A Deadly Bite

15 || Die In Peace

Sleep might come at some point during the night, but it's difficult to tell. It blurs in snatches of darkness, grabbed with shaking hands and cradled through tears before it escapes again. Eventually, I give up on it entirely.

Summoning the courage to unfold from my ball and sit upright takes nearly all my energy. I shiver as my bare feet touch down on the floorboards. They're freezing. As I push unsteadily to my feet, I feel the wear and tear woven into the pattern, tiny, irregular ridges sharp against the soles of my feet.

Almost in a daze, I drift to the room's single window, collapsing against its sill. My forearms dig into the edges of the tile. I can't seem to stop moving, my fingers stretched and twitching, my knee hitting the wall in an off-beat drum as it bounces, my toes squeaking against the floor as I shift forward and back. Awful, clawing discomfort wriggles through me. I wish I could tear the very skin from my bones, if only to make it stop.

A sigh scrapes between my clenched teeth. I knock my head against the glass, pressing it hard enough to ache as I stare blankly downwards. I can't even cry anymore. A numb sensation swallows the tears, tying them up in a ball and burying them deep in the pit of my stomach.

I can't do this a second time. I'd sooner rip myself to shreds than have to look into Harlow's dull green eyes again, than hear him speak his faked kindness and vague, empty promises. I'd sooner jump out of this window, but it doesn't open when I push, and there's no latch. He's made sure of that precaution.

You don't want to die, he told me with such surety, his tone flat, his eyes shimmering with nothing at all. I drag my nails over the windowsill.

"He's a liar," I whisper, the words poison in my mouth and yet weak and rasping once they emerge.

Sucking in a deep breath, I force my head to raise, letting the view beyond the grimy glass snare my attention. I must be on an upper floor given the broad sight that greets me. Ashen morning light paints the town outside in a grey hue, the straw rooftops coloured in slate, the cobbled streets strung together by murky, bottomless shadows. If the sun has risen, it is too obscured by cloud to have much effect.

The silhouette of a figure catches my eye, and senseless hope strums a chord in my chest, drawing me forward. It fades into nothing within the moment. The people below are too far away, and too invested in their own affairs to care about a boy trapped in a cage of his own curse's making. They wouldn't want to save me anyway.

The only ones that will come looking are Sarielle and Fiesi. And yet the more I think, the more I hope they won't. They'll only get hurt.

I wrap an arm over my chest, fingers pulling uselessly at the tight fabric of my tunic. There is an ideal outcome to all this. Death has already tunnelled its way into my flesh, embedded in my blackened scars. All I have to do is wait and it will claim me.

If I'm dead, Harlow cannot use me. No-one can trap me or torture me. I'll no longer be a burden on Sarielle or any of the others. They'll be free to focus on saving the kingdom, and I'll be gone for good, a problem that no longer steals their attention.

It would be selfish of me to hope for rescue at all. I benefit nothing to my side of this war. The sooner I accept my fate, the sooner peace will find me.

"Good morning."

I jolt, heart thundering in my chest as I whip around. Fayre stands in the doorway, her blonde plait flicked over one shoulder, her steely grey eyes boring into me. A tray is balanced in her hands. She sets it down carefully on the bedstand, her gaze not faltering for a second. "The general sends you breakfast."

I grip the windowsill behind, wishing its edges were less rounded so it would properly dig into my palms. "You can take it back to him," I say. "I don't want it."