Chapter 9 Your Place is Empty
Your Place is Empty
Lucian
I
stand before a blank canvas, unable to recall what I intended to paint. The white stares back at me.
I pick up the paintbrush, the wood light between my fingers as I place the bristles on the canvas. The scent of the oil tingles my nose, reminding me of a time when I was more accustomed to it.
With soft strokes, I outline a sharp jaw, shoulder-length hair, and freckles sparingly dispersed across the cheeks. I paint this person ten times, obsessively, achingly, yet each time, their features shift, if only slightly.
When I’ve finished, I set each canvas on the ground before me.
I study the short hair framing a blurry jaw, the small lines marking a face I cannot see.
The eyes, nose, and lips are hardly visible, yet my hand hovers along the edges of her face, trying to memorize it.
To make sure that if I see her again, I will know her. She must be the one we’ve forgotten.
Then, the lines I painted slowly disappear.
Desperately, I clutch the paintbrush, trying to follow the dissolving brush strokes. I fight against fate, but each new line vanishes faster than the last.
I lunge for the rest of the canvases, knocking over the palette and spilling pigment across myself. Never mind that—I clutch the paintings, yet they still reverse. In moments, they’re all gone. She’s gone.
I shake my head, furious. I’ve spent—
How long have I been here? I glance out the window; the sun has set. I’ve been painting all day. Yet the canvases are blank, and paint stains my clothes. Why did I knock it over? I’ve spilled pigment everywhere. Red paint spreads across my palms and wrists, coating my veins like blood.
When the door opens, my head snaps toward it, expecting Azaire to walk in. I rise, leaning on the counter and turning to face my friend with a long sigh. It’s been ages since we’ve spoken, and I have much to say. But instead of his blue beanie and soft eyes, I see Yuki.
Grief strikes me as if it’s a solid thing, breaking through the thin skin and brittle bone that protect my heart.
Azaire is what’s missing.
“What are you working on?” Yuki asks.
I glance back at the canvas. My hands rise to cover it, then stop midway. The paint is wet; I don’t want to smear it.
Yet as I rest my eyes upon my art, there’s nothing upon the white canvas.
“I don’t know.” My lips twist.
“Do you want to train?” Yuki asks, his tone and demeanor awkward, which I’m not used to from him.
I suppose it’s because we haven’t trained since the Arcanes attacked.
It’s Yuki’s awkward demeanor that has me say “Yes,” mostly out of pity.
Yuki skips out of the room, and I follow, our boots squeaking against the marble as we head to the combat room.
As usual, we spar with wooden bōs. He’s a Drae—a creature with nearly impenetrable skin.
The wood is a favor for me, though I have no heart to put into the fight, for every piece of that organ is splayed elsewhere.
It leaves little hope for me in simple tasks like these, yet I find my courage as I swing the staff.
Leiholan comes into the room, hobbling on his prosthetic leg and clutching a crutch. As usual, he pulls a bottle of vesi from the back cabinets.
“Your secret stash?” Yuki asks, a half-smile tugging at his lips.
“Backup.” Leiholan twists the cork and drinks.
“Why?” I ask, glancing in his direction.
“Supply shortage,” he mutters.
I drop my staff and walk off the mat toward Leiholan. “They’re not delivering vesi?”
“And much to my dismay,” Leiholan adds.
Vesi is made in the septic of Ilyria. There should be plenty of ingredients; a shortage means trouble—or rebellion. Perhaps my declaration caused political unrest, though that seems unlikely.
Eyeing the bottle, I mutter, “I take it you won’t be sharing?”
Leiholan scoffs, grumbling something under his breath, though he hands me the bottle as if we’re comrades. Get drunk with a dude once, and you’re bonded for life, I suppose.
Afterward, Leiholan hobbles toward the door, one hand on his alcohol, the other on a crutch. Every few steps, he winces, and the door shuts behind him.
