Chapter 28
CHAPTER
I don’t know how long I laid crying atop the male’s lifeless, blood-soaked body.
My hand clutched the dagger, unwilling to accept that there was nothing more that could be done.
The pain in my chest was still unbearable.
The distraction from my grief was a temporary bliss, because the rage had felt manageable.
But the grief still came in uncontrollable swells.
I had never felt anything like it in my short life.
I had never lost anything or anyone that mattered until this moment.
Time stood still and nothing felt real. I lay against the lifeless corpse so long, I felt my skin turning as cold as his.
My perspiration had now dried on my skin, causing me to shiver.
My companions conversed around me, but the ringing in my ears obscured their words.
They moved about the cramped, charred interior as if I wasn’t there.
Eventually, I felt a warm hand rest gently atop my back, and Varro crouched down till he was eye-level with me.
Tears burned my eyes, blurring my vision until I was able to focus on the unmistakable vivid blue of his uncertain gaze.
“Cress,” he whispered, his tone soft, gentle. “It is done.”
My mind searched desperately for another foothold of anger, a toehold of vengeance. But only anguish, like a cold, unyielding stone wall, remained. My entire body felt sore now that the adrenaline of my actions had subsided.
“Let me help you down,” he offered, giving me his other hand for support. I slid off the body and steadied myself before fully standing upright. My nightgown was soaked crimson; the others did not appear any cleaner—except for Saryn, whose attire remained pristine.
He stepped forward, making certain to avoid one of the puddles of blood beneath his feet.
“I will handle this mess. Tomorrow…more precisely later today, is the sabbath. Each of you needs to return to your stations before your absence is noted. If you are able, we should reconvene as soon as possible.”
One by one, they exited in silence. My mind had already begun to race, frustrated with everyone’s aversion to discussing the possibility of retrieving our friend’s body and giving her a proper funeral.
Wasn’t anyone else concerned with getting to the bottom of who caused this and what we were going to do with them?
How was Gia going to make it safely back to her bedroom looking like she had murdered someone?
I’d need to help her dispose of our compromised clothing.
And what of Cairis? His uniform was fully soiled.
And now he needed to account for a missing prisoner?
It seemed like the best course of action was for everyone to remain at the safehouse and resolve these matters, but no one showed the slightest bit of interest.
In the alleyway, each portaled away to their own unique destinations in sullen silence, resigned to handle these mounting questions and concerns on their own.
I didn’t want to be alone, though; I didn’t want to be without any of them.
Why was I the only one that wanted to stay?
Having lost one of our own had put me on edge.
We were stronger together. Varro took notice of my antsy fidgeting that grew worse with each departure, till only he and I remained.
Our reunion after the Ledor Canyon was meant to be so different, but now those events were far from my mind.
“Come with me,” he asked in a tone that sounded more demand than question.
“I can’t, I’ve never seen the bay. I can’t portal there,” I argued.
“I know. We’ll walk. A change of scenery will do you good,” Varro proposed, taking my hand before I could respond.
My hand was sticky, still covered in dried blood, but he took it without hesitation.
He led the way at a slow, steady pace down winding streets I had never had permission or reason to wander.
The sky above was still aglow with stars and moonslight, but it wouldn’t be long before it became a soft blue-gray from the encroaching sunrise.
Had anyone actually been awake at this hour, they might have been confused and shocked at the sight of us strolling hand-in-hand, covered in blood.
Varro walked confidently, like he’d always known these roads and this city outside of the castle walls.
I imagined someone peeking their head out a window and him waving jauntily, wishing them well before we continued on our way.
His calm demeanor was a stark contrast to mine, which was still coming down from the night’s deviant activities.
He did not speak the rest of the way to wherever he was leading me, but instead of being uncomfortable, the silence was contemplative and welcomed—there was just something about being in his presence, our two humming pieces of the bond seeking refuge in one another.
When we arrived at the street’s end, the three moons of Demir sparkled on the bay before us and small waves flowed into the sandy shorelines.
In what little light there was from above, along with a scattering of lanterns, I could see rows and rows of docks with large ships in various stages of construction.
Some almost complete, others in their infancy.
The shoreline was littered with large stacks of wood and enough other materials to build a fleet.
All was quiet on the bay, apart from the soothing exhalations of water and a slight breeze that caused sails to flutter and untethered ropes to rustle against their masts.
It was clear Silas and Zarif were making preparations for something significant, and I suddenly swelled with hope that demolishing the mine had thwarted their plans to some degree.
When we reached the beach, I slipped off my shoes, realizing that Varro had been barefoot this entire time.
He must have portaled to the safehouse so abruptly in his concern for me that he hadn’t bothered to put any on.
The sand beneath my feet felt softer, finer, and cooler than what I had encountered in most of Artume.
The sensations flooded my thoughts with a similar memory from my youth, when my father took me to Erisas Bay and let me collect seashells along the beach while he made small talk with other guild members.
There was a moment, just one, where I thought to convince Varro that now was the time for us to make an attempt at fleeing the Order.
There had been no greater opportunity than the one before us now.
We were both well-suited for the sea, and with Saryn distracted and Theory far enough away, we might be able to escape this fate and find some way to remove our brands without dying in the process.
It would be worth the risk. But I did not speak of those fanciful wishes.
The magic shackles branded and hidden beneath our wrists would always prevail.
Varro continued to guide me toward a small boathouse whose exterior appeared salt-weathered and suffering decay.
When we entered, he immediately lit a lantern hanging on the wall and then a candle sitting atop a dingy table.
“What is this place?” I inquired, assessing my surroundings.
“Home away from home,” he said, turning to face me with an endearing smile.
“Do all the ship workers get these sorts of accommodations?”
Varro laughed. “No, not at all. With their wages and gambling or drinking habits, they’d never save enough to acquire a place like this.”
He spoke of it like it was something grand—and grand, it was not. But it did appear to be his.
“So, how did you afford it then?”
“Let’s just say my abilities can be used for less violent and more convincing means than what I’ve been forced to demonstrate in your presence.”
He gave me a nefarious grin, and I rolled my eyes at the insinuation.
Varro had somehow stolen…acquired…whatever he preferred to call it…
a sum of money that allowed him to rent this private boathouse.
The center of it was a boat slip cutout, exposing the water to the interior of the structure, where a modest rowboat was tied off.
On the opposite side was a meager cot. The space was dusty and dark, but cozy.
During the daytime, the two small windows, one on each side, would allow for sunlight.
However, I wasn’t certain I wanted to see this place in broad daylight.
It made the servants’ quarters seem respectable.
Varro went to a small chest at the foot of his bed and pulled out a loose-fitting shirt and a pair of pants.
The pants were far too big for me, but had an adjustable drawstring, so they would work.
He set them on the table, indicating they were for me to change into.
He then proceeded to fill a bucket with seawater from the center of the slip and rung out a sponge.
I lifted up my nightgown, exposing my naked body to him; but in that moment, there was no sexual energy between us.
I was numb, and he was distracted with the task at hand, which was taking care of me.
He set the bucket at my feet and knelt down, beginning to scrub the blood gently from my skin.
The bucket of clear saltwater turned to a swirl of blood after only one dip of the sponge.
He refilled it with fresh water and continued his process of cleansing me.
I closed my eyes and relaxed into his touch and the cool sensation of the water dribbling down my legs.
He held my hands in his and cleaned my fingertips and nails meticulously to ensure no evidence remained.
“You don’t have to do this, I can just—”
“I want to. And I know you can. I’m very aware of what you’re capable of, Moirai,” he protested kindly.