Notice If you want to vote in my most recent poll, "Who you think will make it to the top three" Stop what you're doing and go do that . . . then come back. Apologies for not announcing this on my last chapter. I'll leave that up for a couple more days & then post the next poll with the next chapter.
Disclaimer – As you may have guessed, I still do not own the Hunger Games.
Author's Note – ATTENTION READERS, ATTENTION. The Cornucopia will be hosting a feast and all remaining tributes are invited. For a chapter following this one (either immediately after or 2 chapters down the road) I will be holding a feast. Please PM me with any ideas for items you think may be useful to the remaining tributes and specify if there's one in particular you're thinking of.
Unicorns and trees
Glade Harborn – District 2 Mentor
There was something about the four of them being here that made Glade's hair stand on end in a way it hadn't since his own games. Just the four of them: Excelcia, who had summoned them all together, Allorea, who didn't seem perturbed at all aside from a curious expression on her face, and Aeden, who still looked as shell shocked as he'd been the past couple days.
"I have brought you all here to teach you a lesson," Excelcia declared sweetly, her teeth glittering even as she said it. "We seem to be in very real danger of forgetting what sets us apart, what makes us different from everyone else, more important, really. We victors, we're supposed to be a special breed."
"Cut it out," Glade scoffed. "That's not the least bit true."
"Oh, but it is," Excelcia insisted. "With three stubborn exceptions. You three represent everything that's wrong with the mentoring system, that's wrong with the Games. Because of you people think anyone can win, a rebel sympathizer, a coward, a sentimental child. None of you deserve to have won your games, to have been victors in the first place, much less stand here as mentors. Well, I'm about to remedy that."
Her look gave away her move before her motion did and Glade could feel the sensations of his Games returning to him, like a learned habit. In the split second, he could have stood his ground, allowing whatever was going to happen, knowing he wouldn't be Excelcia's first target. He could even have run away, nothing was standing between himself and the door. He could have run to alert the others. But he didn't. It was only when he felt the knife embedded firmly in his gut, draining his life force as he shielded Aeden, that Glade was certain the steps he'd taken to shield the other mentor had been the right choice.
"No!" Aeden screamed.
"Get out outta here, kid," Glade demanded, hoping Aeden could muster his senses and listen, but no footfalls came. He was still too shocked to save himself. Was his own sacrifice going to be in vain, Glade thought as he struggled to stay on his feet?
"That's the problem with you," Excelcia laughed. "So selfless. You were never meant to survive. Oh, well. I had told Echo that I'd keep you alive, convince you to our way of thinking, but it just doesn't see like you're going to cooperate with that plan."
"You beast!" Allorea screamed with more vigor than Glade had ever seen from her.
"Don't," he mouthed, powerlessly holding out a hand to stop her, but Allorea was already jumping on Excelcia's back, startling her and knocking her to the ground. They wrestled back and forth, Allorea surprisingly holding her own. Glade tried to move, but his legs were shaking too much, protesting at the loss of blood and he sank to his knees. Allorea struggled to get the knife hanging from Excelcia's belt and she nearly had it, until the red-head squirmed and clamped her arms around Allorea's neck. She twisted hard and Allorea's body went limp. Glade trembled, half expecting the sound of a cannon.
What he heard was another voice from behind him.
"Excelcia, stop this madness!" Esthelrir hollered. He heard footsteps behind him and the older mentor came into view. In a tense moment, Excelcia smiled, clearly unwilling to comply with his request. She stood and looked as though she was still going after Aeden.
With remarkable speed for his age, Esthelrir positioned himself between the two, a sword in his hand.
"Come on, old man. Of everyone here, you should understand the need for strong, loyal, unwavering leadership."
"I do," he replied. "But there is strength to which you are blind, Excelcia," and with that, Esthelrir approached her. She drew her knife and Glade prepared for the worst. Esthelrir parried the first several blows then started on the offensive, driving Excelcia back.
"You're good old man, but I'd hate to kill a worthy opponent."
