Games of Death and Desire - Bonus Scene
What was going through Rheave’s mind when Ivy found him with the injured butterfly and helped him bring it to safety? This bonus scene shows that moment from his perspective…
Rheave
My current orders resonate through my head and carry into the rest of my body in a steady repeated murmur.
Patrol the school grounds. Take note of any unusual behavior. Report back when you’re done.
Those are the only things the command asks of me. A few weeks ago, it’s all I would have done—numbly, unthinkingly, barely conscious of my actions.
Something has… shifted. None of the students catch my attention, but I find myself absorbing the feel of the ground beneath my feet. The shift from the soft but uneven cushioning of the grassy stretches to the smooth hardness of the cobblestone paths.
The murmur cuts in, urging me onward, trying to blot out my other awareness.
Patrol the school grounds. Take note of any unusual behavior. Report back when you’re done.
I pick up my pace, but that doesn’t stop me from noticing the cool lick of the gusting air against my face. The current ripples through my hair, setting off a tingle through my scalp.
I’ve never had a face before. Never had hair or a scalp to feel anything like this.
It’s fascinating, so many sensations I had no idea existed—
Patrol the school grounds. Take note of any unusual behavior. Report back when you’re done.
I circle around toward the back of the school. Wildflowers have sprouted up amid the grass by the wall, bright red and purple against the green.
I find myself veering toward them, drawn by the impulse to take in their vibrant colors close up.
As I approach, a sweet scent trickles into my nose. I never had a nose before—did I ever smell anything before?
I reach back to my vague memories that the constant commands have mostly drowned out. I have the impression that I was aware of plenty of things around me, but in a distant sort of way, flitting by without letting anything sink in.
This new way of being… Is it better?
I’m not sure, but I like it. And I can tell there’s so much more about it I haven’t discovered.
I can’t because of the insistent orders that keep prodding me onward.
Patrol the school grounds. Take note of any unusual behavior. Report back when you’re done.
A frown crosses my face. Nothing used to guide me except my own curiosity. Who gave this murmur the right to usher me around and dictate my actions?
I certainly didn’t.
I’ve slipped pieces of its hold before, but right now, my legs walk on without asking permission. It’s irritating, another sensation I don’t remember feeling before.
My feet only make a couple of steps before my gaze snags on another bit of bright color clinging to the dark blue sleeve of my uniform.
A butterfly has landed on the cloth, about halfway between my wrist and my elbow. Its delicate yellow-and-blue wings drop open and then pull close again.
My feet lurch to a halt. The repeated command falls away beneath a wave of startled confusion.
Why has this creature come to me? What am I supposed to do with it?
As I stare at it, its wings flutter open again. One of the edges looks ragged, as if some other creature has scratched at it.
What if it can’t fly any farther? Should I carry it through my patrol?
What would I do with it afterward? I don’t know what nourishment it needs.
It looks so fragile. I might break it more without meaning to.
That wouldn’t be right. It deserves to fly free.
It shouldn’t end up trapped like I am.
I lift my head as if answers might present themselves from somewhere around me, and there she is.
The woman my orders often tell me to watch—Ivy of Nikodi, her name whispers through my thoughts—is standing several feet away. The glow of the setting sun catches in her hair, lighting up the reddish tint in the pale strands as if there are flames dancing beneath the surface.
She’s staring back at me. Her blue eyes that often spark with emotions I can’t interpret have gone pensive, as if she’s concerned too.
Instinct compels me to hold her gaze, wishing she’d approach me.
She seems to know a lot of things. She seems to care. Even the gods see it.
She’d know how I should look after this creature, wouldn’t she?
To my relief and a brighter glimmer of emotion I can’t decipher even in myself, Ivy walks over to me.
Her expression has tightened a bit the way it often does when she’s talking to me. Her voice comes out with the dry tone I can never tell what to make of. “Have you been assaulted by that butterfly?”
Assaulted? No. Although when I adjust my arm, the creature does hold on very persistently.
“It landed on me a few minutes ago,” I explain. “I think it’s hurt—it might not be able to fly any farther. I don’t know what to do.”
The admission brings a bit of heat to my face even though it’s true. Should I have a better handle on this situation I’ve found myself in? Haven’t I roamed through this world for ages before any of these humans were even in it?
But I’ve never had an arm for a butterfly to land on before.
Ivy considers our surroundings and waves her hand toward the dark stretch of forest at the back of the school grounds.
“Let’s bring it someplace it’ll have shelter.
If it’s going to recover, it’ll be better off in a spot where no predators will notice it.
Assuming you’re not going to carry it around for the next day or two. ”
There’s a playful lilt to her last remark, but I’ve found it best to assume humans are never joking even if they’re outright laughing when they say a thing. Much less chance of them getting angry and throwing a drink or a punch at you.
“No, it might get more damaged riding on me.”
Ivy takes my response in stride. “Then it’s settled. Come on.”
She sets off ahead of me, leading the way, even though I can see for myself where the forest is. Even though looking at it makes her shoulders tense up and her fingers curl toward her palms.
She could have left me to it and gone off somewhere she’d rather be. Instead, she’s seeing her suggestion through.
That’s the sort of human she is. I’ve interacted with enough by now to know it’s not a common type.
I keep my arm lifted and as still as possible. The butterfly doesn’t appear disturbed by being carted around.
Ivy stops by the first trees and taps a small branch protruding from a spindly trunk. “Put it here. The branch right overtop should stop any birds from spotting it.”
There is another branch, with more leaves for shade, just a few inches higher. It seems like a good plan.
I study the butterfly and slide one of my fingers toward its feet. With a gentle nudge, it lifts them to plant them on my finger instead. Then, with a little encouragement, it steps from my finger onto the branch.
A gleam like the glow in Ivy’s hair lights in my chest. I helped it. It might be okay now.
We helped it.
But when I look at Ivy again, with the urge to smile at her and a strange pang around the hope that she’ll smile back, her stance stiffens just slightly.
Oh. She’s still not happy to be here.
“I make you nervous,” I venture, as if pointing out the reaction will somehow diffuse it. “This place does too. But you helped anyway.”
Maybe showing her I’ve noticed and that I appreciate her kindness will ease her concerns—about me, at least.
She backs up a step. “I’m perfectly fine. You looked like you could use a little direction. I’ve got other things to do now.”
She pivots and moves to stride away, and the impulse to call her back leaps up my throat.
But no, she doesn’t want to be here. I shouldn’t make her.
It isn’t right to make people do things they’d rather not do.
The protest turns into the only right words I can think of to say. “Thank you.”
She doesn’t glance back. Her form melds with the shadows stretching long from the school buildings.
And the unshakeable murmur winds through my head again. Patrol the school grounds. Take note of any unusual behavior. Report back when you’re done.
I walk on automatically, the diversion that let me shed the command now over. But as my feet thump against the satisfyingly solid ground, one certainty forms in my mind.
I’m not going to report anything “unusual” about Ivy of Nikodi. Not today or ever.