Page 78 of Envious Of Fire
George is silent, eyes on Brock like he stares into the abyss of the great unknown. He puts a hand to his face, unblinking. “I dare ask … I … I dare ask if … if …”
I advise to either dare ask, or to stop asking anything ever again, Tristan politely suggests.You are giving Brock a headache.
George steps forward. “I dare ask if this is thetruemission for which I gathered those items. If it all wasn’t for some kind of … ofevil act. If you weren’t foolish enough, reckless enough, arrogant enough to have … to have actually …” His face twists with fear and shame as he whispers the rest. “… consulted with the likes of a certain dark witch?”
Tristan shrugs.We have all done far worse things.Remember when Markadian wore white after Labor Day?
“How could you?” George steps into the room, aghast as he circles Brock from a distance. “Oh, but I knew you were capable of such evil, yes, I did, I always knew you were. You were the one who so coldly left our Lord Markadian decades ago, left him brokenhearted and betrayed. Of course you would be capable of such depravity … dancing with … with Death … and with dark witches … towards an end of such unimaginableperversion…”
How is the weather way up there on your high horse?Tristan continues dabbing away blood and drool from Brock’s chest and face, a mother cleaning her young.Coming from aman who risked the exposure of our society so he can expand a collection of hourglasses.Give me five minutes and an internet connection, I’ll find you a dozen.By the way, isn’t riding a high horse tricky to do with dirty hands?
“Raya knows of this, too,” it suddenly occurs to George as he stops, his eyes wild with thoughts, piecing it together. “She is the one who slipped the assignment to me. Like a disease. Of course. She’s but your minion, what else can one expect? Deceivers beget deceivers. Villains beget villains. I’m the fool …”
Don’t blame Raya.She was just as coerced into this as you were.
“Poor girl you have corrupted. She had such promise. This is why she is recovering, too? It attacked her … that thingattackedher. That is what the nurses went on about, what I heard, it was not overdramatic gossip. You’ve made the Devil’s monster!”
He hasn’t harmed a fly since.And this is all for a good cause.See how everyone benefits?Tristan pats at some blood at the corner of Brock’s lips.He’s alive again.You’re out of the doghouse.It is the end result that matters, not the path getting there.
“Brock was also a friend of Mr. Amos.” Tristan stops at the mention of his name. “You are doing all of this just as much forhim. Do not deny it,” he quickly says. “Lord Markadian may not know where your heart truly lies, but I do. I know that in all you do, there is a secret investment in your love for that …Texan.”
Tristan doesn’t face him. He just clenches the handkerchief and stares at a spot on Brock’s chest. It always strikes Tristan as so strange, that despite all the hours of time devoted to packing Kyle away into a room deep within his mind, out of reach, that just a single word can rip open the vault and send pouring forth every last feeling he tried to bury. Kyle’s sweet eyes. The laughter they shared. The long, boring, beautiful days spent in that dilapidated cabin, the woods around them that rarely sawthe presence of mortals, lost to time … until the morning Lord Markadian caught Tristan gathering flowers in the woods, and Tristan was forced to abandon the one he loved in order to protect him.
Kyle wasn’t meant to be abandoned. Kaleb wasn’t meant to survive. Brock wasn’t meant to die. Is there anything Tristan has tried to accomplish in life that hasn’t gone so miserably wrong?
“I think I have a mind to go to Lord Markadian right now and tell him everything,” George then says, folding his arms, lifting his chin superiorly. “This undeathly abomination.”
Be careful where you aim that gun of yours, says Tristan as he continues to stare at Brock’s chest, still remembering his years with Kyle. For some reason, he thinks about one late night rain shower they watched together by the back window, cuddled in an armchair. It was one of their sweetest nights.Those silver bullets you’re so eager to fire may very well be the ones that kill you.
George stiffens up, remains silent, eyes sharpening.
Tristan smiles, glances back.You’re an accomplice now.
“Accomplice?” George lets out a mocking, chirping laugh. “I knew not what I was gathering those preposterous items for.”
Yes, yes, and I’m sure the accomplice in a murder didn’t know why they were buying duct tape, rope, a bottle of bleach…Was it for a science project? You’ll fool no one. Tristan returns to wiping away blood, now with more affection.Mutually assured destruction, my dear George.If I were you, I would keep Markadian out of this.
George’s eyes snap to Brock, as if mulling it over. Irritation creases his brow as his thoughts seem to grow more furious by the second. Then, all at once, it fades like a storm cloud. “Well, I suppose it’s all for naught, anyway. None of us can hope to keep our Lord Markadian’s attention more than his new toy.”
Oh? Did Marky finally order himself that vibrating buttplug I nearly got him for his birthday? The top review said that it has an impressively long battery life…
“His new toy is a violinist.”
Tristan drops the handkerchief.
Limbs turning to stone, veins to ice.
A violinist …
“He’s obsessed,” George carries on, words flowing out like a melodic sigh, tired of it before he’s even begun talking. “He even brushes off Ashara. Is it truly so pleasing to have connections with humans who are … aresmellyanduninterestingand …temporary? I do not understand such sexual expressions. Or emotional ones. It confuses me to my very core.” He sniffs his fingers, squints in the direction of Brock. “I smell rosemary in this room, do you not? Why do I smell rosemary? Is it awitchyingredient?”
I’ve met…many nice witches, says Tristan absently, still struck thinking about Kaleb and what Lord Markadian may be doing to him, a whole new nightmare.Really, the necromancer shouldn’t be representative of their kind.He’s rather quite singular.And terrible.
“Of course you would be sympathetic to such people who’d put silver daggers in your back without batting an eye. Do you really not smell the rosemary? It is overpowering and terribly unpleasant.” He huffs, turns away. “Perhaps I shouldn’t worry about this violinist. Markadian is known to fall in love easily, then toss aside his toys when he’s bored. And he gets so easily bored. Still, it irks me. Our Lord Markadian cannot afford to have such distractions from work. We’re to host many directors here in just a few nights’ time and there is so much to do.”
Tristan turns at once, crosses the room to George, then neatly folds the dirtied handkerchief and tucks it back into his breast pocket.Leave the violinist be.The toy will be an afterthought someday soon, like you said.Why don’t you goand help prepare for our guests, instead? You do loveserving, don’t you?
George’s eyes narrow, and his voice turns cold. “Our Lord could end you for the illegal act you’ve so recklessly performed here. Should he hold a trial right now, I am certain you would be found guilty by every single director in our region.”