"Then it's a good thing you won't have to," said another voice loudly from across the compound. Blake emerged from directly behind Excelcia and punched her directly across the face, knocking her to the ground. While she was still off guard, Esthelrir managed to disarm her and Blake slapped her in handcuffs.
"Thank you," the older mentor said.
"You don't have the authority to arrest me!" Excelcia protested.
"Well, you aren't licensed to kill, so that makes us about even," Blake countered.
"Glade!" Echo's voice hollered from behind him. Glade could hear her dashing up behind him. "You said he wouldn't be hurt!" she exclaimed, dashing up and taking him in her arms.
"He got in the way," Excelcia answered simply.
"It's okay," Glade whispered. He could feel his extremities getting colder. "It's up to you now. Make sure Nero makes it through. . . Don't worry. . . It's what I deserved."
Blake was already running, scrambling to get a medic, but Glade knew it wouldn't do any good. He was already too far gone. An odd sensation washed over him, as though he was being reunited with an old friend, with a feeling from which he had been running for so many years. As he exhaled for the last time, he was certain he heard the echo of cannon fire from the distant past heralding his departure.
Candice Graham District 9
She didn't know why she'd ever feared the darkness. Here in the gloom of the tunnel Candice felt at home, yet she didn't quite feel like herself.
She was alone, she was certain of it. Whoever had been with her before had left, abandoning her to whatever fate had in store for her.
Well, that was quite all right with her. Being unable to see a thing meant she would be surprised at whatever approached her. She was no longer afraid of this, though. As a matter of fact, effective this moment, she decided to embrace all new opportunities.
"Candice," a voice whispered and Candice felt her resolve strengthening. She wasn't a weak little girl anymore, she was a survivor. It didn't matter that she didn't have a weapon, her weapon was surprise. Clearly anyone calling her name wasn't going to expect her to attack.
She extended her arms, feeling for her enemy.
"It's okay," the voice called, bringing her into its arms. Foolish of it, Candice thought, moving her hands to where she felt the neck. She squeezed her hands tightly.
"Candice, what are you doing?" the girl's voice demanded. She began struggling. She was obviously larger than Candice, but the smaller girl was determined. She clenched her hands tighter.
"Stop!" the other girl begged, gasping for breath. But she wouldn't yield. She had to do this.
Then she felt a sharp crack on the back of her head and her entire body went limp. This wasn't right, she thought, as she felt her hands settling in against the rock as she felt it shuddering. Another rock collided with her head. A little further off, she thought she heard a scream, but it wasn't the same voice, not the girl's.
"Candice, I'm sorry. Are you okay?" she heard it now, Ailis's voice. Was that the same voice that had called her before? Maybe she hadn't abandoned her after all.
"Yeah," she whispered, dazed, in response. But she knew right away she wasn't okay. Her head was getting fuzzy and everything seemed to be distance.
"Why did you do it?" Ailis demanded, her voice tearful. "I didn't want to hurt you, but you wouldn't get off."
"I'm so sorry," Candice whispered. "I didn't know what was going on. It's like I wasn't in control. But that's okay. You're safe now."
"You hang on, okay. We're going to fix this. I just have to check something." Ailis briefly let go of Candice's hand. "Raivel. Raivel, I thought I saw you, come out and we won't hurt you." She was desperately trying to form a new alliance, Candice knew. If the boy from her district had been the one who had screamed he might still be in the area, might be wounded. Surely he couldn't be dead, since there hadn't been a cannon.
"He's not coming," Ailis said. "Let's get you some help, though. It's so hard to see. I'll go find help."
"No," Candice begged. "Stay with me, please." Now that she recognized her again, she wanted her friend there with her at the end.
Mobie Calp – District 10
"Well how long ago did he leave?" Mobie asked. After he'd woken up to Raivel gone and Bailey terrified, he wasn't sure what to do. Anything he said was the wrong thing, even if he'd meant it as a comfort. Bailey was simply in a tizzy and there was nothing he could do about it.
