Sold to the Night Lord - Chapter 99: Chapter 99

Without meaning to, his boot hits the body on the ground, and to our astonishment, the spot of impact begins to disintegrate like ash blown by the wind. I can’t hold back a horrified gasp.
"I suppose that solves my problem of how to hide the body," he says.
I turn to him, incredulous.
"Aren’t you going to ask?"
"Do you want me to ask?" he replies, his grip firm on my arm. "Did he attack you?"
I lower my gaze, recalling the sensation of suffocation, the certain feeling that life was leaving me.
"Yes."
"Then you did well to kill him."
I can’t hide my astonishment as I look at him, wide-eyed.
"He was one of yours, Eleazar."
"Being one of mine doesn’t mean I’ll defend a coward who attacks a woman while she bathes." He grabs my chin between his fingers and forces me to lift my face, exposing my neck. "I assume he tried to strangle you from behind. Not very noble. Did he say anything?"
I grit my teeth tightly, blind fury flooding my veins as I recall how he called me a “whore” while I was naked and helpless, dying beneath his arm.
"He said he wouldn’t let me enchant you, that he wouldn’t let you be a fool like Cassian and that you’d thank him later for me being dead." I stare him down defiantly. "Is that true?"
"What, that I’m enchanted? Or that I’d thank him for your death?" His fingers, still holding my chin, soften their grip and stroke my skin gently. "I’m not enchanted, creature. I’m very interested. And that makes me want you alive."
"I hope you won’t be too disappointed when you find out I’m not as interesting as you think."
"I don’t think so." His eyes shift to the corpse on the floor beside us. "That seems pretty interesting to me."
He crouches beside the corpse and, with a light touch, it begins to disintegrate again—only this time the process doesn’t stop and it gradually disappears, leaving behind only a pile of clothes. I’m completely horrified to see that now there’s nothing left. Maybe he wanted to kill me and I should be glad he’s dead. Still, he must have had family, people who will mourn him, someone who would have wanted a body to say goodbye to. Now, there is nothing.
I turn away, unable to bear the sight of his absence.
"Get dressed. We’ll act normal for now."
"Someone will miss him."
"Of course. I just won’t give any explanations now." His eyes drop for a second to the curve of my neck. "We’ll go on with what we planned: we’ll eat, and I’ll walk you back." He places a hand on my shoulder. "I’ll increase security and find out if anyone else is involved, I promise you, Elara."
He removes his hand from my shoulder and interprets my silence as permission to leave me alone. I avoid looking at the pile of clothes on the floor and search for mine. Fortunately, they’ve given me more than just dresses, so I put on a pair of pants and a loose shirt that swallows my figure without revealing my curves.
When I step out of the tent, it feels as if the crime is tattooed on my skin, and I don’t know if Eleazar will be able to keep me alive—or maybe he should be more worried about his own. I’m no longer sure I’m not a threat.
It’s been almost a week since the incident, and now people avoid looking at me at all costs. I don’t know if it’s fear or if they’ve just decided I’m a pariah. It doesn’t bother me; I’m used to spending a lot of time alone.
"Focus, Elara."
Just then Eleazar delivers a strike that knocks the sword from my hands. I grunt from the tremor of the blade that travels up my arms. For the past few days, he’s let me use a real weapon—he said it was time to get used to the true weight of a sword. I’m still clumsy, far from decent. I crouch, pick up my weapon, and return to a defensive stance, waiting for the next attack. I glance behind him just for a moment to see a woman holding a whip tipped with spikes. It’s not the first time I’ve seen her training with it.
"Do you like it?" Eleazar asks. "The whip."
I blink, turning my attention back to him.
"It’s beautiful."
"I don’t mean aesthetically. Do you think it’s a weapon that would suit you better? It’s not all about the sword, though it’s always good to know how to handle one."
"Do you think I could handle it?"
He shrugs.
"I think you can do anything you set your mind to." He lowers his sword and looks at me intently. "I’m imagining you with it and I think it would be perfect."
I lower my weapon too, exhausted. He steps aside and goes to the table, grabbing a few cloths. He hands me one, and I use it to wipe the sweat running down my temple and neck. The training area is fairly empty, and I think that has a lot to do with us. My interactions with the rest have noticeably decreased. I think Eleazar has ordered them to stay away from me. He doesn’t trust his own enough or isn’t foolish enough to think I can’t repeat what I did. The idea that I don’t know how to control myself keeps me up at night. What if I do the same to an innocent? More importantly—what is this? What’s happening to me? I want answers and I don’t know where to find them.
Add to my worries the dreams with Cassian and my little mental conversations with him, and no wonder I look so sleep-deprived. When I dream of him, I can feel his rage in my own body, and during the day I feel his fingers in my head, trying to break through. I’m growing weaker, and I fear that one day he’ll fully enter my mind and come back for me. I don’t want to admit it, but he hurt me. More than I thought anyone ever could. It’s not something physical, it’s not a visible wound, and sadly, those are the ones that hurt the most.
"I was wondering if you’d like to come with me in a few days."
"Go where?"
"We need to go to the Far Lands for a few things for the camp and also to sell some pelts," Eleazar explains. "Maybe it’d be good for you to explore a bit."
"I’ve never been."
"Then I think this is a good opportunity to visit."
"When would we leave?"
"In two nights."
"I’ll think about it."