51. Chapter Fifty-One #2
Trinte grimaces, watching me warily. “Once it's activated, it has to be completed within twenty-one days.”
“You did not mention that,” I hiss. A part of me hoped it could be put off until everyone forgot about it.
“I was going to, once breakfast was done,” he says calmly. “We’re about twenty minutes ahead of schedule in that regard.”
Pushing away the rest of the pancakes, sick to my stomach, I sit back in the chair. “So I have three weeks until you could possibly die?”
“I’m not going to die,” he says evenly.
“Trinte won’t die,” Fynn says at the same time.
I let out a bitter laugh. “You don’t know that. Neither of you does.”
Trinte looks at the three of us, sitting back. His jaw saws back and forth while he contemplates whatever he’s about to say. He stands. We watch him walk to the kitchen. There’s the sound of glass bottles and the fridge closing, then he’s walking back with four Heimlocks in his hands.
“It’s nine in the morning,” Fynn says, eyeing his as Trinte passes them out.
“You’re going to want a drink for this, brother.”
“For what?”
Trinte opens his drink by shoving the bottle’s neck into the crease of his elbow and popping off the top. Without looking at me, he does the same for mine. Why is that so damn attractive?
“You’ve asked for answers for years. Now you’re going to get them. Then maybe, just maybe—” He shoots Orliana a meaningful look. “—you’ll understand my choices.”
Trinte proceeds to tell all of us his life story.
From the first time his father blamed him as a toddler for killing his mother, to his first assault, and onward.
The beatings, starvation, and being refused simple luxuries like beds or showers.
How he was electrocuted for not complying; what happened on the day he lost his eye.
By the end, there’s not a dry eye amongst us. I’ve been quietly crying for the last hour, holding his hand for dear life. The things this man has endured are unimaginable, and that’s not counting the things he doesn’t share about his adulthood.
“I had no idea,” Fynn says, face twisted with anguish.
Trinte wipes away a tear with the back of his hand. “I know. He said no one would believe me. I tried showing the bruises to a teacher, and they didn’t do anything about it. So it was easy to think he was right.”
My heart has cracked in half, and all I want to do is curl into his lap. To hold him until every pain has melted away.
Orliana wipes away a tear. “I’ve never heard of the Cairanin before; does the loser endure pain?” When Trinte nods, Orliana’s eyes spark with something dark. “Good.”
Trinte’s mouth flattens in a grimace. “I don’t think I’ll have peace until he’s dead, Orliana. And I deserve peace more than he deserves life.” He looks at Fynn. “Did he mention why he showed up?”
Fynn shakes his head. “There was never a chance. He’d just arrived.”
Trinte hums thoughtfully. “It’s selfish, whatever it is.”
“I have a question,” Orliana says quietly. Trinte raises an eyebrow, offering silent permission. Twirling a strand of hair with a finger, she asks, “What … did he say at the Weyr reunion? To set you off?”
Trinte’s entire body freezes. His knuckles whiten around the beer bottle. Fynn leans forward, clearly interested. Me? Judging by his reaction, I’m filled with dread. I watch his throat work, like the words are stuck in his throat.
I scoot my chair closer to him and snatch up a hand. He returns my hand squeeze before saying to Orliana, “He said he missed my body.”
A yawning pit in my stomach opens up, starving for every inch of devastation that coats my bones right now. A grown man, a father, told that to his son.
“I’ll kill him if you want.” I mean every word.
Trinte sends me a flat look. “You’re so bloodthirsty. You sure you don’t have any Dragon in you?”
It’s clear the moment he says the words, he regrets them. He rolls his eyes and sighs in resignation when I flash a wicked grin.
“Sometimes I do!”
“They’re very well matched,” Fynn mutters, but I catch him smiling as he takes a sip of his beer.
“Trinte,” Orliana says quietly. “Do you want me to take any of it?”
His gaze flicks to the pendant around her neck, where she stores siphoned emotions. “No. This is my burden to bear. My battle to fight. For better or worse, this has been my life, and it’s my journey to walk.”
“You're more wise than you look,” Fynn says dryly, then looks at me. “I’ll join you in the killing if you want.”
Trinte grunts. “You already tore out his eye. I'll get the rest.”
I laugh. “You did what?!”
Fynn visibly preens. “I plucked it out and stuffed it in a napkin as a gift.”
I’m about to compliment Fynn when Trinte says, “I still have it.”
All three of us whip our heads toward him.
“Excuse you?” I say sharply.
He stares at his beer, like he isn’t admitting to an ornamental eyeball tucked somewhere around her. “Yeah. In the far left kitchen cabinet. Top shelf. I put it in a jar.”
I bolt upright, as does Fynn. We both rush over to the cabinet. I fling it open and Fynn curses. There it is, in a large, clear jar: one big ol’ floating hazel eye staring into nothingness.
Orliana, still at the table, asks, “What did you do with the napkin?”
He sounds so nonchalant when he says, “Threw it away. Smelled weird.”
I spin, grinning from ear to ear. “I think there’s something wrong with me because that is so hot.”
“There’s definitely something wrong with you,” Orliana quips, clearly less enthralled with the revelation. She’s actually turning a pale shade of green.
“I should have taken both,” Fynn mutters.
“Don’t worry, I have it handled on that front,” Trinte assures him with a wry smile. The longer I look at him, all I can think is how much I need him naked right now.
I look at Fynn. “Do you feel better?”
He gives me a startled look. “What?”
Pointing at his brother, I announce, “That one is going to be naked in two minutes. You’re either here or you’re not. But either way, I’m—”
“Okay!” Fynn practically yells, holding his hands up. “Got it. No more details, please.”
Trinte grins wildly at his brother. “You heard the woman. Scram.”
Orliana chuckles and stands. “We’ll leave you to your eyeball foreplay and whatever weird stuff you’re into.”
Trinte and I glance at one another; there’s no telling what kind of weird stuff we’ll be into. Either way, they need to get the fuck out.
I motion for Fynn to move faster. “Okay, thank you for coming over. Great conversation. See you at family dinner where we won’t mention the eyeball around Talia or Joulian.”
Orliana and Trinte hug, holding it a beat longer than normal. I know they built a bond in Slous, and it makes me happy to see him have another person to trust.
Fynn turns to me with a shrewd expression. “You would hurt me for him?”
“Any time, any place.”
He nods once, as if confirming something to himself. “He deserves that.” Lowering his voice, he says, “I’m glad you don’t mind sitting in some graves.”
I lean in closer to whisper, “You’re acting like I haven’t dug a few myself.”
Fynn’s golden eyes flick over me with new awareness and appreciation, then opens his arms. “Friends again?”
“As long as we’re not just friends,” I mutter. He chuckles, gathering me in his arms. I squeeze him back, grateful that he and Trinte are okay. At least, on the path to being okay.
He releases me and turns to hug his brother. I try not to listen to their exchange, instead focusing on Orliana.
Gathering my best friend into my arms, I whisper, “These Gleanscale brothers are wild.”
“You have no idea,” she mutters, brushing a kiss against my cheek. “Text me later?”
Looking at the Dragon I’m about to pounce on, I say, “Later is the operative word.”
I shoo them out with over-exaggerated and strained smiles. The moment Trinte closes the door, I leap into his arms.