Chapter 32 #2
Greer is in the middle of slipping off her dress when the Umbra’s voice cuts through the chilled night, “Who’s there?”
Honestly, I’m impressed with how perfectly shrill it sounds.
The male jolts, quickly helping Greer back into her clothes, and the two of them scatter like beetles, racing off back to the Estate. I’d be prouder of myself if it had been my idea.
I turn back to the Hound.
“Not bad.” His accent is more prominent now that we aren’t having to whisper. “Much better than murdering them, don’t you think, Killer?”
“I’m not a killer.”
He moves towards the Baron’s body, kicking some leaves out of the way. Pale, black-veined skin reflects white amongst the foliage. The Hound looks back at me with a frown.
“Self-defense doesn’t count.”
“I see.” He nods absent-mindedly, pushing away the rest of the twigs and leaves, then he moves back to my side. I flinch when he leans down to whisper, “For the record, he deserved death. It was ready for him.”
I look up at him, noting the certainty in his gaze.
If I were standing next to anyone else, I might have taken that statement as a metaphor.
I’m not sure how much he controls when it comes to death, but something is hair-raising about the surety in his declaration.
His closeness with death. His ability to personify it.
To know what it wants and what it is ready for.
The Hound inhales, and my gaze drops to the flare of his nostrils. Straightening, his dark countenance shifts into something more casual. “Burn it,” he says simply.
“The Baron?” I clarify, eyes wide on his. “Won’t that draw attention? A fire in the woods?”
“Not if you keep it contained,” comes his reply. “We’re far enough out, and no one is coming.”
“How do you know that?”
The Hound doesn’t answer with words. He simply taps his nose with his forefinger.
“You can…smell them?”
He pauses, head tilting in my direction. “You don’t know anything about me, do you?”
“I know you must think very highly of yourself if you expect me to get answers from ambiguous gestures.”
“Yes,” he exhales. “I can smell them.”
Brows rising at the finality in his statement, I rock back on my heels and gesture to the Baron. I have too many other pressing questions to dissect his reply. “Why can’t we just bury him?”
“Aside from the fact that this is much faster?” he answers my question with another question, and it’s starting to grate on my nerves.
That must be evident on my face because before I can prod further, he explains, “The Baron isn’t a source; his blood is.
You won’t get rid of his effect on the Ward without getting rid of him completely.
” The Hound surveys his body, the fabric of his suit bunching as he folds his arms across his chest. “And I suggest burning, unless you’d rather string him up like a pig and—”
“No,” I refuse with a wince.
“Squeamish?”
“Merciful.”
He laughs at that, a low and dark chuckle. “You are better than I, Killer.”
His statement gives me pause. While I’m sure my morals are straighter than the Hound’s, I don’t believe I’m better than most. I believe I’m somewhere towards the bottom, actually.
Beneath Callan and my friends…all of Pirn…
I’m higher on the list than a full-rogue but closer to the Hound than I’d like to be.
No one trembles in my presence, but people would surely question my innocence if they got a real glimpse at the demons I carry.
Or demon.
But after all this is over. After I save our people and bring them home. Maybe then, I could sit in the same league as all the people I look up to. Maybe then, I’d still be half-rogue— half something wicked—but I’ll have proved that corrupt blood does not mean a corrupt soul. Not always.
Merciful, I think, nodding to myself as Solian magic drips into my veins, and a spark of Rogue power swirls alongside it.
My skin heats, the air gets colder, and when I open my palms, fire dances there. Flickering and cracking but not consuming, not until I direct it towards the Baron and permit it to be free.
It bursts out of me, a bit harsher than I would have liked it to, and the Baron’s cloak catches fire, flames crawling up his body. Over his face. Burning straight through flesh and bone.
Dark red and deep orange hues light up the forest around us, smoke rising to the thick canopy overhead. I hadn’t realized just how cold the night was until the warmth reaches my skin, kissing my cheeks, melting through layers of fear and uncertainty.
Fire is home. It’s nourishment and fuel. It lifts my spirit and grounds my soul. It’s so boisterously alive that it’s contagious. It makes me want to dance with it.
Until I remember what’s burning.
My expression falls grim. We stand there in silence, neither of us taking our attention off the fire.
“Hotter.”
I do as he says. I don’t have enough body-burning experience to argue.
