Chapter 5 The Heat
Chapter Five: The Heat
“Oh boy…it’s not calming down.”
The first light of dawn was a pale, sickly grey as Neria tumbled out of the back of the delivery wagon.
Her lungs were hurting, and her legs felt like overcooked noodles. She didn't stop to check if the driver had noticed his "extra cargo" jumping off near the Virethorn estate. She just ran, clutching the heavy leather bag to her chest as if it held her own beating heart.
Except, her heart didn't glow purple and smell like an impending forest fire.
"Ow, ow, ow," she hissed, hopping from foot to foot as she ducked through the servant's gate. The egg was no longer just warm; it was becoming a localised sun.
Through the thick leather of the satchel, the heat was beginning to blister the skin on her forearms.
She scrambled up the back staircase, tripping twice on her shredded hem and nearly face-planting into a suit of armor.
Having the original Neria’s memories, the unlucky girl knew where to go. She finally burst into her bedchamber, kicked the door, and practically threw the bag onto her vanity table.
“Okay, okay, stay calm,” Neria murmured to her reflection. Her face was a disaster…streaked with soot, a darkening bruise on her jaw, and hair that looked like a bird had tried to start a commune in it.
“Just put it in a drawer. Bury it in a sock. Hide it in the chimney.”
She tried to lift the bag to move it, but she let out a sharp cry. The leather was smoldering. Where the egg touched the wood of the vanity, a black char mark was spreading.
“Are you trying to get me executed?” she scolded the bag. “I saved you from a boiling laundry vat! Show some gratitude!”
A soft, hesitant knock at the door made her jump so high she nearly hit the chandelier.
“Neria? Darling, are you awake?”
It was the woman from the ballroom... Neria scrambled to find something, anything, to cover the smoking bag.
Grabbing a heavy lace shawl and draping it over the vanity, waving her hands frantically to disperse the scent of burning wood, Neria forced a smile.
“Come in!” Neria squeaked in three octaves too high.
The woman stepped in, her face no longer was hidden by a mask. She was beautiful in a faded, fragile way, like a flower that had been pressed in a book for too long.
Her eyes were rimmed with red, and her hands were tucked hidden in her sleeves.
“Oh, thank the heavens,” the woman let out a long sigh, rushing forward. She stopped just short of hugging Neria, looking toward the door as if expecting Valerius to form from the wood.
“When you ran from the ballroom, I thought… I thought he would hunt you down.”
“I’m fine, Mother,” Neria sounded dryly. The memory of the foster parents came to her mind…the cold indifference. But this woman looked at her with a terrifying, desperate love.
“You aren't fine. Look at your face,” her mother cried softly. She reached out, her fingers were nervously shaking as she touched the bruise on Neria’s jaw. “I am so sorry, Elara. I should have stopped him. I should have been stronger.”
Neria blinked. Elara. The name felt like a cool breeze. “Elara?”
“Your middle name,” her mother spoke. “I only call you that when he isn't listening. Remember? It was my mother’s name. It means light.” She leaned in closer, her voice dropped to a ghost of a sound. “He is in a rage, Neria. He is meeting with the Prince’s men. They say a thief stole something from the vault. He thinks you know something because you were seen near the lower levels.”
Behind Neria, the lace shawl started to trail a thin wisp of smoke. The egg was getting hungrier.
“Mother, you have to go,” Neria said, clearly panicking. “If he finds you here, he’ll hurt you too.”
“He already does, darling,” Minara said with a sad, broken smile. She reached into her pocket and pressed a small, heavy pouch into Neria’s hand. “It’s the jewelry my father gave me. Sell it. Run. Don't go to the capital. Go to the coast.”
“You’re giving me this?” Neria asked, stunned.
“I can’t leave him, but you can,” Minara whispered. She suddenly pulled Neria into a tight, brief embrace. For a second, the heat of the egg behind them didn't matter. Neria felt a warmth she hadn't felt in two lifetimes…to her, this warmth felt like someone actually caring if she lived or died.
“Wash your face,” Minara said loudly. “And prepare yourself. Your father will see you shortly.”
She hurried out, closing the door just as a thread of fire licked the edge of the lace shawl. Neria lunged for the vanity, throwing a pitcher of wash-water over the bag. Sizzle.
The room filled with steam. Neria was standing there, soaking wet and clutching her mother’s jewels.
“Fine,” Neria looked at the bag, her eyes narrowed with a new, fierce resolve. “If everyone is going to hunt me, I might as well give them a reason. I’m not running to the coast, Mother. I’m going to stay, and I’m going to make sure that man never touches us again.”
The egg let out a low sound, and the burning sensation on Neria's skin suddenly faded into a comfortable, pulsing warmth.
“I need to find a way to get rid of Sebastian and then…then, I will kill my father.”