Yuki steps forward, clutching his staff. “Are we done?”
I step back onto the mat. “No.”
“Are you gonna try this time?” he asks.
“Yeah, man.” I run a hand over my face. “Apologies.”
Yuki lowers his staff. “I understand if you’re not in the mood.” His tone is softer than I get from anyone else recently.
“I’m not in the mood for much of anything these days.”
My advisor nods and lowers himself to the mat, stained with blood. I join him. He looks at me, expecting me to take the reins in this conversation, no doubt. I reach into my pocket, searching for something to spin, only to find my silver wolf missing.
And the pain in my chest, the mucus in the back of my throat I’d nearly forgotten.
“Lilac’s ready for a fight. Azaire’s…” I drag a hand along my jaw. “It’s not that things are out of place. It’s that their places are gone.”
Yuki nods. “I give everyone flack, but if you need help figuring things out, I have the brain for you.”
“An odd way of reminding me you’re a Drae,” I say. His kind are the smartest creatures in the universe.
Yuki’s head hangs low.
“Are you waiting for me to say something more?” I ask.
He shrugs. “I’ve been waiting for you to say something more for weeks.”
“Why?”
My advisor’s gaze meets mine, an emotion clouding his purple eyes—a doubt or worry I wish to understand.
“Something is missing from people’s minds.
” He lowers his voice, for obvious reasons.
Mind reading is taboo—a trick of the Draes that isn’t widely taught.
Yuki is one of the few people in the universe who can use such a power; he’s been trained as a Royal advisor since childhood.
My parents assumed they’d need a power like this.
Yuki’s head tips down. “I can sense it exponentially in yours.”
Holding his gaze becomes harder. “You’re reading my mind?” I ask, slightly offended.
“You’re letting your wards drop.”
I could go for more vesi. I turn to the cabinet, spotting the lock. Not that a lock could stop me, though it feels wrong to steal from a man missing a leg.
Facing Yuki once more, I say, “I didn’t know I could do that.”
Wards are the only things that protect us from mental abilities. Mine have been in place for as long as I can remember, hiding the truth about my parents from anyone who wanted to find it.
“It’s recent,” he says. “What’s missing?”
I give him a blank stare. Do I pull another person into this?
An Arcane was here—and I’ve already vowed to kill them.
It’s mine and Cynthia’s problem, even as I doubt my true intentions.
Azaire died because I was shortsighted. Every day now, I come closer to thinking he’s right—more death won’t solve my problems.
Killing the Arcanes has been my only hope for so long. Yet it won’t change a thing.
That doesn’t stop me from wanting it. It only makes me wonder if the wanting is habit.
After a moment, I ask, “Who else is missing something?”
Who else knew the Arcane was here? This… Desdemona? Worse, what will I do with the information he provides?
“Everyone who fought with us. Some teachers.”
My heart plummets, settling deep in my gut. An internal scream echoes, as if I’m standing at the edge of a cliff, calling for something I cannot place or understand. I reach for it—for the sun in the sky, an impossible task.
“What about your mind?” I ask. “Is something missing?”
He shrugs. “How do you think I knew what to look for in others?”
We all knew her. She fought with us.
I have to read that journal.
“The name is Desdemona,” I whisper, the words tasting like treason.
“Her name.” I look around the combat room, searching for people I don’t want present, though I know with certainty no one is here.
“She’s an Arcane,” I state, “and she was living among us, no doubt collecting information to harm us.”
To harm Cynthia and me, then the entire universe. She’s responsible for my lapse in memory. She’s likely the reason the Arcanes made it out of the academy after Icarthus claimed me as his son.
“Well, fuck me,” Yuki says, leaning back, open-mouthed. “Do you want me to take a look? See if I can put anything together?”
“No.” There’s too much he could find in my mind—information that would only serve to hurt him if he knew. “If anything comes up, I’ll let you know.”
Yuki smiles absently. “Sure thing.”