The flames burn white hot—so bright I’m forced to squint to make sure the fire is contained. I pull back when it burns too high, and funnel more magic in when the Hound calls for me, feeding the flames. Encouraging them to eat through the Baron’s body.
By the time I hit bone, there’s a substantial layer of sweat on my skin, soaking through my clothes. My head weighs a million pounds, but I don’t dare give away my exhaustion. I don’t know my accomplice well enough to show any weakness.
“Alright,” his voice startles me, a deep resonance in the settled silence, “that’s enough.”
On a steep exhale, I sever my connection and begin extinguishing the flames. Before I’ve even fully snuffed it, the Hound approaches the fire, kicking through the Baron’s bones as the last of the embers die out.
“Perfect,” he says, then abruptly freezes amidst the charred remains.
Dark eyes flick up to the woods beside us, gaze narrowing as if he’s trying to see something through the forestry.
“I’ll come back for these later,” he decides, quickly shoving the remains into a shallow dip in the dirt. He covers them with whatever leaves and sticks are around it, then promptly turns to leave. “We have to go,” he says over his shoulder.
“Wait,” I rush to his side. “You said you’d answer my questions.”
The Hound glances down at me, confused at first, and then the memory of the deal we made comes flooding back to him. “I did.” He fixes his gaze straight ahead.
“You’re going to answer them, right?” I take hurried steps to keep up with him, twigs snapping beneath my boots. “Truthfully?”
“I said I would, didn’t I?”
“Well, yes, but…” But maybe you tricked me? But surely it can’t be that easy?
Granted, burning a body in the woods with a stranger is far from easy, but still, he’s the Hound for fucks sake. He can do whatever he wants, whenever he wants. Who am I to think he makes honest deals?
“I’m not sure what your word is worth,” I tell him.
The Hound whirls around to face me, such intensity on his face that my mouth snaps shut.
“I’m not sure what you’ve heard about me, Lucina. Probably that I’m heartless, cruel, unforgiving…” he prattles off. “All of it is true.”
I swallow, shrinking in the shell of his stance.
“But there’s a key difference between me and your enemy.
Yes, I’ve done awful things, but I do them to awful people.
I am not, as you said, merciful. Not when it comes to those who don’t deserve mercy.
I deflect questions because I hate liars and refuse to become one—it causes me physical pain to do so,” he grits out.
“You asked me to answer honestly. That is the deal we made. So that is exactly what I will do.” He lets the statement linger for a few seconds before adding, “Do you understand?”
Something clicks.
I’m not sure what or where, but I feel pieces shifting. Gears turning. And when I manage a nod, I actually mean it. I do understand. Worse even, I think I believe him.
Somewhere between his keeping Alesi a secret, his guidance in taking down the ward, and his assistance in covering up my crime…a morsel of trust has appeared in whatever fucked up relationship we’ve formed.
But the way he spoke just then—the intensity in his voice, his stare, his expression. He didn’t want me to believe it; he needed me to.
And it worked.
The skepticism is still there, lingering in the back of my subconscious, but I do, to a certain extent…trust him.
It feels like a trick. Like he’s slipped something into my brain and orchestrated it all. But he didn’t—I don’t think. It feels too…natural.
The Hound holds my stare a moment longer before glancing in the direction of the Estate. When he looks back at me, there’s a defeated look on his face. “We don’t have time.”
“Time for what?”
He crosses the distance between us with purpose, reaching out like he’s going to grab me.
I throw my hand up between us, my previously calm heart now pounding in my chest. “What are you doing?”
“I’ll need to Snare us. We won’t make it back inside without being seen.”
My brows jump up my forehead. “You’ll need to what?”
“It’s how I got you out of the dungeon.” Before I’ve even given consent, blue smoke begins to swirl around his feet. “Just hold on.”
“Absolutely not.” I jump backwards, furiously shaking my head. “No. I hated the way that… stuff…made me feel.”
“It was your first time, and you were unprepared.”
“I’m still unprepared.”
My attention snaps to the sound of voices ahead, and he utilizes the distraction, grabbing my wrist and yanking me towards him.
“If you had a choice, Lucina, I promise I’d give it to you.”
The smoke that rises around us, I realize, is the same shade as his irises. It moves in swirls—just like the pigment in his eyes. Like it’s part of him.
I grit my teeth in frustration as he shifts his grip, and my brows furrow when he moves to press his fingertips against the inside of my wrist. My fight gives way to confusion.
“For the nausea,” he whispers.
Then my world goes dark.