Chapter 19
CHAPTER
Outside, the sun had turned from brilliant white to crimson as it made its way toward the horizon.
I would welcome the cooler temperatures that came with nightfall, but even then, the dry heat still sat heavy all around me.
Trace continued to walk farther down the alley, making a turn into one of the houses abandoned after the fire.
I followed silently, entering behind him.
He continued onward, up a dilapidated staircase to the rooftop of the house.
I chose my steps carefully, trying to ensure I did not fall through what remained of the stairs, while also trying to keep soot off my uniform.
When we reached the rooftop, I gladly greeted the gentle breeze that threatened to pluck a few sweaty strands of hair that were matted to my forehead.
We walked aimlessly along the flat expanse of sand-colored clay and charred thatch, avoiding what came next.
Finally, when there was no more roof to traverse, he sat down, his legs dangling over the edge, and I took a seat beside him facing the opposite direction.
I noticed the way the sun highlighted tiny, almost imperceptible lines on his face.
Ones that should not be there for as young as we were.
Ones easily glamoured away, if he cared to.
Signs of the wear and tear on his body from all he’d been made to endure—to carry out.
The silence between us no longer felt uncomfortable. It felt like surrender. There was an eerie calm to it now that we were alone, playing strangers in a strange land. His voice shattered that silence, breaking it into pieces like shards of glass with a confession I couldn’t deny him.
“You know they sent me first because I was already a monster, long before arriving at Basdie.”
The Trace I’d met and once knew wasn’t a monster, but I didn’t know anything of his true past, so I found I couldn’t argue. My words would be placating and hollow, at best.
Instead, I said, “To protect the realm, we must sometimes do unspeakable things. That is clear to me now. The realm is in your debt, and you will be forgiven.”
He turned to face me, his expression swarmed by so many emotions, none of them indicating agreement with what I’d said.
“Forgiveness?” he laughed in disbelief. “Do you remember the Bath of the Four Mothers? ‘Within these waters, there is no past, there is no shame, there is no regret. You are forgiven before forgiveness is asked.’”
He quoted the words so succinctly, it was almost as if I could hear the priestess’s voice again. His hands balled tightly into fists resting on his thighs, and he clenched his jaw as he continued.
“I was never forgiven, and I never will be. I have nothing but shame and regret from my past, my present, and what little my future holds. What forgiveness exists for me?”
The sorrow in his words lingered on every syllable, and he clearly believed them to be true. Recalling the ease with which we used to care for each other, I dared to push the conversation further.
“Before Basdie, why did you choose the life of a black cloak?”
Ever since finding out about his past, I had wanted to understand what could make anyone fill their days with such vile acts by choice.
He scoffed at me. “You think I chose that life? It had been bred—no, burned into me…” He raised his voice, pointing to the scar on his brow he had briefly stopped glamouring.
“My father, my brothers, theirs was the only life I’d ever known.
It was the only life expected of me. Did you think I could just abandon them without consequence?
That my own father wouldn’t hunt me down and put me to the blade for such a betrayal? ”
His voice quieted a bit as he tried to articulate his emotions in a way I could understand.
“I am drawn to duty the way fate draws you to him.” He nudged his chin into the unseen distance, the direction of the Endless Tides—where Varro was stationed.
“I am bound to my allegiance the way you’re bound to him.
While other children were taught table manners, I was instructed to serve my commander.
My mother’s fables were soon replaced by my father’s recounting of revered generals and sickening war tactics not meant for children’s ears.
I did not choose the life of a mercenary. But it is all I know. All I am.”
“Is that why you left me to die?” I said quickly in retort, baiting him with my use of the old tongue. And when he began his reply, I gave him a knowing look and interjected. “For all your upbringing and talk of duty, no one made you a liar! All this time, you spoke the old tongue?”
Trace shook his head, realizing what I’d done, but quickly prepared his retaliation in our verbal sparring. “Did you think I would suddenly forego secrecy upon entering a secret Order?”
As if that excuse made a difference, or even addressed the question!
“All you ever did was lie to me… I can’t trust you.
I was ready to accept you, if you had just fought for it.
For me. If you had just found a way to trust me, I would have spent my days trying to heal your broken heart.
