Ilyan froze and leaned over the table toward me. I didn’t raise my head. I just shrunk into in my oversized hoodie.
“Don’t, Ilyan,” I said, “I’m sorry I said anything.” I didn’t like the feeling his stare was giving me. I looked up, unsurprised to see his gaze still boring into me.
He paused, contemplating what to say, his penetrating stare freezing me in place. His eyes never left mine as he grabbed the bowl of strawberries and placed it in front of me. Ilyan reached for my hands and wrapped them around the cold bowl. I could feel the warmth of his magic pulsing and flowing under his skin.
“I will always protect you, Joclyn.” My breath caught and I pulled my hands away from his, the bowl dragging along the table with them. Ilyan only smiled.
“Go get ready, Siln?. There are clothes for you in the bathroom. I want to leave in about an hour, get some sight-seeing in before dinner.”
“Leave?” I was confused. He couldn’t possibly mean we were still going to go out. Especially with some super spy giving away information about us to who knows who in some bunker in Prague. It sounded like the plot to a grade B movie. “We aren’t still going into town. You can’t be serious?”
“You marked me. A bit dishonestly, but you marked me,” he said with a smile. “A deal is a deal.”
“But what if they find us?” I could hear the panic in my own voice; obviously I was bit more freaked out about this than I was admitting to myself.
“Then they find us, Siln?. It was always a risk.”
“But...” Ilyan stood up so fast my words fell from my mind in shock. In one swift movement he had come around the counter and was kneeling down before me, his hands wrapped around mine, his skin warm.
“V?dycky budu tě chránit, drahá.” I froze at the words, my heart thumping uncontrollably.
“Protect.” I said softly, repeating the only word I recognized.
“Yes, protect.” He smiled brightly and pulled me to standing. “Now, go get ready, please.”
Ilyan placed the bowl of strawberries in my hands and shooed me off to the bathroom.
I shut the door behind me, my stomach swimming with eager anticipation. One hour. In one hour I would be escorted from my prison and into the world outside. Even though I was nervous about leaving given the current state of things, my excitement was stronger. I grinned at myself in the mirror and plopped a strawberry into my mouth, my face twisting a bit at the raw honey flavor.
I wrapped my hair up in a high bun on top of my head and jumped in the shower. My mind buzzed in anticipation of getting out of the apartment, and I spent the majority of the time dreaming of what I would see and how I would recreate the city for Ryland. His little heart seemed so broken by what had happened before that I needed to do something to help him, to cheer him up. He needed to know how much I cared for him. If I had learned one thing it was to never bring up who he used to be.
What if he never remembered? What if I was doomed to visit the T?uha every day for the rest of my life? Or worse yet, what if the possessed form of Ryland died, taking my Ryland and the T?uha with him. If that happened I knew I would die too. Maybe then Ilyan could save me with whatever mystery procedure he had planned to try before.
I shook the thought from my head and stepped out of the shower, thinking again of magical cities and already planning games we could play in a newly built realm within the T?uha.
I had dressed without thinking and now that I was looking at myself in the mirror, I wanted to scream. What was Ilyan thinking? Tight, bright turquoise jeans, and a bright white t-shirt? I gaped at myself in the mirror, horrified. Colors? Tight fitting clothes? I wanted to throw up. I grabbed for the hoodie, desperate for something to cover up with. It was bright red, to match my shoes I guessed, and fit as tight as anything else. The fabric was so thin it was almost non-existent. I yelled out in a panic, and stormed from the bathroom, determined to make Ilyan go out and purchase something more reasonable.
I had made it a few steps out of the bathroom when I froze. Ilyan was leaning against the kitchen counter speaking in Czech, his focus on the phone he had pressed against his ear. My jaw dropped, he looked so different. I had never seen his hair braided before. The long blonde strands were perfectly woven together in a golden weave that trailed down the back of his head to fall half way down his back. The absence of sheets of hair framing his face defined his facial features more. He looked more distinct, stronger somehow. His light hair contrasted starkly with his tight black polo shirt. For the first time he wasn’t wearing torn jeans, instead he had opted for dark washed skinny jeans. I cursed his style sense. He looked good.