Page 113 of Liminal
“We’ve known each other a long time, haven’t we?” His question is soft.
My answering nod is more a jerk of my chin.
Sure, most of those interactions have been mercenary in their swiftness, exchanging books for money, but it counts.
“You shouldn’t have to go through this alone. You have friends now.”
My eyes flash to his black ones, widening in shock. Did he and Lambert talk about this, or is this something else?
Of all the men cluttering up my Arcanaeum, Dakari is the quietest, keeping his thoughts close to his chest, and yet I trust him almost implicitly.
He came to me as a scrawny, angry boy, but he’s grown into so much more. There’s safety in familiarity, and he’s made every effort not to touch me since he realised what would happen if he did.
It’s obvious that he expects me to say no. It’s written in every stiff line of his body as he stands there with his muscled arms folded over his chest.
“Stay.” I can’t help staring at my feet, the words quieter than a confession. “Please. I…I can’t do it on my own tonight. I trust you, and I just… Ican’t.”
It’s embarrassing how needy I sound. How pathetic. But he offered, and I’m grabbing onto that lifeline, because enduring this is somehow heavier than it used to be when I had no friends and I was the Librarian, not Kyrith.
Dakari’s at my side in the next moment. His hands hover awkwardly between us like he might bring comfort and not catastrophe with his touch.
Cursing, he backs off. Probably for the best. Otherwise, I might do something stupid like lean into him.
“You trust me to go into the Vault?” he grinds out. “If you don’t, I’ll wait on the Gallery.”
I straighten my shoulders and draw my focus back to the clock—ten minutes to go.
“I was terrified of what you would think, of how you’d judge me. But youknow. You’ve known for ages, and you’ve never treated me differently.”
“Why would I?”
Scoffing with scorn, I answer, “Because I was a stupid girl who thought she was special. I was vain and naïve and?—”
“You were young.”
So much forgiveness and understanding in those three words. As if someone a mere thirty years of age can possibly understand the difference between youth and maturity. But he does, because Dakari has the wisdom of someone far older.
“Youth has a way of leaving you feeling invulnerable, even when you’re anything but. I should know. Some of the shit I pulled back in my teens… Yeah. We’re never going to talk about that.”
I straighten, brushing imaginary lint off my skirts. “I won’t be able to talk to you when I go down there, but whatever you see, whatever you hear, you can’t interfere.”
“I’ll behave.” Solemnity has taken over his expression, and I grimace as I realise it’s the expression he might’ve worn to my funeral, had I ever been afforded one.
“You can’t touch me or them. There’s nothing you can do. Anything you try will make it worse.”
It’s no easy thing to stand by while someone suffers. But his being there is helping, even if it doesn’t feel that way to him.
“I get it. I promise, I won’t do anything.”
Thirty-Two
Dakari
“It starts in the foyer,” she admits, tossing her braid over her shoulder as she leads the way, and then…disappears barely three steps in.
I pick up the pace, my footsteps echoing strangely as that creepy mist starts to fill the Rotunda. Kyrith is there, pausing where the silvered letters of the building’s motto are written across the floor, before she follows her murderers along the Botanical Hall. I meet her halfway, but she doesn’t see me. Or at least, her eyes don’t move. Her face doesn’t crease in recognition, and I dimly realise her ever-messy braid has sorted itself into a neatly pinned bun.
It’s like she’s a medieval doll. A puppet. Repeating the same script I’ve heard a dozen times on rote.
