39. But still…

My hands were shaking, my throat was dry, my eyes were stinging from the light, the sky had already taken on the colours of dawn, my body was stiff from sitting on the windowsill for so long, and my bare feet were cramping from the cold, but I persevered through the text, trying to fight the tension headache. I was no longer the teenage girl who spent sleepless nights reading. But I still couldn't tear myself away from the beautiful story with a touch of magic and a tart pinch of intrigue and plot twists.

‘The scariest moment is when we get to the last chapter. That's when we become different. Completely different. And if we have started to read, we must finish. May we have the courage to read to the end. Not to be intimidated. It will mean that the book is worth something. It will let us know that it has touched us. Nothing is more important than the very last chapter...’

I finished the first volume of the fantasy series with a trembling heart. I exhaled quietly and looked over at Grant, who was asleep. I was more afraid of disturbing his sleep than anything else, because if I did, he'd hit me with a pillow for being awake and disturbing him.

It was sad that the military academy was so strict about the daily routine of its students; Cirkul Junior would yawn as soon as the old clock on the ground floor struck nine o'clock and push me towards the bed.

It wasn't easy for me to go to the dream world, because there were owls in my family up to the eleventh generation. So I had to be very careful to stay awake at night.

‘The evening was pleasantly cool, and the three figures stood on the balcony waiting for the cotillion to change from a lively mazurka to a gentle waltz. It was a strange trio, very different personalities: a future king to whom the law does not apply, a simple ballroom dancing teacher who loves life, and a shy girl, one of the many offspring of an aristocratic family of average means and fortune.

The first notes of the waltz set everything in motion, so natural and beautiful in its simplicity. It was meant to be this evening, the gods had long ago written the script of their destiny, they had known from the beginning of time that one day these three would smile at each other on a quiet terrace by the light of the moon and the stars.

They were dancing. They were dancing a dance of their own, a dance in which there were no leaders, but in which each had his own part, fascinating, exciting and special, understood only by the three of them. They were dancing in this flame of power, of danger and of the anticipation of possible death.

The silence of the night garden was broken by the ringing laughter of the dancers. Yes, this world would soon hear of them...’

“If you ask me, “What is your fondest wish?” I read the lines from the novel aloud, barely audible, so as not to wake Grant. “In moments of weakness, I will reply: “I just want to avoid meeting two people...”

‘So that there would be no eternal dance on the edge of the blade, no dangerous crackling of ice underfoot, no walking on coals, no hateful looks and scorching whispers behind my back. To make life predictable and definite, simple in its dullness and happy in its small pleasures...

But still...’

“If you ask me, “What is your fondest wish?” I smiled, not knowing why. The question sounded too strange.

‘I will answer: “I am ready to walk through the flames of hell, to burn with ashes, to feel the agony of rebirth, only to meet them again in the next life. I have no greater dream than that. For when they are near, their dreams become mine.”

In my next life, I'm ready to go through hell again, to sell my soul, just to meet them again on the road...’

The end. I closed the book and stretched out with pleasure.

“Krile...” I exhaled softly into the void. My heart ached at the memory of his blue eyes and mischievous smile.

‘I too am willing to go through hell and sell my soul, but I'm afraid that no amount of suffering will bring you back to me…’

I put the book down, ran to the bed, trying not to ring the chain, and climbed under the covers, a smile of pleasure playing on my lips for a long time. It was an incomparable feeling of happiness, lying on a cool bed, wrapped in a heavy blanket, lost in the embrace of the misty Morpheus, to the sound of the morning birds.

I thought my eyes closed for a moment as Grant's smug voice ruined my ‘good morning’ with its existence.

“Siri, come on, get up. Dad wants us to come.”

“What, why would he do that?” I muttered, squinting against the light.

“You'll ask him,” he said as he threw me a towel and dressing gown and sent me to shower.

There was nothing I could do, so I had to get up, complaining about life and hoping I'd be in hell sooner. But something told me that even there I wouldn't have any peace. Evil is insidious and clever, and it has surely invented the most sophisticated tortures in the underworld, and sleep deprivation is definitely at the top of the list.

“Hurry up, dawdler...” came from the bedroom.

And certainly Grant was an agent of that very evil, sent into our world to do dark deeds for the glory of suffering and torment. There's no other way to explain his evil character.

The sun streamed into the office through the slit in the curtains, leaving a bright streak on the carpet, staining the dust in the air and blinding my poor red eyes.

“No, you will go to this dinner,” the president was adamant, he did not listen to our objections, but we were really tired of endless visits to boring high society parties. “But before...”Circul turned to me, darkness covering the sclera of his eyes. “I'm sorry, Siri, I need to speak to Grant alone.”

The next time I fluttered my eyelashes, there was mist on the floor, wild ivy on the stone arches, and a dense forest peering through the high windows of the roofless hall, almost swallowing the ruins. The leaves, the bushes, even the air and the parrot that flew by were tropical – was I in a jungle?

The mist thickened, grew, reaching my neck, which wasn't wearing a collar. I almost tripped over a pattern on the floor as I tried to reach the nearest wall, some shelter from the rain.

“Gra-a-ant?” I asked incredulously, staring into the misty void. My question echoed around the room. “This isn't funny. Come out.”

The cold and white steam enveloped my legs, making my feet freeze in my light slippers, and I rubbed my palms together, my thoughts scattering. On the one hand, I was curious about the forest, I'd never seen it before, but on the other... it was scary without Grant in Oblivion. The guy's impenetrable appearance made me feel calm, but now my ‘chain mate’ wasn't around.

“Grant,” I called for the umpteenth time, faintly hoping for an answer.

“Are you here?” The young man's voice was barely audible, but the echo carried his question.

“I'm here! Over here!” I even jumped up and waved my hand.

His warm palm touched my waist, grabbed my shoulder and turned me around.

“Didn't they teach you not to leave a place when you're lost?” the guy asked sullenly, leading me down a path he knew only himself.

We passed through the archway and found ourselves in a forest under the spreading branches of a huge tree, the mist gone so that everything around us was a variety of shades of green. Grant sat down by some cobblestones, ran his fingers along the ground and pulled two vials of colourless liquid from under dried roots.

“Drink this,” he tossed me a vial.

“What's this?”

“Poison.”

“What? We're not going through the Labyrinth?”

“No, it's time to get ready for the evening,” the young man's back was still ‘talking’ to me. He himself was trying not to look at me.

“Again?” I sat on the ground. What was that for? Was the president so cruel? Why would he torture us with these unnecessary social events in the middle of a civil war?

“We have to go this time. It's a fundraiser for children with heart disease,” Grant finally turned to me, but the look on his face made me sick to my stomach. The guy was so down when he drank the poison that I wanted to comfort him.

“What's happened to you? You don't look well.”

Paler by the second, the guy smiled, and then he laughed. And there was a lot of bitterness in his laughter.

“Drink the poison, Siri, we don't have much time.”

I drank the dead water in one gulp, lost in speculation. It was too unusual to see Circul Jr so unsure of himself. We sat facing each other for a long time, staring into each other's eyes; I don't know what he read in me, but determination slowly grew in his dark gaze.

Almost on his last breath, he said quietly, “Maybe it's better this way.”

Grant smiled tiredly, closed his eyelids and collapsed to the floor. I wanted to crawl over to him, but my stomach and throat hurt like hell, my insides were on fire and I couldn't even scream because blood was coming out of my mouth instead of sound.