Page 20 of Runes To Rain
Even more out of place, the boys move on as though he hadn’t said something that sounded suspiciously like code.
“Have a seat for a minute,” says Reem.
Dio leaves the stage and walks to the chairs at the side of the room, not seeming to notice me.
“Can we help you, Chaosta?” Fem asks, and they all look at me, where I’m standing nearly directly in front of them now.
I freeze under the sudden attention and just shake my head.
“Please go clean up the food and drinks, and we’ll be done here soon,” Reem says to me.
I go to do so and momentarily make eye contact with Dio. I can’t read the emotion on his face, but his expression is hard, and I feel him staring at me as I go to begin cleaning up the remaining refreshments.
Once or twice, as I work at my assigned task, I catch sight of him and note that he continues to stare at me. His expression seems to judge me without yet knowing anything about me.
As I clean up, helping myself to a pastry that tastes like heaven itself, I continue to feel his eyes on me. The hair on the back of my neck raises under his scrutiny. What began as admiration for his voice quickly turns into annoyance at being caught in his scornful gaze.
As I’m nearly done with my task, I hear the boys welcome Dio to the band.
I gather up my drawing and remain at the back of the room again as they, all four of them now, clear the rest of the room.
Once everything else is gathered, Fem fetches me and leads me out to the carriage. As I dutifully follow him, we pass the others who are finalizing plans for Dio to move into the mansion. My chest grows tight for a moment as I imagine this judgmental stranger moving into the place that is slowly beginning to become my home.
On the trip back, just the four of us in the carriage, the boys are fairly quiet. Occasionally, interrupting the silence, they discuss rehearsal plans and tease Fem about when he’s going to write more songs. I sit silently watching out the windows into the near black, still reeling from the feeling of Dio’s eyes on my back.
DARK FIGURES
The following day, when I arrive in the dining room for breakfast, I belatedly realize it's actually lunch and I must have slept in.
Only Lent and Reem are here. Lent has his nose buried in a book, and Reem offers me a plate of food and a cup of coffee. I start to decline before he says, “Lent made it,” his voice thick with a grumble.
I take the cup and swallow a sip before smothering my bread in gravy. I eat slowly, still thinking through the events of the day before. Dio’s voice and the cryptic sentence, along with the feeling of his pointed glare, run on repeat in my head.
After a bit, Fem joins us, filling his plate at the sideboard. We all eat without speaking in a silence that is still companionable.
Eventually, Fem stands and says, “Let's get your bandage changed.”
I rise and follow him to the office. As he gathers the healing kit from the desk, I settle on the couch, the same as the night before. He makes quick work of it in silence this time.
I remain quiet until he moves to put the healing kit away,and then finally ask the question that’s been pressing at me for the past several days. “Where can I get a sword?”
His shoulders tighten. “Why would you want one?” he asks as he turns back to me.
“So that I can defend myself if I’m attacked again.”
His face gets stormy as he says, “The crowd didn’t attack you; they got rough and you were injured. It’s on our shoulders that you were where you shouldn’t be. It would be irresponsible of us to allow you to have a weapon at all, much less around a crowd at one of our concerts like that.”
The breath freezes in my lungs as I realize the boys believe I was hurt by the crowd and not in a sword fight with an angel. An angel whom I ended up killing. Now that I think of it, the death of which should have been shouted across the city.
I suddenly remember Fem telling me that no one has seen an angel in years, and I feel as though puzzle pieces are falling into place in my head. I have questions, but I can tell this isn’t the place or time to ask them. Instead, I focus on the reason for the other spike of irritation in me and ask, “Do you really think I would hurt someone in a crowd like that? Someone who doesn’t intend to hurt me?” The steel sound is back in my voice.
“I doubt you’ve everintendedto hurt anyone,” he says. His voice is soft, but there is an element of coldness to the words.
I’m filled with so much anger suddenly that I can’t speak, the strength of the emotion freezing me so completely that I can’t seem to locate any of the knowledge available to me in my compendium of a brain.
As though belatedly realizing that perhaps he took this too far, Fem sighs and bites his lip. “If we bring you to a concert again, we’ll bring one of the house staff to stay with you,” he says as though that solves everything. He certainly seems to consider it solved as he turns and leaves.
I’m left standing in the office by myself, my rage swirling around me not unlike the constant clouds of smoke. As I try togain some control over my anger, the only thing I can think to do is leave this house and the stifling behavior of the only people I know.