"I don't know," Bailey muttered in answer to his question, her voice trembling. "But there have been two cannons, Mobie. Two!"
"And you'll see when he comes back neither of them were his."
"We should go look for him."
"How? He could be anywhere."
"Or dead! That's what you're thinking!" Bailey accused, finally succumbing to tears.
"It's okay, hey, it's okay," Mobie tried to reassure her, patting her back. He wished he had any better advice for her, that he could assure her Raivel would be back soon, that it was only a matter of time. He believed it; why couldn't she?
"You should try to rest," Mobie encouraged. "The faces will appear in the sky soon and you'll see. Raivel won't be there. I'll wake you for the anthem."
"Okay," Bailey agreed, lying down, using her hands as a pillow. "But hold onto the knife, just in case." She closed her eyes and for the first time all day Mobie was able to relax a little. It was hard enough keeping his own spirits up, much less hers, especially when she was still worried about that stupid shadow that wouldn't detach from her.
The sun was setting, creating shadows all over the terrain. It was funny, but Raivel was right; this place, these people he was with had almost become like home.
Something moved in the grass, startling him. It couldn't be Raivel. Surely if it were he would have called out, announced himself.
"Who's there?" Mobie demanded. No reply, but the rustling got closer and closer. Mobie looked at the knife in his hand. He had to decide what to do. He wasn't a fighter, but if that thing, person, tribute, whatever it was, got any closer, he would have to fight it.
It was probably a mutt, Mobie decided, which scared him even more than another tribute. And with that thought, he let the dagger fly. Seconds later he heard a groan and then, from the distance he thought he heard a cannon.
"What was that?" Bailey asked, startled, but Mobie was already on his feet, approaching the place where the rustling had been.
There lay Raivel, wounded, not just from the knife wound, which looked like it had just grazed his shoulder, but also from a wound in his leg. He was still breathing, though, so the cannon must have been someone else's.
"What did you do?" Bailey yelled, coming up behind him, her voice full of fury. "You killed him!" her eyes were aflame with terror.
"No, no, he's alive," Mobie protested, but Bailey wasn't hearing any of it. She grabbed the knife from where it had fallen beside Raivel.
"Bailey, listen to me," Mobie tried to argue, but she was approaching him at a great speed. He narrowly missed the dagger once. "Bailey, snap out of it!" he said, grabbing her wrist. It was only then that he saw the dagger in her other hand, only as it slashed across his throat.
"I made you be quiet too," she whispered as his blood flowed onto her hands. There was no doubt in Mobie's mind who the next cannon belonged to. He gasped, waiting for the fury to escape her eyes, but the last thing he saw was Bailey's face twisted in rage.
Ailis Neilan – District 3
Even now she couldn't believe it, how everything had crumbled so quickly. Ailis didn't bother to quell the tears that fell as Candice's cannon sounded. It was so wrong. Things had been going their way until the others had ruined it all, until the Gamemakers or fate or whatever had stuck Candice with that stupid shadow, the shadow that had driven her mad.
She'd had to do it, she thought. Candice would have killed her; no, she reminded herself, not Candice, the monster that she had become would have undoubtedly killed Ailis without a second thought if she hadn't beaten it to the punch. At least she'd had a few savored moments with her friend again at the end before the sound of cannonfire heralded their last goodbye. She'd been her sweet self again at the end. Maybe that was all anyone could ask for in the Hunger Games, to die as themselves.
Ailis didn't need her vision to sense that her friend's body was already vanishing from her arms. She could sense the loss within all of her being. Part of her wanted to cling to it, to deny the Capitol the ability to rob her of her last tie to home. On the other hand, the sooner she accepted the fact that she was alone the better. There had been another cannon after Candice's which meant they were down to the final 8. No one would and befriend her now. From here on out, no matter how much she disliked it, she was most likely on her own.
