Crown of Feathers (Book 2 of the Crown Trilogy)

Seventeen

After several rounds of cards, which leaves a good portion of the money I brought with me in the hands of my friends, I push away from the table. "I liked this game better when I was losing his money," I say, my words slurred.

Ulric chuckles and pats me on the shoulder. "Come on, nanny goat. Ya were givin' us a hell of a run until you downed those last two shots."

"He's right, Elle," Terro says, stacking his winnings. "I haven't sweated that hard in a long time. I thought you were taking it all tonight, and then you couldn't see straight anymore. I had to take advantage."

The far off part of my brain which isn't swimming in alcohol knows he swindled me, but the part that kept refilling my cup with whiskey doesn't care.

The deeper the four of us got into conversations about Kyron, the more we drank. The man left festering wounds in us, wounds that hurt and leave jagged scars. Dulling the pain was the only bearable way to reopen them, and even then, the whiskey only took the edge off.

"I can see straight," I say, standing, and my body sways with the spinning room.

Zek bolts out of the chair next to the door and grabs my arm. "Slow and steady; you're made of just as much liquid as muscle right now."

I clasp my fingers over his, and a rush of warmth spreads through me. It's the same euphoric feeling I was chasing with the alcohol at the start of the night. The smile puling at my lips must look cheesy, but I don't care. I drape my arm around his shoulders, pull him closer, and say to the others, "Zek is always here for me, and not just because he's my guard. No, he's a good friend and handsome and reliable."

Zek slides his arm around my waist, gripping me to him. "And escorting you to your room so no one discovers you passed out face-first in your own vomit in an undesirable location." He nods at everyone and wishes them a good night before guiding me out of Greer's office.

The hub is empty as we leave, and the streets are much the same. Low murmuring come from the direction where the campfire smoke curls into the night sky, and we pass the occasional soldier on guard duty. The farther we walk, the more I rely on Zek to steady my clumsy steps.

We make our way into the barracks which house the remaining Lucent troops, and I trip as we enter the common area. The board game sitting on a round table crashes to the floor when I grab a chair to stop my fall. Zek catches me by the back of my jacket before I plant my face into the ground. Hanging in his grip, I fumble with the tiny statue pieces, trying to put them back in order.

"That's good enough," he whispers, pulling me toward the staircase.

The lanterns hanging from the log walls emanate a soft glow and the old wooden step creak under our weight. Hickory and soil linger in the air, and I fill my lungs with the earthy scents. It's so homey here, so cozy. My eyelids close. Once...twice...I trip over my feet again. Zek lifts me into his arms and carries me the rest of the way. I rest my head on his shoulder and close my eyes against the spinning room. I breathe him in—spice and sunshine—a happy mixture that distracts me from the melancholy resonating within me.

"Why couldn't the Statera chosen you to be my parah?" I ask, wrapping a golden strand of his hair around my finger. "Everything would have been simple with you."

His shoulder muscles flex under my cheek, and his step falters. He clears his throat and says, "You weren't made for simple."

"Everything shouldn't constantly feel complex."

"No, it shouldn't."

We come to a stop, and Zek lowers me from his arms. I continue to clench the front of his tunic, searching his blue eyes for any sign he would betray me the way Kyron did. But I only find concern. He has seen me through my darkest days, been the one to make me laugh, walked quietly at my side as I moped, and given me space when I felt like my world was closing in on me. He is the one who kept me standing tall and gave me a safe place to sort through my emotions. He has been my rock for the past seven months.