Crown of Frost & shadows

Chapter 13 - The Deal

Dawn broke, casting a gentle light over the village as the morning dew settled on the plants, glistening like tiny pearls. Alarielle slowly opened her eyes, blinking against the soft glow. She felt warmth against her, and it took a moment for her to realize where she was—her head rested on Zār's shoulder, and on her own shoulder, Ravareth's head lay, his breathing slow and even as he slept.

She glanced down and saw Malrek curled up on Ravareth's lap, also fast asleep, his small hands clinging to Ravareth's cloak. They looked so peaceful, as if, for a brief moment, the world had granted them a reprieve from the pain they had endured.

Alarielle felt a strange sense of calm, though she couldn't quite remember how she had ended up this way. The last thing she recalled was sitting beside Ravareth, the two of them sharing their grief in the quiet night. After that, everything felt hazy, as if she had drifted into a dreamlike state.

In her mind, she saw flashes—images of Zār sitting next to her, his presence solid and reassuring. She remembered him leaning close, concern etched in his eyes, and then a flicker of something else—he smiled at her, a rare, gentle smile that made her heart ache with its sincerity. She remembered the way his dimples appeared, softening his usually stern expression, and how it seemed to light up his entire face. For a brief moment, it felt like she had seen a side of him no one else did.

She could almost see it, the way his silver eyes had widened, the unspoken emotion in his gaze as if he hadn't expected her to acknowledge him, to smile back. It felt distant, like a memory slipping away with the dawn,

But now, as she carefully lifted her head from Zār's shoulder, he stirred slightly and opened his eyes. For a moment, they were blank with sleep, but then they focused on her, and his expression quickly returned to its usual composed, neutral state.

"Morning," he murmured, his voice low and rough from sleep. There was no hint of the smile she thought she had seen last night, as if he was pretending it hadn't happened at all.

"Morning," she replied softly, a small smile of her own forming despite his guarded demeanor.

Zār glanced down at Ravareth and Malrek, then back at Alarielle. "They needed to rest," he said, as if it explained everything. "You all did."

She nodded, a lump forming in her throat. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

He didn't respond right away, his expression carefully neutral, as if the warmth she had seen the night before was just a trick of her imagination. But for a brief moment, his hand brushed against hers, a small, fleeting gesture.

Zār stood up, brushing off the dew that had settled on his cloak, and gently shook Ravareth and Malrek awake. "We need to leave," he said, his tone firm, leaving no room for argument. Ravareth blinked sleepily, his expression still heavy with the grief of the night before, while Malrek clung to his older brother, confused but obedient.

Alarielle hesitated, her hands twisting in her lap. "I… I can't," she whispered, her voice barely audible. Zār's gaze snapped to her, sharp and unwavering, and she felt the weight of his attention, as if he could see through her hesitation to the fear that lay beneath.

"And why is that?" he asked, his voice measured, though there was an edge to it. Ravareth and Malrek, still waking up, turned their eyes to her, waiting for her answer.

Alarielle swallowed, feeling the pressure of their stares. She had never told anyone this—never dared to voice it out loud. But after everything they had been through, she felt a strange compulsion to share, as if hiding it now would only be a burden. "I have to do something," she began, her voice trembling. "My mother was killed by Drakyrids. And I've been running from them ever since."

The admission hung heavy in the air, and she saw Ravareth's eyes widen slightly, while Malrek's face softened with sympathy. Zār 's expression didn't change, but his gaze remained locked on her, unyielding, as if urging her to continue.

"There are… creatures that worked for the king," she added, her voice growing steadier as she spoke. "They followed me, hunted me, and I don't know why. But my goal… my goal is to find them. To find all of them. And make them pay. I want revenge."

Ravareth looked taken aback, his usual stoic expression faltering. "Revenge?" he echoed, almost incredulous. "But… how? You—"

Zār interrupted him, stepping closer, his eyes narrowing as he studied her. "How do you plan to get revenge when you can barely control your magic?" he asked, his tone blunt. "And how can you have two types of magic?"

Alarielle's breath hitched, and she looked away, the truth of his words stinging. "I don't know," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "I don't have the answers. I cant give you answers to questions I, myself don't understand yet, One of the magic… it's not even mine." She didn't mention Promedius directly, but the presence of that other magic felt like a constant, hidden shadow in her life.

Zār was silent for a moment, his eyes searching hers, as if weighing her words. Then, after a long pause, he spoke. "I'll make you a deal," he said, his voice low but firm, cutting through the morning quiet. "I'll train you to harness your magic. Teach you how to use it, how to control it—so that you can fulfill your goal of revenge."