Her hands were holding only air now. Candice was truly gone. Ibrahima was gone. Freida was long gone. And Raivel, her district partner, well, who knew. She'd never really considered him an ally, and it may have just been a trick of her imagination, but she had sincerely thought that she'd seen him trying to escape down the tunnel. Leunam had asked, after all, that they try not to kill each other. Yet he hadn't responded to her call, so either she was going insane and he hadn't been there at all in the first place or he had no interest in an alliance either. Who knew what he and any allies he had were up to. She'd paid them no heed since the beginning of the games, allowing Ibrahima's vengeance against the Career pack to drive their entire alliance. It had certainly profited them, but at what cost? If she could go back, Ailis only wished she could have changed something.
But what? she asked herself, all the while scolding herself since she knew that was the wrong question to be asked. There was no profit in analyzing where her plan had been flawed unless she was going to learn from it.
"Sacrifice," she whispered, trying desperately to string together a theme for the last four days, a theme she could use going forward. Yet even as she said the word aloud it fell to pieces in her mind. What had their sacrifice gotten them? Freida's death had ultimately resulted in Killian's, Ibrahima's and Saphyra's deaths. And Candice, that was pure and simple sadistic madness on the part of the Gamemakers, Ailis decided. There was nothing heroic to be found in their actions, probably not even in her decision to split off from the rest of the group and take the least dangerous route. It wasn't as though anyone had gone out in a blaze of glory. Ailis sighed in frustration and finally had to admit she didn't understand.
Leoric Hughs - District 8
Ridge didn't understand, Leoric thought, ironically. He thought he was safe, which was evident as he and Margery came upon the boy, completely at unawares. How arrogant of him to think he could ride the largest mutt in the arena, attract the most attention and sleep undisturbed beside a stone statue. It seemed as though he didn't have a care in the world.
Well, all of that was about to change.
"We're here, aren't we," Margery suggested, waiting for Leoric's lead. This was his vengeance and his alone, after all. He knew Margery would support him, but he needed a moment. Somehow, this still seemed wrong, to take on an opponent in such a vulnerable position. This wasn't about right or wrong, though, not now, not with so much at stake. Leoric swallowed as he reminded himself of that.
Margery was waiting for him, but he could tell by her gait she was growing impatient, beating her hand back and forth in the air. He understood why. All it took was a sound, a cannon, anything to bring Ridge back to his guard, maybe even awaken the beast. They had both assumed it was nocturnal, but they could be wrong, after all, in the Hunger Games, all rules were made to be broken.
Yes, that was the key. Even Leoric's code of having pity on those more vulnerable than himself was a rule to be broken. He didn't like it, but one didn't get out of the Hunger Games by doing things they liked.
He stepped forward, his fist at the ready. The first knife struck hard in the back and Ridge awoke with a start, screaming in shock. Somehow he managed to stumble to his feet. Margery stood at Leoric's back, at the ready in case things fell ill. The other boy's eyes were wide with alarm.
"Leoric, I can explain," he fumbled. Leoric didn't respond, but punched he boy again, straight across the jaw and Ridge stumbled again.
"Oh, yes," Leoric scoffed. "Please explain how you had the cowardice to run away from everyone you befriended. Even before any blood was spilled you turned tail, caring nothing for anyone but your own skin. You know, they say cowards die a thousand deaths before they actually die. Is that true?"
"I'm sorry," Ridge replied, his voice quivering, but trying to remain firm. He knew now that was the way to appeal to Leoric, manipulating his sense of honor so he would feel like he had to spare him. "I can help you now, though. I know the arena. I've seen all of it."
"And now you're stalling."
"Leoric, I think he may be onto something," Margery interrupted, but her voice didn't betray the mercy that Ridge had surely been hoping for. "He has information. I think we need to get it out of him before we let him slip off peacefully."
Ridge's eyes went even wider in terror.
"I can be more useful to you alive, he pleaded. "The mutt that's next to us, I can ride it."
"Looks like a stone statue to me," Leoric replied.
"You've seen it in the sky, I'm sure you have. It's been flying over the arena every night and last night so was I."
