Wilde's Fire (Darkness Falls #1) (23 page)

I stare into the dark space above me for what feels like another hour, or two. Standing, I hug myself as I leave the room. The hallway is quiet, just as before. I sneak to the bathroom, slip out of my clothes, then step into the enclosure, letting the water wash away my tension—the way it did the other day.

The last few days I haven’t wanted to be alone, but now solitude is the only thing I crave. I don’t want to be away from Brit or Brad, Mom or Gary, just from the pressures of this place, the people who stare at me, Arland … especially Arland.

The door groans.

Arland walks in, holding a rusty old lantern in front of him. He doesn’t notice me, so I splash around. Startling, he freezes in place.

We lock eyes.

“I am sorry. I was not aware anyone was in here.” He takes a few steps backward, toward the door, then stops—as though waiting for me to say something.

“I should have locked the door.” My voice is flat, emotionless, revealing probably more than I’d like.

“I … I will leave,” he says, placing one foot into the hall, then he turns back to me. “Kate?”

I glare at him. “Yeah?”

“Never mind. I should go.” He steps out of the bathroom then closes the door.

Is there something he wants to say? Whatever his indecision concerns, I don’t care. I know he’s alive. But being around him is still too painful and embarrassing.

Arland’s disturbance was enough to ruin the ambiance of my dark and solitary bath. I climb out, dry off, then get dressed.

Leaving the bathroom, I discover the hall is not as quiet as before. Flanna and Arland are in the middle of some sort of argument. He has a firm hold on her elbow; she’s scowling, with her fists balled at her sides. I swear it looks like she wants to hit him.

Let them argue. Whatever they’re fighting over, I don’t want to know.

“What time is it?” I ask.

Arland forces a smile. “Midnight.”

Midnight
? Other than Flanna’s slop, I haven’t eaten anything today, but I’m not hungry. In five more hours, she’ll be up preparing breakfast for the soldiers. I should come out of my room then. Keeping myself isolated is not fair to her, or to the others.

Dreams wouldn’t leave me alone last night. I awoke so many times, crying for Arland, Brad, my family, for the loss of a normal life. Sitting up, I clutch the wool blanket to my chest and watch the candle’s flickering blue flame. I have to get out of this room and on with my life, but the thought of talking to people makes me dizzy.

No, I won’t wallow like this. I sit on the edge of the bed and lean over to put on my boots. I stand and walk toward the door, trembling harder with each step.

Looking down, I make sure I’m somewhat together. The claymore is the only thing missing, but I don’t plan on training or going outside today. The sword will stay next to the dresser.

Candles light the hallway, revealing happiness on every inch of the wall. I won’t look; the smiles and love are torture to my heart. Staring straight ahead, I enter the dining room, then pull a chair to the loneliest corner, thinking only of myself.

Flanna walks out of her way to brush my arm, but doesn’t speak, as she enters the kitchen. Children stream in for their breakfast. Marcus and Anna approach, but Flanna sends them the other direction.

Keeping my eyes down, I don’t look at anyone, don’t do anything other than play with my fingers, while they eat.

The children filter out as the adults make their way into the dining area. No one attempts to talk to me. The one time I do lift my eyes, my stare meets Perth’s. He stares back, but I look away and investigate the back of my hands—the ones Gary says I know the woods like. Does anyone ever really know the back of their hands? Would I recognize mine in a pile of pictures? Probably not.

The adults finish their breakfasts and leave to go about their duties for the day. I don’t care that I should be helping with kitchen or stable duties, or that I have not seen Arland since last night, and I don’t care that everyone stares at me while I mope about in a funk.

My life is not my own. Even if I want to go back through the portal and leave this world to its own war, I cannot. Not unless I please the gods. Since this
is
my world, being stuck here shouldn’t upset me so much, but I wasn’t raised in Encardia. I’ve always thought I was born free and, therefore, able to make my own choices in life. That privilege is not my own.

Spending so much time by myself, I’ve come to the realization it’s not only Arland’s lack of feelings that upset me so much; I’m hurt from everything combined. With him protecting me from my dreams of his death, my thoughts of home and Brad, and showing an interest in me, Arland was the bandage I so badly needed. There was still pain, but I was healing.

Flanna interrupts my self-centered thoughts sometime after the second lunch or dinner rush. I really don’t know what time of day it is. She put a plate of food in front of me hours ago; I only picked at the chicken, but the thought was appreciated.

“Would you mind helping me clean up? I was thinking of going to the stables afterward,” Flanna says, her tone gentle.

I look around the dining room. Flanna has to handle this huge mess by herself. Nodding, I get up, gather plates, push in chairs, and do whatever does not require talk. She doesn’t talk to me, either, which I appreciate. The silence must be difficult for her.

Instead, Flanna sings.

Let go of all your fears

May Griandor’s light shine upon you

Let go, our world will heal

And one day our moon you will sleep to

Flanna sings the rest of her slow, warming song in a foreign tongue. Her voice is beyond any I have ever heard. I get lost in her melody, even though most of the words, I cannot understand. I hum the tune while she sings, and my heart lifts in my chest.

“Your song is beautiful.”

She smiles, but her blue eyes look to be a million miles away. “My mother sang it to me as a child, when I was afraid. But, now, I sing for you.”