Alarielle blinked, surprise flickering across her face. "You… would do that?"

"But in exchange," he continued, his tone leaving no room for doubt, "you have to help me with a mission of my own. Something I've been working on for a long time. I need someone with your abilities, even if they're unrefined."

Ravareth glanced between them, confusion and curiosity in his eyes. "What kind of mission?" he asked, but Zār 's gaze remained on Alarielle.

"I'm not going to explain it now," Zār said, his eyes never leaving hers. "But if you accept, you'll know soon enough. The choice is yours, Alarielle. You want to stop running and learn how to fight back? This is your chance. But it won't be easy, and I won't be gentle."

Alarielle hesitated, her mind reeling from the sudden offer. The idea of finally learning to control her power, of no longer being at the mercy of her own magic, was tempting. But what was Zār asking of her in return? What kind of mission would require her to use her abilities?

She looked into Zār's eyes, searching for any sign of deceit, but all she saw was a calm, steely resolve. It was clear that whatever he needed, he believed she could do it. And for the first time in a long while, she felt a glimmer of hope—a chance to stop being afraid, to take control of her life.

"Alright," she said, her voice steady as she met his gaze. "I accept. I'll help you with your mission… if you teach me how to control my magic."

Zār's lips twitched, almost as if he wanted to smile, but he held it back, keeping his expression neutral. "Good. Then we start now. Gather your things. We're leaving."

"Wait," Alarielle called, her voice cutting through the early morning air. "Why didn't you ask more about my past? You were hellbent on finding out who I was before."

Zār paused mid-step, glancing back over his shoulder. His silver eyes gleamed with a quiet intensity, but there was something different in his gaze now—something more calculating. "That was before you saved my brother," he said, his voice calm but edged with something unreadable. "I will still get my answers from you."

He let the words linger in the air for a moment, and then added with a slight tilt of his head, "But I have other interesting means to do that planned now."

Alarielle's stomach tightened at the implication in his words, and she felt a flicker of unease. Zār wasn't one to let go of something so easily, and the fact that he hadn't pressed her for more details now only made her more certain that he had something else in mind—something she couldn't yet see.

"Interesting means?" she echoed, a wary note creeping into her voice.

"Don't worry, I won't bite you or bind you," Zār said, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Unless you ask me to." His voice was light, almost teasing, and for a moment, a half-crooked smile appeared on his face, dimples deepening on his cheeks.

Alarielle stood there, dumbfounded, staring at his face as if she'd just seen a ghost. She completely forgot how to breathe. It wasn't a dream—he had smiled at her last night, and he was smiling now. And he was… beautiful when he did, in a way she hadn't expected. The smile did strange things to her, sending her heart racing, her cheeks warming with a blush she couldn't control.

Zār didn't linger, turning away as if nothing had happened, his steps steady as he began walking again. The morning light caught his hair, making him appear almost serene, as if he hadn't just thrown her world off balance with a few teasing words.

Alarielle was still standing there, processing what had just happened, when a sharp sound echoed beside her—a slap, light but startling. "Either the world is ending, I'm dying, or I'm high," Ravareth said, his tone bewildered as he stared at Zār's retreating figure. "Did Zār just crack a joke and smile?"

He glanced over at Malrek, whose mouth was hanging open in shock. "Mal, I think I'm hallucinating," Ravareth continued, rubbing the spot on his cheek where he'd slapped himself.

Malrek just nodded slowly, still staring after Zār. "I… I think we both are," he mumbled, eyes wide.

Alarielle's head snapped to Ravareth and Malrek, and for a moment, she felt an odd sense of relief—at least she wasn't the only one who thought Zār's unexpected behavior was… well, unexpected. "No," she said, her voice shaky but tinged with a hint of incredulous laughter. "It wasn't a hallucination. He… he actually smiled."

Ravareth looked at her, then back at Zār, who was already several steps ahead, as if nothing was out of the ordinary. "Well, I'll be damned," Ravareth muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. "What's next, is he going to start handing out flowers and singing?"

Alarielle managed a small, wry smile at that, but her heart was still pounding, the sensation of Zār's smile lingering in her thoughts. She didn't understand what it meant, or why it had made her feel the way it did, but she knew one thing—she was definitely not going to forget it anytime soon.

As the three of them hurried to catch up, Alarielle found herself glancing at Zār's back, her mind spinning with curiosity and confusion. Whatever he had planned, whatever his "interesting means" were, she knew she would have to be ready. Because Zār was proving to be far more complicated—and far more intriguing—than she had ever anticipated.