"Interesting," Leoric replied, relenting slightly. He smiled knivingly and Ridge looked relieved, but only for a moment. Then Margery plunged a knife into one of his fingers and he screamed.
"So let's talk more about the arena."
Ridge Therne - District 11
"I've told you all I know," Ridge pleaded a while later. And he had. With his life on the line and Margery's knife in his hand, he'd held nothing back, not about the secret sanctuary area he suspected was nearby, not about the tributes he figured were at the Cornucopia. In reality he'd spilled as much detail as he could remember between the loss of blood and exhaustion. After all, what did he have to lose?
He was simply hoping to buy himself time, but for what. Maybe the mutt would awaken at dusk as it seemed to have done habitually. But tonight seemed different; it had made its nest in a different spot, it was surrounded by enemies, maybe it wouldn't wake up at all. Even if it did, there was no guarantee it would come to Ridge's defense. One night of touring the arena on its back probably didn't make Ridge its best friend forever. It was a mutt, after all, a beast concocted by the Capitol for the express purpose of bringing pain and suffering to tributes. For all Ridge knew the beast itself would turn on him. It was a small hope, but it was a hope nonetheless.
"What do you think, Leoric?" Margery asked. "Do we put him out of his misery?" At just that moment the sky began to darken and a slight rumble came from beside Ridge. It was waking up.
"No," Leoric replied, struggling to keep his voice calm. He must have known the mutt was going to awaken and he didn't want to take his chances either. He had some nerve calling Ridge a coward if he didn't show some nerve now.
"No, we leave him here, as he is. I want his death to be slow and painful. Maybe that mutt will even help us out when he wakes up." That voice didn't sound anything like the Leoric he had known in the arena. If he'd been in less pain, Ridge would have lamented the loss of a potential ally, of someone he'd considered even a friend, but that was pointless now. He was going to die here, alone and friendless. He saw Margery and Leoric both dash away with great haste as the mutt rumbled again. Ridge sighed as the cover of darkness came. He wasn't dead yet, so at least he would go to sleep believing there was still hope.
Nero Taplin – District 2
All alone at the top of the pillar, Nero felt as though he should be days removed from the events. The only tribute in sight, it felt as though they should be crowning him a victor. But no, he hadn't earned it yet, hadn't earned the prize to bring home to his family.
The Capitol anthem sounded the conclusion of yet another day and Nero readied himself to see the faces of the fallen, preparing himself to strategize all alone.
First came Saphyra's. Unsurprisingly he didn't feel terribly bent out of shape about her passing. She had been a liability, but it had been a shame to lose any chance at having Ibrahima as an ally as well. And losing Jonas down the tunnels, possibly to death, was an unexpected complication. He would have to contemplate the possibility of defending the Cornucopia by himself, but now was not the time.
Ibrahima's face passed next. So both of the pair from three was still living. He had seen the blonde girl escaping down the tunnels. She could be preparing to attack him yet again. Should he seal up the hole again? No, that would only prolong the inevitable; better to allow whatever would come meet him head on.
The next face was the girl from nine, who he thought had been with the girl from 3. So Jonas was still alive, at least for now. Maybe he'd make his way back up and resume his alliance. Nero certainly wasn't going to pursue him down in the depths of whatever lay beneath the Cornucopia.
Last came the boy from 10. He'd never been a huge threat, Nero thought, but at least it was one more player out of the game. 8, they were down to 8 then. They'd be interviewing his family soon, then. And then he would see them soon enough, once he got out of here.
Jonas Tanner – District 7
It was imperative that he get his bearings, Jonas thought. He couldn't even accurately know where "here" was with each passing minute, hour, however he could measure time, his sense of direction became more and more distorted. In the obscurity with no other tributes in the vicinity, his only orientation was the sound of cannon fire and the Capitol anthem.
