Deathless (Editing)

Chapter 32: Vows Made in the Dark

I paced in my room until the velvety blues and blacks of nightfall began to turn into the glow of indigo. Morning was still a long time coming, but it was coming. On what was likely my 800th lap, I stopped at the door. My palm pressed against the handle. My fingers curled around the cool lever. I pushed down, releasing the locking mechanism, and I padded down to Tolly's room, where I knocked in quick repetition at his door.

I didn't know what I was going to do right then. I just needed to see him. I needed to tell him to flee. Or stay. Just don't come with me. I wouldn't sacrifice him. I couldn't sacrifice him. I had grown rather fond of his face, after all.

After a few endlessly long moments of waiting, I abandoned the door and continued down the hall. He was probably sleeping, like a normal person. But, since I could not, I traced the vast corridors and empty spaces of Netherfield manor, careful not to make a sound.

With each open door, I found an invitation to enter and gawk at the various paintings of battlefields and warhorses and the weaponry on display. Wending my way down the back staircase that spiraled to a part of the manor that I had never seen, I stopped cold upon hearing the heavy breathing of a man. My foot fell to the bottom step, and I leaned forward to see if I could glimpse the source of the sound. It appeared to be coming from a nearby room, the doors of which were wide open. Craning my neck to get a better vantage, I caught flashes of shadows playing against the walls of the room. Listening closely to the labored breaths and watching the flickers of darkness crawling across the floors, I realized someone was training in the room.

Quietly, I crept toward the door, avoiding the sheets of moonlight pouring in from the surrounding windows. Once I found a darkened nook in which to hide, I stilled and watched Tolly training with a sickled sword. His movements were quick and precise, and I imagined his strikes would have landed with great force had he been pitted against an opponent.

It did not take long for him to sense my presence, and he paused to search the entrance of the room. When he spotted me among the shadows, he stopped mid-stroke and bowed. "I couldn't sleep," he said almost apologetically, eyes diving to the floor.

"Me either." I stepped over the threshold and glanced around.

It was a large, rectangular room with supple hardwood. The suspension of the wood was perfectly suited to sparring, and, upon closer examination, the room's purpose was quickly revealed. Swords, axes, maces, sparring swords were neatly mounted on the walls.

I drifted to the periphery of the room. Absently, my fingers traced the hilt of a long, tapered sword. It was beautiful; its blade so silvery that it reflected a few moonbeams.

Tolly came to my side, and, tenderly, he placed his hand against my back.

My breath hitched slightly the instant I felt his warmth sink through the threads of my robes. Looking up at him, he wore the pale blues of the night well. The flicker of starlight skittered across his cheeks, haloing him in silver.

"Father always urged us to learn. Only Alian and I shared his interest." He pulled two sparring swords off the wall, handing me one.

His gestures were listless, and the way he watched me was so gentle. "Don't look at me like that," I groused.

"Like what?"

"Like there's good in me," I said, repeating his words back at him.

A trace of a smile bent his lips. "Alright, Riverly," he said, voice soft and mild.

We began in our usual way. Tolly was less fiery than I remembered. He seemed distracted, not as quick to exploit my many openings.

"Tolly," I began, feeling a question coming on.