Chapter 89 Look
I sat at the small vanity in the corner of the West Tower, staring at my reflection while Sulla pulled a stiff bristled brush through my dark hair. The bristles scraped against my scalp, a sharp, grounding sensation that cut through the thick, heavy fog settling over my mind.
The magic inside me was rotting. Denied its natural exit through my vocal cords, the Blight had nowhere to go but inward. It sat at the base of my throat like a swallowed stone of hot coal, radiating a dry, burning ache down into my lungs. Every breath I took felt shallow. The air in the room, usually just cold and stale, now smelled distinctly of ash, though the hearth remained unlit. It was my own breath. I was beginning to decay from the inside out.
I looked down at my right wrist. The strip of charcoal silk I had torn from my hem was still tied there, a tight, black knot biting into my pale skin. The skin around it was bruised, a dull purple reminder of my vow.
Sulla set the brush down on the polished wood with a soft click. She met my eyes in the mirror. Her dark, muted gaze held a quiet understanding. She didn't offer pity, which I was grateful for. She simply reached over and adjusted the high, stiff collar of my dark grey mourning dress, ensuring it covered the faint, sickly flush creeping up my neck.
I raised my hand and tapped the back of her wrist twice—our newly established gesture for thank you.
Sulla bowed her head slightly and moved toward the door to collect the untouched breakfast tray.
Before her fingers could brush the heavy iron handle, the latch turned with a violent, metallic snap. The heavy oak door didn't just open; it was shoved inward with such force it hit the stone wall with a deafening crack.
Sulla jumped back, clutching the silver tray to her chest.
Klaus filled the doorway.
He was breathing hard, the heavy silver buttons of his dark military coat rising and falling with rapid, uneven jerks. He looked marginally better than he had three days ago in his freezing suite. The grey, ashen pallor of his skin had receded slightly, a cruel testament to the fact that my silence was working. By poisoning myself, I was starving the curse that fed on his heart.
But his sapphire eyes were wild. The calculated, ice-cold Grand Admiral was gone, replaced by a man hanging by a frayed, snapping thread.
He stepped into the room, kicking the heavy oak door shut behind him. The sound echoed in the cavernous space, a harsh finality.
"Leave us," he barked at Sulla.
The maid didn't hesitate. She set the tray down on a side table, kept her eyes glued to the floor, and slipped out the door, pulling it shut with a soft click.
We were alone.
I didn't stand up. I stayed seated at the vanity, my hands folded perfectly in my lap, the black silk knot on my wrist facing upward. I kept my face entirely blank, locking my jaw so tight my teeth ached.
Klaus crossed the room in three long strides. The heavy thud of his boots made the floorboards groan. He stopped right behind me, his massive frame blocking out the weak, grey morning light filtering through the arrow loop. I could feel the heat radiating off him. He smelled of ozone, old leather, and a desperate, frantic anger.
"Three days," he rasped, his voice vibrating against the back of my neck. "You haven't spoken a single word to the guards. You haven't requested food. You didn't even make a sound when the healers came to check the draft wards."
I looked at him in the mirror. I blinked once, slow and deliberate. I raised my right hand, pointing a single finger toward the heavy oak door. Leave.
Klaus’s jaw clenched, the muscle ticking violently beneath his skin. He reached out and grabbed the back of my wooden chair, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the carved timber.
"I am not leaving," he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous, lethal low. "Talk to me, Nerissa. Now."
I shook my head. A small, precise movement.
"Stop doing this," he demanded, stepping around the chair to stand directly in front of me. He loomed over me, a dark mountain of silver and black wool. "You think you are punishing me? You think this silence is some kind of noble sacrifice? It is suicide."
I stared at the silver buttons on his coat. I raised my hands and mimed the motion of turning a key in a lock, right over my own mouth. Then I crossed my arms over my chest and looked away, fixing my gaze on the cold hearth.
Locked. Done.
"Look at me," he ordered.
I didn't move.
"I said look at me!"