Tonight had announced the final 8, four faces in the sky, or rather, projected onto the tunnel wall. Jonas had used those brief moments when the sky was illuminated with the likenesses of Saphyra, Ibrahima, the girl from nine and the boy from 10 to look around, orient himself as best he could before the area was once again plunged into darkness. Beside him was a stream, but not one he would dare to drink from. There was something ominous about its flow, something too shadowlike to give him any comfort. He had seen another tunnel that might return to the surface; as much as he sought it, it seemed as though the tunnel through which he had unintentionally descended had disappeared.
Jonas sighed, taking a moment to discern. Yes, he would try to find that route once more. Still pursuing the obscure sense of ascending over pebbles and bramble he continued, hoping his eyes would eventually adjust to this darkness.
Raivel Aukins – District 3
Raivel forced his eyes open even though his entire body seared in pain. All he could see was darkness, but he could hear the wind whistling through the grass around him, so he was certain he wasn't dead. But where was he? The last thing he remembered clearly was being in the tunnel on the way to the Cornucopia. He had heard girls' voices, speaking in fear, terror even and then the ground had shook. He'd been scared, but in the darkness he couldn't tell what was going on. Had he blacked out? He wasn't sure.
In any case, he clearly wasn't there anymore. His hands were touching grass and, tentatively he rose.
He was greeted with an intense pain in his leg that made him fall back over again. Now he vaguely remembered a large boulder had fallen. A girl had called his name, had it been Bailey? No, the voice hadn't been hers, but it had been familiar. Why hadn't he gone to it? Raivel's head began to ache from struggling to remember. He'd been in danger, his quest had been in danger.
His mission! He'd nearly forgotten in all of the commotion why he'd gone to the Cornucopia in the first place: to find medicine to cure Bailey's shadow. He'd gotten something that had looked like medicine, a liquid he could only hope would help his friend, now if only he could find it, and then find her.
The first request turned out to not be as difficult as he'd feared it might be. His hand found the vial in his pocket and Raivel smiled in relief. He'd still have his friend for a little longer.
Now where was she? Despite the pain, Raivel managed to force his head up to look around. It was night. Not so far in the distance he heard a great force of something lifting off. Perhaps it was a helicraft coming for one of the dead bodies.
His eyes adjusted gradually and he could see his surroundings more clearly. He'd made it back to their sanctuary. He didn't have a clear memory of how he'd done it, but that didn't matter now. All that mattered was he was back.
But something was wrong. The tree where he and his friends had made camp was directly in his view, but he didn't see either Bailey or Mobie. In fact, not a trace of them remained.
"Mobie? Bailey?" he called. But the wind's voice was his only reply. He groaned again as his leg throbbed in pain. Well, he thought. He would rest a while and maybe his family would just have to find him.
Aeden Sanderling – District 7
Aeden wasn't sure which was worse, what was happening in the arena or what had already happened outside of the arena. All of the mentors had now gathered together again, minus Glade and Allorea. Esthelrir had taken on the burden of sharing the news before Excelcia could. Everyone had been shocked, but seemed to be taking it well.
Everyone except for him. Another person, two, had died for him. Glade certainly had given his own life for Aeden's stepping in the way of Excelcia's fury. How could he forgive himself for that? Allorea's death too had been a direct result of that, so her death was on his conscience too. How could he have been so stupid to let Excelcia lure him there in the first place?
Similarly in the arena, things were looking bleak. Jonas was still all alone and Bailey, he couldn't believe what she'd done. And now she had dashed off by herself too. He kept staring at the screen, hoping he would awaken, hoping the images were a terrible nightmare induced by the searing pain in his head. The burning pain behind his eyes was almost unbearable, but he had to fight it, for Bailey's sake, maybe even for Jonas's. Even though he and Jonas hadn't seen eye to eye, both he and Bailey were still alive, still fighting. He owed it to them to do the same. He could feel tears welling in his eyes from the sheer agony coursing through him. He buried his head in his hands trying to soothe the pain.
"Aed, you okay?" Haspereek asked. Aeden cursed her attentiveness. For once he just wanted his hurt to go unnoticed.
"Of course he's not," Excelcia scoffed.
