Drothiker

21.

     
                 
"Syrene."

Something behind her thudded, snapping her out of her slumber.

It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the lighting, and another moment to grasp she had drifted off in the bathroom.

The door banged. "Syrene!" Azryle growled. "I'm breaking in."

She dizzily lifted to her feet, her head throbbing as she opened the door to the ripper furious outside. She opened her mouth to snap at him, then she noticed he was armed and cloaked—either returned from somewhere or leaving.

His face was unyielding, any softness she'd seen last night was long gone. The brute towered her. "What of the training today?" she asked, because it was too unlike him to let her breathe a day without blood tasting her hands.

"Ferouzeh and Maeren will train you today for a few hours. Ferouzeh gets on well with defense, and Maeren with the alternative. I have a few matters to deal with at the moment, we'll train at night." His gaze was shrill—assessing her face ... her own waste that still marred it. Heat of embarrassment soared to her cheeks at the consciousness of it. But then his eyes slid to the bathroom behind her. "Did you fall asleep inside?" Fainted, was more like it.

Syrene turned to the bathroom again, and caught a glimpse of her own posture in the mirror atop the basin on the wall across. Disgust swiftly swapped with the embarrassment. There was sauce on her face, vomit on her mouth, her hair pasted to it. A foul taste tainted her mouth, she noted, as if she'd eaten rotten meat. Too rife with embarrassment, Syrene said, "You promised me privacy," and shut the door after stepping into the bathroom.

When Syrene returned after bathing, Ferouzeh was already monitoring the weapons by the couch, Maeren was in the kitchen assaulting the fridge, and Azryle was nowhere to be found.

Ferouzeh's gaze flicked to Syrene as she reluctantly sauntered towards the couch, half tempted to remain in that sunlit bedroom. "You look better than I'd seen you last time," the healer said by the way of greeting, a faint, sweet smile blooming on her rosebud lips. Syrene did not fail to notice the quick glance towards the scarred scratches on her neck.

Maeren deemed it alright to extract her head from the fridge and proceed towards the living room, hands unfilled. Her golden hair was adorned in a braid today, lips blood-painted. Her stealth like every bit the wraith she was. Wraiths were one kind who did not need to make the Plunge, were immortal heedless of what body they acquired. "Ryle said there is a book for you to read in the library." The lessons, she recalled with a jolt. He told them about her illiteracy—"He's sharing his library with you, human, and exchanging books, I crave for your charms."

Syrene blinked, still feeling giddy thanks to Azryle's mejest still in her system. He hadn't told them about her illiteracy.

Ferouzeh was shaking her head. "Don't listen to her, she's just pissy that you've known Az for only two weeks and he's sharing his library, when he's never even let us past his enchantments."

Everything was too loud, too much to process.

"But I'm serious." Maeren scowled. "There must be something that you continue influencing the most dangerous Vegreka on Ianov, being a Grestel yourself. First the Prime of Wolves and the Fallen Duce Hexet Evreyan, now our very own deadliest warrior of Queen Felset's." She added, "Who doesn't even feel."

At that, Ferouzeh cut the wraith a glare.

Maeren disregarded that and went on. "It must be petrifying, living with the man who you know will be your death."