|[ DEATH'S APPRENTICE ]|

[Chapter Fourteen]

I was in a familiar room, with four tall walls cramped too close together, and a single window far out of reach, high near the ceiling. I spun on the spot, feeling fear grip my heart with ragged claws, as the door was thrown open with the scream of rusty hinges.

My father stood before me, as tall, and intimidating as he had been when last I had seen him. In his hands was his belt, so smooth, and worn, from years of flaying my skin. His cold, dark eyes, like shards of ice, watched me, measured me up, as he stepped into the room. My legs crumbled beneath me as I stumbled backwards, and I fell, hands thrown up to catch me. Pain splashed across my palms, and I blinked to see a broken mirror beneath me, drops of my blood bright red on the glass. Jagged gashes lines my palms, and as I scrambled away from my father I left more streaks of scarlet, and watched as they crumbled away to ash.

Still my father closed in on me, gently swinging the belt back and forth, the buckle gleaming cruelly. I remembered its sharp sting.

I scurried further away, a mouse fleeing from a cat, and felt my fingers touch something cold, and metal. Looking down I saw my knife, its blade crusted with old blood, and without thought I grabbed it, pointing it at my father.

"Stay away!" I demanded, my voice small and feeble. I tried again. "Leave me alone!"

He only laughed, slinging his belt over his shoulder. Determination bubbled through me as I struggled to my feet, trying to steady my hand. Would I be able to hurt him? Kill him?

Before I could reach my answer his face began to morph, like hot wax losing shape, and suddenly the guard stood before me. Silver glinted at his throat and he jerked backwards, his blood spraying me, stinging my skin.

"No!" I screamed, jumping away, feeling his blood on my hands once more, "No, I didn't!" but I no longer held the knife. It had a found a new home, in his throat.

And I had put it there.

I woke crying, fat salty tears staining my face and the wooden floor beneath me. It had been a dream? Relief was followed by embarrassment as I realised that Malik would've heard me crying. What else had he heard? My screaming? My pleading for my father to leave me alone? I didn't want to open my eyes, but I forced myself to sit up, feeling the dying warmth of the fire on my cheeks.

"I would've woken you." Malik's words were quiet, soft, and very close by. I blinked, turning, to see him only a few feet away, his mouth set in a tight line. "You were crying, and... well... I know how you don't like me touching you."

"Malik..." I tried, my sleep-addled mind struggling to find words, "No... it's not that..."

"You don't need explain." He said quietly, "It's fine." He sounded sincere, but I could detect a hardness beneath the quiet words, and I wondered at it.

I looked to the small windows lining the wall and realised there was no light beyond, but the storm had died down, with only the light patter of rain remaining.

"It's still a few hours till dawn." Malik said quietly, and I carefully looked at him, taking in the dark circles under his eyes, and the worn look to his face. Had he slept at all?

"Well I'm not going to be able to get back to sleep." I said stubbornly, climbing to my feet. I wiped the last of my tears away, hating even the memory of them on my cheeks. I hated crying. Especially in front of others.

Especially in front of Malik.

"Why?" Malik asked quietly. He moved to throw another piece of wood on the dying fire. "Are you afraid of what you'll see once you do?"