Page 117 of Envious Of Fire
I have already hurt her gravely.Do not hurt her worse.Shehas paid dearly for…for playing my game, as you put it.
“I care not.”
Paid with half an arm.
“I shall do one right thing for my soul, one meaningful and proper thing, before it’s left to time …”
Was there really nothing inside the box?
George stops under the shadow of a willow tree, glowing butterflies overhead, turns to face Tristan. “What of the box?”
Tristan smiles, lets go the little hourglass from his fingers.
Somersaulting midair.
On a course for the harsh cobblestone floor.
The next instant, George is at his knees, catching it.
I wonder if you even remember whose blood spilled to obtain that hourglass, wonders Tristan, amazed at how so quickly George’s attention shifted to his one true love—the hourglasses.
George, out of breath, hourglass resting upon his palm like a precious newborn babe, a priceless treasure, peers up at Tristan’s words, meeting his eyes, frozen.
Tristan brushes his fingertips down George’s eerie face.
His eyes turn as dull as stones. Hourglass rolls freely from his limp fingers. Shatters on the ground. Then goes George’s body, tumbling as quickly, asleep.
Tristan stares down at the shape of George.
He stares at him for too long a time. Was this what Tristan meant to do all along? Was Ashara right about his intentions? To be rid of George and reclaim his seat by Lord Markadian’s side?
Tristan laughs suddenly, wondering who had to die to get the hourglass that just broke upon the pretty cobblestones, if multiple lives had to end, if any person on earth is still alive who can say. The laugh ends, and suddenly Tristan feels sad. He takes a step back, realizes some pink sand landed on his shoes.
Thirteen minutes later, Tristan steps away from the willowtree. A fresh mound of dirt spreads from its base, where stones have been artfully placed.For each and every hourglass you ever collected, Tristan says to that dirt mound, to the stones, to the body now deeply buried in there, sleeping, dreaming,I wish you a lengthy, safe, and enjoyable spell of silence in the ground.May no one remember or care for your purpose in existing at all.
A sprig of rosemary rests atop the grave.
Tristan stays there for quite some time, staring at the base of that tree, at the stones. Did he bury George deep enough? It was quite deep, significantly more than six feet. Will George be able to break free should he wake? Not likely, in a coffin that is, from within, lined with silver bolts and bracing.
As deep as the body is buried, George’s words still linger.
Tristan, betraying everyone he’s ever loved, hurting everyone he’s ever loved. Does Tristan have a soul left to defend?
The shadow of the willow tree twists suddenly, and from it, the shapeless face of Wendy appears. “Haven’t you gone too far?”
Tristan is never surprised by her surprise appearances.You have been absent for so long, I nearly thought you took a vacation.
“I bear some disquieting news. There was an unfortunate … scene … made upon a certain highway in northern Arizona. The scene involves Brock, his wife, and his son. The wife is no more.”
Tristan, his mind already a mess of conflict, zeroes his eyes down upon Wendy.Please tell me…
“Brock is wandering the desert. He has been seen by no souls. He is …” Wendy searches for the word. “Bloody.”
And the son?
“Run away. Lost. There is no knowing.”
Tristan sits upon the ground suddenly, overwhelmed.In other words, no, I did not go too far, George very muchdeserves his fate.