To mend your tainted soul. But you are unmendable! ”
The words left my tongue before I could polish them with any sense of consideration.
Tears bordered my eyes, because this conversation had been fighting to explode from my insides since his betrayal.
Admitting to him aloud that I had seen a chance for us, even while at Basdie, incited feelings of guilt toward my mate.
But Trace needed to know that he was the one who lost me.
“And what would you have me do, Cress? Fight fate? Bend the will of destiny? You’re his fucking mate!
His Moirai…” He elongated its pronunciation in mocking.
“I knew that long before you ever did. I could smell it on him since the moment he saw you. Every day I let myself believe I could still have you was delaying the inevitable. The Gods took you from me; there was never any choice in the matter!”
The tears were becoming harder to fight, and my teeth hurt from how badly I had been clenching them, listening to every word of his admission.
“I was worth fighting fate for.”
I said the words plainly, confidently, wanting him to know my conviction.
The Gods could plan whatever future they wanted, but I would decide who claimed my heart—something Varro understood.
He insisted that I not fulfill the bond out of duty or responsibility, but because I needed him, wanted him… because I chose him.
“I can’t fight with you anymore,” he pleaded.
“And I can’t trust you,” I replied.
“What can I do? Yours is the only forgiveness I seek.”
I thought on the question in silence. Could I give him forgiveness of any kind? Did he even deserve it?
“You promised to right your wrongs. But that’s not good enough. Mark it with magic. Make me a bargain.”
The demand left my mouth before I even considered the ramifications of such a request. How would Varro feel about me binding myself in any way to Trace?
Would I come to regret this decision? He was the only one in our Order who had outright showed me that he would put the mission above our safety.
While that was the intent, I did not believe the others would so easily risk their comrades’ lives.
He held out his hand to me. Before I could question it further, I clasped my hands around his, noting the rough, calloused texture and scars that had not been there before. His gaze stared into mine, seeking any semblance of my approval.
“Swear to protect the lives of the Imperi at all costs, putting their safety above your own. Forsake this bargain, and you will meet the Gods a coward, by my hand or that of another. Only they will hear your sorrowful pleas.”
My words were sharp and grave. Both a command and a promise, all in one.
Trace lacked what the rest of us had understood inherently when taking the oath of the Imperi: Our loyalty wasn’t just bound to the cause, but to each other.
Trace, however, required explicit instruction.
It’s all he ever understood. He was not raised to judge nuance.
He was not raised to have empathy or question orders.
If he had never known a higher authority than duty or the mission, I would give him one. He had now bound himself to me, to us.
With his life.
I would have no problem delivering him to the Gods myself if he ever betrayed one of us again.
Trace clutched me hard enough that his nails pressed into my hand, looking me in the eye and binding himself to me with magic.
“I will. You have my word, on my life.”
Trace did not pull his hand back from mine as we stayed that way a moment longer, understanding this was likely the last time we would ever touch this way.
His hand felt so heavy in mine, like it held all the weight of our past in it.
As if we held them long enough, we could disintegrate all the bad memories, or somehow go back in time and do things differently.
Not that it could have swayed my heart. He did not flinch or turn away from my assessing gaze as I studied his face, my reflection in his eyes.
Had I ever truly known this male? Did he even know his true self?
Or had he only ever been what was expected of him?
I imagined dark charcoal on his fingertips, solitary moments of him drawing beautiful landscapes, a haven from his harsh reality.
Flashes of the soft Nightwing feather grazing my skin.
The safety I once felt in his embrace, inhaling the scent of pine and sandalwood.
Five questions. A gloved hand. A knife at a gambler’s throat.
A whole timeline of memories that now seemed like a means to an end.
There was a path the Gods had laid out, and our time was merely a detour.
I closed my eyes and tucked away the tears of what might have been, feeling the closure of this moment take hold in my heart.
When I opened my eyes again and looked into his, he knew.
We both did. That I belonged to someone else.
That I chose that person, and he chose me.
Trace would spend the rest of his days making up for what he’d done, a loss I was sure he’d feel in more ways than one.
Haunted by his decisions. And that was all the revenge I could ask for.