open the door and feel my breath catch. The room is beautiful.

I step inside and close the door, pressing my forehead against the wood grain as I try not to think of how perfectly it was designed for me. Bastien must have spent days preparing for my arrival, even knowing Niyah would never allow him to give me the use of his room, yet here I stand. That knowledge makes this so much more painful.

The room is large and spacious but slim on furniture. An oval rug covers much of the floor. The furniture is handcrafted, planed smooth instead of glossed with a thick lacquer. A tall, two-door cabinet stands floor to ceiling opposite me. A delicate rose pattern has been etched into the top molding. It sits on wide, rounded legs so it is the perfect height for me.

A simple pot of winter mums stands upon a small rounded table. Two chairs sit beneath it, tucked tightly under the tabletop.

Candles, in various heights and colors, adorn the room. Most of the wicks have burned low, evidence of time spent in the room. Books stack high upon a three-legged table beside the bed and upon the floor.

I push away from the door and gently brush my fingers over the smooth book covers. The pages are slightly yellowed, the binding rippled with signs of water damage, but I can also see pages that have been turned down to mark where Bastien left off reading.

A smile curls my lips as I sink down onto the bed.
He still loves to read.

The mattress is soft beneath me yet offers the firmness and warmth of a feathered bed. I reach down and unlace my boots, kicking them off onto the floor. I wriggle out of my pants and draw my shirt over my head, wincing at the muscles that scream in protest.

I’ve been on the move for too long. Casting a glance toward the bathroom I realize how disappointed I am that there is no bath. At least not one with running water.

Vaguely I remember seeing a well in the center of the base and have no desire to cart buckets of water up two flights of stairs just for a bath.

Tugging a few snarls from my hair, I sink into the softness of the bed, too tired to care to rise so I can slip between the covers. I am asleep almost as soon as my head touches the pillow.

A deep shadow has fallen over the room as I open my eyes, grimacing at the pounding in my head. No, not my head. The door.

An insistent hammering breaks through the peace and quiet of the room, forcing me to rise. There is a chill in the room that makes me shiver as I stretch my arm toward the floor in search of my clothes.

“Go away,” I grunt as my fingertips brush against my pants.

“We need to talk. Open the door.” Bastien’s voice sounds off. I pause and look toward the door.
Has he been crying?
“Please let me in. I don’t want to have to break down my own door, but I will.”

“I don’t want to talk to you, Bastien. I just want to be alone.” I loop my finger around my shirt and shove it down over my head. It feels stiff to the touch, reminding me of how badly I need a shower.

I hear him shift on the other side of the door. “I know I have no right to ask it of you, but I need a chance to explain.”

Pins and needles jab mercilessly at my feet as I plod toward the door. Even I know it wouldn’t take much for him to burst through. The door squeaks on its hinges as I open it and leave it ajar and return to the bed.

Bastien looks awful when he enters. The skin beneath his eyes is puffed and rimmed with purple. His eyes are bloodshot. His hair lies plastered to his head; dried blood still curves his forehead from his wound. His fists are red and bruised from pounding against my door.

“It’s your room,” I say, sweeping my hand before me. “Come on in.”

There is a definite measure of unease sitting in the pit of my stomach as he closes the door behind him, pausing to push the lock in place. I clasp my hands in my lap, determined not to let him get to me this time.

When he moves into the room, his steps are slow and stunted with a slight limp. I narrow in on his left leg and noticed a slash over his thigh that wasn’t there before.
“How does the other guy look?”

He looks confused for a moment, then glances down at his leg. “Better than me, unfortunately.”

Crossing my arms over my chest, I wait for him to continue. When he doesn’t, I grow restless and shift farther back on the bed. Bastien stands before me, looking broken and uneasy. He lingers, buying himself time to weigh out my mood. “You came to talk, so talk.”

He clears his throat and moves toward a narrow, high-backed chair. It is wooden and without cushion, hardly suitable for comfort, but he doesn’t seem to notice as he perches on the edge, leaned forward onto his knees. He starts to speak, but I interrupt him. “How could you not tell me about her?”

He purses his lips, clenching his hands so tightly they appear void of color. “I didn’t know how to. Things between Niyah and me are… complicated.”

“Complicated?” My eyebrow arches with surprise. “That kiss didn’t seem all that complicated to me.”

Wincing, Bastien hangs his head. “I didn’t know she would be the one to meet us.”

“Yeah, those kinds of surprises really suck, don’t they?” I say pointedly, thinking back to the shock he gave me only three days before.

“I didn’t know she would show up like that. She’s never disobeyed my orders before.”

I snort and thrust myself back onto the bed, propping myself up with his pillows. I hadn’t noticed it so much before I fell asleep, but they smell just like him. “Oh, come on. She knows about our past, Bastien. Do you really think she wouldn’t want to mark her territory?”