“Is your mom—?”

“No,” Flanna says, before I can finish asking my question about whether her mom is alive or not. “She was killed within the first year. I was three, but I remember it well.”

My face warms. “I-I’m s-sorry.”

“I would not be alive, if it were not for my cousin. Arland was only a child himself, but somehow he was able to kill the daemon that attacked my mother, and get me inside our home to safety. Neither of us has been there, since that day. My father and uncle took us into hiding. We lived in caves, hunted for our food, moved around every day, but eventually we made it into these underground buildings.” She stares into the stone hearth.

“Who built these places?”

“They were built by the Ground Dwellers, years before the war started.”

“The Ground Dwellers?”

Shaking her head, Flanna returns to washing dishes. “Arland has not spoken to you about them?”

I gather more plates and cups, then run them into the kitchen. “No.”

“They are similar beings to us, but they prefer life underground. If we were not already at war with Darkness, we would most likely be at war with them.” She rushes through the explanation as though she’d like to change the subject.

“Why would we be at war with them?” Stopping what I’m doing, I wait for a response.

“They are dark beings. Their magic is used against nature, but at times, we find we need their craftsmanship. Like building these bases.”

“Who asked them to build these bases?”

“Our former High Leader.”

“He knew the war was coming?”

“I am not aware of what he knew, just that he wanted these bases built. His request might have been an instruction from his prophecy.” She picks up a wooden bucket to pour fresh water into the sink. “The Ground Dwellers also create our weapons.”

“It sounds like they’ve done nothing but help. Why would we be at war?”

“Unfortunately, their services always come with a price.”

“What kind of price?” I ask, drying a bowl.

“We can talk about it later.” Flanna stops to survey the room.

The dishes are washed, tables are clean, and chairs are pushed in. Standing proud, we head through the corridor, up the stairs, and into the stables.

I’m sure Flanna understands, better than anyone else does, why I’m upset. Yesterday, in the stables, she recognized something was wrong with me from the moment my mood changed. I think her song was for Brad, my family, and my life, but her motivation was for my heart. Flanna has become a true friend.

We gather eggs, then sprinkle grain about the floor for the chickens.

Flanna turns on her heel, glowering at me.

“He did not mean it,” she says, her voice low and rumbling.

Nearly dropping some eggs, I look at Flanna, dumbfounded. She was just singing to me, talking to me about her mom and life, and now she’s angry with me?

“Arland. He. Did. Not. Mean. It.”

“If I’m not just someone he has to protect, why would he say it?”

“He was speaking from a leadership position, not from his heart. Most of the soldiers already feel he shows you too much favor, but once Cadman spreads the news of his service to you, their attitudes will change. More importantly, if anyone knew his true feelings, they could use you against him, if they turn from our side,” she says impatiently, as though I should have figured this out on my own.

“Did Arland tell you this?”

“No. I know my cousin, and I have never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you.” A crooked smile grows on her face—she’s returning to the Flanna I’m used to seeing.

“Thank you.”

“You are welcome,” she says, closing the feedbag. “Next time I ask you what is bothering you, I expect you to be honest with me.”

Flanna’s words put the bandage back over my wounded heart, but they have not fixed how upset I am about being trapped here. The gods and goddesses should know I’d be happier to serve out my prophecy, if my family was with me and my friend was safe, but I dare not question a higher power.

“Flanna?”

“Yes?”

“What were you and Arland arguing about in the hall last night?”

“I wanted to speak to you alone. He would not allow it. He felt you were sad about not being able to get through the portal, and that you needed alone time. Men can be obtuse at times.”

Arland might be obtuse and not realize his words hurt me, but he was correct in telling her I needed to be alone. I will have to thank him for keeping her away.

We return to our work in the stables. Flanna sings her soothing song while she milks the cows, and I the goats. A few of the little monsters try to eat my hair. I flee their stall, screaming.

Flanna runs out to meet me, hands on her hips. She reminds me so much of Brit. “Why are you going on in hysterics?”

I hold my hair in one hand and point at the animals with the other. “They won’t stop eating my hair.”

“You might have a way with horses, but these goats have you under their control.” She laughs. “Shall we switch?”

“My hero!”

Flanna finishes caring for the goats with no issues. I’m guessing she’s had years of experience shooing them away, because none of them tries to eat
her
hair.

Hurrying with the horses, we leave Mirain snorting and stomping her feet as we head back to the kitchen.

Flanna shows me how to make goat cheese, and skims the fat from the cows’ milk to make butter. I’m surprised by how little of the soldiers’ food supplies are wasted. No more is taken from the animals than what’s needed on a daily basis. There’s no electricity, so storing would not be an option, but there doesn’t seem to be a need for storage, since nothing much is left over. Such a huge difference between our two worlds.

My bones ache from working in the stables and churning butter. Cramps run up my arms and legs, like I’ve been hard at work forever. “What time is it?”

“I believe it is close to 9:00 p.m.”

“Was I really sitting in the corner by myself for that long?”

She lifts her gaze from the vegetables she’s chopping. “You were like a rock.”

“I’m sorry,” I say. And I am; being such a horrible person for nearly two full days was wrong and unfair.