Chapter Thirteen – Tressa
Chapter Thirteen
Tressa
I watch Altair soar into the late afternoon sky, his golden scales catching the light as he climbs higher and higher, until he’s nothing but a distant speck against the clouds.
I curse myself for reacting so badly. For pushing him when I should’ve been gentler. For exposing his secrets when he wasn’t ready to face them with me standing there as a witness.
I gather my blanket and my book, and make my way back inside the palace.
The corridors are quiet as I walk to my chambers.
Once I’m inside, I go straight to the balcony.
I lean against the railing and search the sky for any sign of him.
An hour passes, the sun dropping lower. There’s nothing.
No golden wyvern circling overhead or heavy thud of claws landing on his balcony next to mine.
Later, I make my way to the dining room. The table is set for two, but I’m alone. A young servant girl brings out the first course, setting a bowl of soup in front of me.
“Have you seen Lord Aurellion?” I ask her.
“No.” She scurries away.
I wait for him to arrive, thinking he’ll walk through the door any moment now.
After a while, I pick up my spoon and begin eating, telling myself he’s probably still upset and needs his space.
The soup is good, but I barely taste it, and when the girl brings the next course, I eat that too without really noticing what it is.
Altair doesn’t come, and when I’m finished, I leave the dining room feeling more restless than before.
Back in my chambers, I pace from the sitting room to the bedroom and back again. I can’t settle or focus on anything except the gnawing worry that something is wrong. I need to see him and know he’s all right.
I leave my room and walk down the corridor to his door. I knock and wait, but there’s no answer. I knock again, harder, and when silence greets me, I try the handle. The door swings open easily.
“Altair?” I call out as I step inside.
His sitting room is empty. I check his bedroom and find it just as empty, the bed made and everything in its place. I look in the bathroom and even open the closet, but he’s nowhere to be found.
I leave his chambers and begin searching the palace properly. The library is my first stop, because he often works there late into the evening, hunched over papers and ledgers. When I push open the heavy doors, the room is dark and empty.
I ask every servant I pass if they’ve seen him, but the answer is always the same: they haven’t seen Lord Aurellion since this morning.
Then I remember how angry he was when he found out I’d visited his mother. Maybe he went to confront her about it. I turn toward the north wing and walk quickly through the corridors, my footsteps echoing off the stone walls.
When I reach Lady Helena’s door, I knock and wait. A moment later, the door opens, and she stands there looking at me. I can tell immediately that something is wrong.
Her hands are moving constantly, rubbing together and flying up to touch her face, then smoothing down her dress. Her eyes are too bright, and her breathing is uneven.
“I’m so sorry to disturb you so late,” I say. “I’m looking for Altair. I thought he might be here with you.”
“No,” she says, shaking her head. “No, he’s not here.”
I study her face, taking in the jittery movements and the way she can’t quite meet my eyes.
“Is everything all right?”
“Everything is fine,” she says, but her voice is strained. “You shouldn’t worry about me.”
She looks at me, and her expression shifts into something I can’t quite read. She seems resolved. Determined.
“I know what I have to do,” she says. “What I should have done a long time ago.”
Before I can ask what she means, she places her hands on my shoulders and pushes me gently but firmly out into the hallway.
“It’s late,” she says. “I need to gather my thoughts. Goodnight, Tressa.”
The door closes in my face, and I’m left standing there, more distressed than before. I walk back toward the south wing, my mind spinning with worry about Altair, and confusion about his mother’s strange behavior.
I’m halfway back when I remember the old servant’s room. Hope surges through me, and I start running. When I reach the door, I push it open and step inside, calling his name.
The room is empty.
I take in the space that once held my family’s life. The two beds are still here, plain and narrow, and the room is clean but barren. There’s nothing left of my parents, no trace of Brandon, and no belongings or personal items that would remind me of the time we lived here.
I should feel something, but I don’t. There’s no space in my mind to worry about myself, when I’m too worried about what Altair might do.
I run back to his chambers, thinking that maybe I missed something, or he came back while I was gone. I can’t sleep anyway, so if he’s not there, I’ll wait for him.
This time, I search more thoroughly. There might be clues. I check behind the curtains and pull open drawers.
I move to the bookshelf that takes up most of one wall and start reading the titles on the spines, running my fingers over the leather bindings. That’s when I hear it.
A grunt, muffled and low, coming from behind the wall.
I freeze and press my ear against the bookshelf. Another grunt, followed by a sharp noise I can’t identify.
My heart starts pounding. I pull at books, testing them, trying to find the mechanism that will open the concealed door.
After several minutes of searching, I find the right one.
Something clicks, and the entire bookshelf begins to move, swinging outward on hidden hinges.
Beyond, I see a cramped room lit by flickering candlelight.
Altair kneels on the floor in the center of the room, shirtless and bleeding. His wings are spread away from his back, and his head is bowed low. He is holding a leather whip.
As I watch in horror, he raises the whip over his shoulder and brings it down hard across his back. The sharp crack of leather on flesh fills the small space.
There’s a mirror and a table covered in candles. Among the candles are scattered toys, small wooden figures and carved animals that I recognize from childhood, from the days when Altair and Brandon played together. In the center of it all hangs a painting of Brandon and me as children.
This is a shrine.
Altair looks up and sees my reflection in the mirror. He freezes, and I see the sheer pain on his face, the raw agony that lives behind his eyes every moment of every day.
Our gazes lock, and as he holds my stare, he raises the whip high and brings it down on his back again.
I jump at the crack, unable to process what I’m witnessing. He raises the whip a third time, and I move without thinking, rushing forward and catching it in my hand before it can fall. The leather bites into my palm, and pain shoots up my arm, but I hold on tight.
Altair pulls at the whip, trying to get it free. I resist him with all my strength. I throw myself at him, and we tumble to the floor together. I hear him grunt in pain as we land.
The whip falls from both our hands, and I scramble to sit up, pulling him into my arms. His skin is hot and sleek with blood and sweat. He’s trembling violently against me. I hold him as tightly as I can.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.
” He sobs against my chest. “I don’t deserve to live.
You are too good for me. You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I don’t deserve you.
You shouldn’t be here. You should go. You should leave and live your life free of this shame and guilt, and this pain that consumes me. I am lost but you can still escape.”
“Shh, it’s okay,” I whisper, holding him tighter. “It’s all right, I’m here. Don’t say that. Don’t ever say that you don’t deserve to live. It’s simply not true.”
He keeps crying, his whole body shaking.
“I am sorry, Tressa, I am so sorry. Please forgive me.”
I hold him as he breaks down and don’t let go. I rock him and stroke his hair.
“It’s all right. I’m here. You’re not alone anymore.”
The candles flicker around us, and Brandon’s painted face watches from the wall. I hold Altair while he cries out fourteen years of grief, guilt, and self-hatred.