After they had breakfast, the horses were saddled, and the group finally found Magra and Thalorin, both looking groggy and still reeling from whatever had transpired the night before. As they approached, Ravareth suddenly gasped, his eyes widening in realization.

"YOU! YOU BOTH f****d, DIDN'T YOU?" he exclaimed, loud enough for everyone to hear.

Magra's cheeks flushed, and she quickly avoided Ravareth's eyes, instead casting a wary glance at Zār, who appeared completely uninterested in the conversation. He was flipping through a small book in his hand—a journal, perhaps? Alarielle couldn't quite tell, but his focus was absolute, as if he hadn't heard a single word.

"I can sleep with whoever I want. It's none of your business, Rav," Magra retorted, her tone sharp, though she still kept her eyes trained on Zār, as if waiting for some kind of reaction. But he didn't even look up from the pages, his expression remaining stoic and detached.

Ravareth's mouth twitched into a grin. "Oh, I'm not judging, Magra. Just… surprised. I mean, Thalorin?" he teased, his voice dripping with mock disbelief.

Magra rolled her eyes, clearly unimpressed with his commentary. "Like I said, none of your business," she repeated, though there was a hint of tension in her voice. Her gaze flickered back to Zār, but he continued to read, oblivious or intentionally indifferent.

Alarielle found herself observing the odd dynamic, trying to piece together what was unsaid. It was as if Magra was seeking some acknowledgment from Zār, but he refused to give it. It left an uneasy silence lingering between them, one that Ravareth's teasing failed to fill.

"Well," Ravareth said, breaking the tension with a shrug, "guess we're all full of surprises today, aren't we?"

Magra shot him a withering look but didn't respond, and Alarielle could only wonder at what exactly had happened between them all

Thalorin walked over to Ravareth, his expression somber and a bit sheepish. "I... I'm sorry," he said, his voice low, almost hesitant. "I should have been there. I just heard what happened. I was so wasted I didn't hear a thing… Magra went out, but from what I heard, she didn't come to you guys."

Ravareth's teasing smile faded, replaced by a more serious, thoughtful look. He studied Thalorin for a moment, his usual sharpness tempered by the weight of the events that had transpired. "Yeah, well… it's done now," Ravareth replied, his tone softer than usual. "But we could've used the help."

Thalorin's shoulders sagged, and he seemed genuinely remorseful, his eyes flicking to the ground. "I know," he muttered. "If I'd been sober… if I'd known…"

Ravareth sighed, reaching out to place a hand on Thalorin's shoulder. "Look, you weren't there, but you're here now. That counts for something. Just... don't disappear on us again when things go sideways, alright?"

Thalorin nodded, relief mingling with guilt. "Alright," he agreed, his voice barely above a whisper. "You have my word,".

Ravareth looked over at Magra again, his expression shifting back to its familiar, teasing sharpness. "Mind enlightening us on where you were last night, Princess?" he asked, sarcasm dripping from every word.

Magra shot him a glare, her eyes flashing. "None. Of. Your. Business."

"I think it is his business, considering he is my second, which ranks him higher than you, Magrath," Zār interjected, finally looking up from his book. His tone was calm, almost detached, but there was a distinct edge to his words.

Magra's eyes widened, as if she had been struck. "You… you've never imposed rank on me," she stammered, her shock evident.

Zār's gaze was steady, his expression unreadable. "I tend to realize my mistakes often and correct them," he said coolly. "So, answer the question that my second-in-command asked you."

Ravareth's smug grin grew wider, practically dripping with satisfaction. He crossed his arms, leaning back slightly as he waited for Magra's response, clearly enjoying the turn of events.

Magra's lips tightened, and she looked as though she was biting back several choice words. After a tense pause, she finally spoke, her voice low and seething. "I… went to the woods. To feed."

Her answer hung in the air, and Alarielle could feel the tension crackle between them. Whatever unspoken dynamics existed in the group, they had just been laid bare, and it was clear that Magra's absence the previous night was more than just a matter of curiosity—it was a matter of trust, and perhaps a test of loyalty.

Zār's expression didn't change, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes, a quick, assessing look as he regarded Magra, "Then next time, make sure your absence is accounted for. We can't afford surprises." he said finally, his voice devoid of warmth.

Magra clenched her jaw but didn't respond, her gaze dropping as if to avoid meeting Zār's eyes. Whatever had passed between them, it had left its mark, and Alarielle couldn't shake the feeling that there was a deeper story she wasn't privy to.