"What are you still doing here?" Haspereek demanded.
"I wouldn't miss this for the world. It's the epic conclusion, after all."
"It's only the final 8 and your district's not in it, so go rot in some jail cell," Steric put in her two cents. Aeden was legitimately surprised she was defending him after what Bailey had done to Mobie.
"You think my aspirations are limited to the arena? Do you really think what happened earlier was a coincidence, Mr. Sanderling? That you get off the hook because Glade took a knife for you? I've known Glade a long time. Trust me, I knew full well that was coming."
Aeden tried to rouse himself to reply. He could feel his pulse quickening in terror, but he couldn't say anything. He just felt completely overwhelmed, as though the entire room was closing in on him. The pain in his head was so excruciating he felt as though everything in the room was moving to compensate.
"Oh, I wasn't about to leave you to chance," Exclelcia almost sounded like she was flirting, and fondly brushed her hand across his face. He could barely feel it beyond the burning pain.
"If you're killing people, start with me. Play fair, Excelcia. There are two tributes counting on him," Steric countered again. She rose to stand between the two of them. No, Aeden thought, in panic. Not another person dying for him, not Steric.
"Oh, the damage is already done," Excelcia laughed, backing off slightly at Steric's approach. "I poisoned your drink when we toasted."
A flash of pain, worse than the rest, coursed through Aeden's head and he groaned. Or would have, rather, but he couldn't get the sound out, could barely get breath in through his lungs. Everything was spinning so violently he felt as though his eyes were whirling about in his head. He could feel himself gasping for air, his body beginning to shake, unable to stop shuddering. What was happening? Excelcia had to be killing him. She'd just said she wanted to and now he was getting it. He was as good as dead and he was terrified. He felt utterly out of control, gasping for air as his heart pounded out of his chest. .
"Aeden," Haspereek called his name, putting her arms around him. No, he didn't need hugs, didn't want to be held. He had to get out of there, had to get himself under control. He managed to escape her embrace, shaking the whole time and made it a couple of feet. If he crawled into a fetal position on the floor maybe no one would see him, no one would harass him.
"Aeden. Aeden!" Esthelrir's voice now pierced his head like the loudest sound ever and Aeden's stomach did somersaults. He closed his eyes against the rest of the world, trying to shut out everything possibly. It hurt so badly he could feel tears dripping down his face even through his closed eyelids.
"Look at me," Esthelrir's voice came again. He wouldn't. He couldn't rather.
"Aeden, look at me," Esthelrir repeated and, reluctantly something made him open his eyes. "Deep breath. In and out. Focus on my voice. Now, focus. How many lights are in this room."
Lights? What did he care, Aeden thought. Everything was going from dark to light and back again.
"In. Out. Focus." He couldn't remember the last time he'd heard Esthelrir so angry. "How many lights?"
Slowly the room came back into focus and his heartbeat began to slow a little. His body still trembled uncontrollably.
Lights. He had to count them. One large one by the door, the lamp on the bar table. Two larger lights overhanging the other side and then the chandelier. Five?
"Five," he whispered, finally able to catch his breath.
"Five," Esthelrir nodded. Slowly his former mentor's face came into view.
"Steric has something she needs to tell you when you're ready."
Aeden took a moment, trying to steady himself again.
"What happened?" he asked. He wasn't sure himself; it was all a blur. "How long . . ."
"It doesn't matter. Let's get you to your seat."
"Okay," Aeden answered, hesitantly. The pain in his head had subsided a little, but not much. He still just wanted to lay on the floor. "Okay. But take my hand and help me up. I still feel really unsteady."
"Aeden, I am holding your hand," Esthelrir replied in concern. Aeden looked down and saw it was true, but he couldn't feel a thing. Not far away, he was certain he heard Excelcia laughing cruelly.
"That unicorns may be betray'd with trees,
And bears with glasses, elephants with holes,
Lions with toils, and men with flatterers;
But when I tell him he hates flatterers,
He says he does, being then most flattered."