Page 147 of Rook of Ruin
Red stands. “Aeternus fidelis, my fucking beautiful Ruin.” She places her fist over her heart, and Viper does the same.
“Aeternus fidelis, Red, Viper, my friends. It’s my honor to serve with you, always.” I place my fist over my heart. They hug me tight, and for the first time in a long time, I feel a rush of excitement from hope. “Isle, we should send them off in style.” Isle winks at them.
A few minutes later, Milo and most of our warriors are lined up outside with their fists over their hearts. Callan stands next to me, but I pretend he is a hanging corpse. Bow and Viper lead Red outside. She gasps, and at once, we all shout, “Congratulations!” Pink flowers rain down from above, and a carriage pulls around with their horses along with six warriors in black-and-silver leathers. Hugs all around, and we watch them go.
“Did they just get married?” Callan asks.
“Yes, a day ago. She was one of our wounded. For their loyalty and service, I sent them on a honeymoon and retired them.”
I’ll wait for him to find out about their new names and titles. A surprise, a good surprise.
My naked reflection in the silver-trimmed mirror is not one I’m proud of. I look like a ghost instead of a Rook or warrior—a shell of myself.
I try not to feel bashful as one of the Grey Sisters prepares my pale body. She covers it with a silky, dark blue, almost black, shimmery substance, leaving small gaps where my skin gleams a sickly grey. The magic runes tingle, almost burning my flesh, and they soak deep into my body. I feel the magic buzzing, similar to that of my brace. The runes will not rub off but slowly fade over time, remaining until my mourning is complete. I am not to be touched, to be given comfort—which is ridiculous; we should be hugged, we should be held and loved, but everyone is warned against it. A large breath shoves from my chest. I am an Untouchable.
“Would you mind tilting your neck to the side?” the Grey Sister asks.
I do fucking mind, but I sigh and do it anyway. It isn’t her fault; I’m just feeling so alone. I want to scream and shout. Iwant to cry and destroy. But that wouldn’t be helpful at this moment, and she has a lot to do today. Hysteria would certainly not help her.
I consider something I’ve longed to ask every Grey Sister. “When you take memories, are they gone from that person forever?”
She leans back. “Why are you asking?”
“I was a Rook in Acros and worked with a Matron. Just curious.” Not a lie, not the full truth either.
The Grey Sister tilts her head, her violet eyes taking me in for a moment. “Matron of the Locker?”
“Yes.”
“There are some who can remember a smell or a sound—remnants. They can only do so because of a power. Whether it is magical or even something as simple as love, I do not know. I cannot speak further on it.” The Grey Sister pulls back and admires her artwork, and I ponder her answer.
“Where does the magic you use from come from?” I almost whisper to her.
She frowns. “We are bound by oath never to reveal our magic or its source, just as we must never disclose the memories of others.”
We remain in comfortable silence for a while as she continues to paint the runes from Simon’s design. I bite my lip, wondering how he must have felt choosing the details for me. If roles were reversed, I would have chosen something outrageous just to get a dimpled smile once more. Perhaps tiny baby sheep or pigs all over his scarred torso. Perhaps phalluses because then he would really stand out. It almost makes me smirk thinking of a Grey Sister painstakingly painting little dicks, pausing every so often to make sure they all match in size and girth. But then I see what Simon chose for me, and it almost breaks me. The runes are words of his commitment to me and our family, encouragementto remain strong and steadfast in the darkest of days. The small markings between each rune represent the chaos that life brings, that I must endure when he is gone.
The Grey Sister leaves my hands and face undone until his last breath, and then she will completely cover me with the runes of his last memory, making me Untouchable. I do not envy any Grey Sister; it takes a strong person to perform the Rites.
She pulls at her grey dress and smiles softly at the marks on my body. “He chose wisely.”
He did. She helps me into a respectable long-sleeved dress of mourning. It’s so delicate, I fear it will crumble when I move. The sheer, soft headdress will cover my head, my grief, and will be added after Simon’s passing, as will gloves. They will be my new armor.
Isle enters my room. “It’s time.”
Those two words cut into me deeper than a dagger.
Isle leads me past our warriors, who kneel, unmoving, fists to their chests. Everyone gives me a wide berth. The silence is deafening, the sorrow too great. The little hand that reaches up and holds mine gives me the only comfort I’m allowed to have, the only touch other than Simon’s I’m to have for a very long time once the final runes are placed. I want to take Milo’s pain. I want to heal his little heart with my broken one.
Milo begins to cry, and I stop moving to peer down at him. “He knows, he already knows, little love. You told him this morning. I know he was happy to have you there when he could say goodbye.”
“I love him,” Milo says in a whisper.
“Me too. As I love you.” Tears pool at the corners of my eyes. No matter what, Simon always treated him as his own. Bow and Dove gently steer Milo away.
When I enter the guest room, I choke down a sob. Two Grey Sisters stand on either side of the bed, with Callan inthe corner to represent Simon’s family, and Isle representing our warriors. I represent his death with the runes on my body. Simon’s breathing becomes heavy. His voice lost forever, his body decaying from the inside out. Gently, I place my hand over his. It is the last time I will touch him, and truly, I’m not ready for any of this.
“You have my hand and my heart.”
