Page 183 of Envious Of Fire
The bowtie is still in his hands when he finally arrives at the door to Markadian’s sleeping quarters. Miss May, both of her, are outside, but one is leaning against the wall with her arms crossed, the other sitting on the floor hugging her knees to her chest. It is the first time Tristan has seen Miss May in a state of asymmetry.
Neither acknowledge him, faces obscured by their long hair.
May I enter?Tristan asks anyway.
Miss May does not reply.
Tristan enters the room. Only an armoire and a bed. Nothing on the walls. No windows. Illusion stole Markadian’s best décor, leaving his private chambers in a bleak, uninspired state. Only the faint light from a lamp near the bed fills theroom, a soft, intimate light, pooling over the sheets and barely illuminating the tall shape of Ashara standing next to it.
“I told him to bury you,” she says without looking. Her words come out evenly, yet firm, as crisp as snow.
Tristan stays near the door, bowtie clutched in hand, staring at the silent bed.
“The moment I knew of your falsehoods, I told my brother, I said it firmly, I said it with conviction: you cannot be trusted. Yet still, he insisted that you be there, that you paid witness to your dear lover Kyle crumble as he watched his brother get eaten by a lion. He wanted you to see.”
I know. Tristan fidgets with the bowtie, its sandy texture, its weight, playing with it between his fingers.I know Markadian was counting on Kyle’s anger.With his brother in the cage, he expected him to break the truce they had just a second ago struck.He wanted a legal, viable reason to end Kyle, too.It was a very…Markadian thing to do.
“How dare you stand there so pompously,” she says, her voice still level, still calm yet icy, “speaking of my brother who lies here in a bed, on the verge of final death, because of you.” The parts of her dress that usually shimmer green appear black and deathly in the gloom. “Give me one reason I shouldn’t kill you right now.”
Tristan’s eyes drop to the bed.
He can’t even make out Markadian’s shape in the sheets.
But he can smell him. The charred skin. The smoke. The fire that raked across his body by Mance’s power.
I never meant for this to happen.
“Give me one reason I should hear another word that comes out of your mouth.”
Technically, none of my words come out of my mouth.
“And you make a joke? Even now? Even here? I did wonder recently if you would die laughing someday.”
You could kill me, reasons Tristan, taking one more step into the room.It would be so easy.You are now the Lordess Regent, with Markadian incapacitated.The directors are here.You could forego need of a tiresome trial and simply kill me in front of them.Or omit even the need for witnesses and kill me right here.
She remains silent, peering down at her brother, eerily calm.
Tristan takes another step.But you don’t.And there’s a reason.He stops at the end of the bed, eyes falling upon Markadian.You need answers.How all of this happened.Who let in the necromancer and the Ferals.And George…is mysteriously absent.You’ve noticed.He has been absent the whole time, nowhere in sight during the whole affair.
Her eyes close. Lips purse. Jaw tightens.
She is holding back with all her might.
Tristan moves to the other side of the bed, across from her, Markadian’s body between them.You are wondering if perhaps there was another reason I buried George.If there wasn’t some other, darker plot afoot right under your nose, something that eluded you completely.
She remains quiet, teeth clenched within her sealed lips.
The reason I buried George…was because he planned it all.
Ashara’s eyes flap open. She turns her face to Tristan.
He worked closely with the necromancer to concoct a nefarious plot, Tristan goes on,that would result in the death of Lord Markadian.He knew the necromancer sought revenge.So did George.He is, himself, formerly Feral.He resents Markadian’s power over him.He resented my return.He hated the violinist being Markadian’s new obsession.He found a way to deal with it all by aligning with his former Ferals, as well as the hateful necromancer, to end Lord Markadian.And George would have ended you, too, had I not intervened and—
“You expect me to believe this farce?” Ashara snaps.
After a moment’s pause, Tristan shakes his head.Of course not.You’re much too smart. He peers back at the door.But they will.
She frowns, glances at the door herself.