His gaze hardens as he sits up. “How does she know? I never said—”

“You didn’t have to. She’s a girl. She’s not stupid. Besides, you of all people should know how rumors spread. Especially about the
prophecy girl
.”

He presses back into the chair, looking torn between wanting to remain seated or begin pacing a rut into the floor. “They shouldn’t call you that.”

“And yet they do.” I shrug indifferently. “It’s true though, isn’t it? I don’t get a say in what I want. My life has already been decided for me.”

“But Niyah…” He shakes his head. “I’ve never seen her act like this. If I had known…” He trails off as he scratches at his hair. He draws his hand back and sees caked blood under his nails and lets his hand drop back to his lap.

I watch him closely as a mixture of emotions plays across his face. Finally I understand his mistake. “You never truly let her in, did you? That’s why you didn’t return her kiss or let her move into your room. You weren’t delaying her because of wanting to make this room perfect for her… You were avoiding her.”

Even as I say it, I know it’s true. One glance around this room and I know none of this was done for Niyah. She was too bold, too harsh to appreciate the craftsmanship that went into the design, but I see it. Whether Bastien meant to or not, he created a room for us, not them.

Bastien lowers his head in shame. “I had to find a way to put her off.”

“Why?”

Bastien has a beautiful woman waiting with open arms to embrace him. Niyah may be abrupt and rude to me, but I have no doubt she is different around Bastien. She is a strong woman. He always loved that about me.

I can give him nothing but a life of regret and misery. Bastien isn’t mine to fight for anymore. “You have a chance to be happy. You should take it.”

Bastien’s head jerks up. He throws himself out of the chair and kneels beside me at the head of the bed. “Surely you know I don’t love her.”

“It doesn’t matter what I know or don’t know, Bastien.” My throat tightens as I’m forced to look away. I can’t stand to look at him as tears rebelliously collect in the corners of my eyes. “She loves you. She wants you.”

“But she’s not…” He plunges his hands into his hair. He looks stricken as he spreads his arms to look back at me. “She’s not who I want.”

The coarse undertone running through his voice tears at me as I push up to my feet, needing space. I mutter something as I stumble away, clinging to a wall for balance. My legs quiver beneath me and I slide down the
wall.

My stomach churns as I clench my teeth together, willing myself not to be ill.
Please, not again!
I sink back onto my heels, my hands clasped tightly over my thighs. I stare up at the sky, squinting up through the darkened window.

There is something soothing about the deep blue. I search for the moon and the stars, veiled from my sight by strips of low-hanging cloud. I know they are there, far beyond the reaches of my vision, but that makes them no less real.

Somewhere, floating among an infinite number of stars, is my home, the one I have no memory of, yet I know I have a family there. A mother who pines for my return. A father who never got to hold me in his arms.

Do they have other children? I never really thought to ask Kyan about that. Perhaps I’m not as alone in the world as I feel at this very moment.

A rustling behind me alerts me to his presence. I used to sense him just by a feeling, like a breath washing over my skin any time he was near. It was almost kinetic, like two magnets being drawn by an invisible force. Now it feels broken, awkward. I’m not the same girl I was a year ago. Too much has happened.

He is different too, yet when I look into his eyes, deep down I know he’s the same man I fell in love with.

“I need to be alone,” I whisper.

“I know. I just don’t want you to do it by yourself.”

I laugh, wiping my nose with the back of my hand. When did I start to cry? I don’t even remember doing it, yet my vision is blurred and my sleeve moist. “You always were stubborn.”

“And you hated losing.”

I nod, shaking my head at the memories. There are so many of them, tiny snippets of time spent alone with him. The look in his eyes when I took my first sip of soda and spat it out all over his subway car. The look on his face when he let me drop to safety when we were cornered in the factory and I knew he was sacrificing himself for me. The way he carried me tenderly through the moonlit woods after he pulled me from the lake, saving my life again. The haughty grin when he caught me bathing in the falls. The way the light faded from his eyes when I revealed my destiny to him. The fervor of his last kiss, as if the world was ours for the taking and nothing else mattered.

I close my eyes as tears flow freely. “I’ve spent a year trying to forget you, Bastien.”

“I know.” And I can tell by the tremor in this voice that he does. He knows all too well.

I swipe a finger under each eye to clear away the last few tears before looking at him. He looks awful. The transformation would be remarkable if I weren’t the reason for it. “I wanted to hate you for leaving me…”

He nods and slowly sinks down the length of the wall until he is crouched less than a couple feet away. A moment ago, it would have felt he was encroaching on my personal space, but now it feels as if there is a huge trench between us. One that he willingly dug.

“Do you want to know the worst part of all of this?” I’m not sure I really do, but I can’t say no. Not with him looking as if he is about to fall completely to pieces before me.

“It was knowing that you would blame yourself.”