Shadow Touched

22. GREY

I wake up confused about why and how I ended up in my bed. My head throbs. It feels heavy and thick like it does after a Lost Weekend with Finch. That must be it. I've been passed out drunk—no wonder I had such wild dreams. Dreams of depravity, power and a tiny, beautiful obsidian smoke-filled jar.

With my eyes still closed, I let out a groan as I tried to throw off the thick blankets that covered me. Only my arms don't move. My eyes shoot open as a strong hand pushes on my chest.

"Calm Grey. Calm." The deep, lightly accented voice belongs to Finch, whose face hovers above my own, lines of concern etched across it. His gem-coloured eyes are soft. I push against him.

"Why are my arms tied up?" I ask, my voice cool. Or rather, I intend to sound cold, but the question comes out as more of a croak, my throat dry from lack of use. "What is—how long have I been out?"

Finch doesn't answer. Instead he turns away and pours a glass of water from a crystal pitcher on my nightstand. Silently, he brings it to me.

"I didn't ask for fucking water." I hiss, even though I would love a glass. I'm scared. I'm strapped to my bed, and Finch—my best friend—ignores my questions. Instead, he's pouring me water like I'm an invalid.

He remains frustratingly quiet and returns the glass and pitcher to their spot. He commands someone I can't see to leave with his back to me. I wasn't even aware there were other people in the room.

"Additional guards." He explains.

I wait. I can feel my blood beginning to boil. Anger that I don't recall feeling before but that somehow tastes familiar bubbles up my throat.

"You have been out for two days." He says this matter of factly. "From what I gather, over the past six months, your spells of intense insomnia and night terrors have evolved into fits of rage leading to blackouts wherein you get up to...all sorts of things."

"Like what?" I ask, anger warring with shame. Of course, Finch would know more than he'd let on. He always does.

Ignoring me, he continues, "I would say I'm impressed that you've so successfully kept this hidden from me, but you and I both know you didn't." The words are clipped as they tumble from his mouth, and despite his efforts at restraint, it's obvious he's angry. Well, that makes two of us.

We stare each other down.

"When did the sickness return, Grey?"

I don't answer. Instead, I stare at the ceiling above me. It's covered in the never-ending pattern of an ornate fractal made from tiny pieces of coloured marble. The swirls of the pattern melt together, making my eyes cross. As a child, on nights I couldn't sleep, I would lie in my bed and try to count every marble piece, eventually losing count.

Now, I stare at the ceiling to avoid answering Finch's question.

"Grey."

"Who are you to question me?" I snap. My anger bubbles over. "I am the heir to the Atheccan throne. You are nothing but a foot soldier." My eyes stare daggers at him as my arms pull against my bindings. Strength courses through my body. It terrifies and delights me. The Vistarian metal bindings that tie me down are thin, but the metal is strong, one of the strongest in the world. The chains expand slightly as I pull against them. I register surprise in Finch's eyes. I'm strong, yes, but I shouldn't be able to stretch the bindings.

As my anger builds, I sense a darkness unfurling in blood. It bleeds into my eyes as my hatred towards Finch grows stronger.

"You insolent...pathetic...nobody!" I hiss. "Let me go NOW."