Chapter Thirteen #2
Trusting people was just as dangerous as caring about them. It only gave them more ways to hurt her. Lyssa couldn’t imagine Alderic betraying her like Honoria had—he wanted the Beast dead, too, after all—but that didn’t mean it was safe to let him in.
It was better to be lonely than vulnerable. Better to be heartless than weak.
Alderic was right—humans were social creatures, and it was difficult to curb the urge to form bonds, especially in the face of shared circumstances or grief.
But she had to curb it. Her oath was the only thing that mattered, and she was on the verge of finally fulfilling it.
Alderic was a distraction at best, a liability at worst, and if she didn’t uproot this insidious vine of affection, it could strangle her and jeopardize everything.
He had simply caught her off guard, at the lake, with his swift emotional dissection of her. His honesty about his past, his scars. But there was still time to rectify her mistakes before they bloomed into bigger ones.
Besides, it was for his own good, as well. He didn’t want attachments any more than she did, and what was the point of becoming friends—if that was even where this was headed—when she was just going to die soon, anyway?
By the time she got out of the steaming pool, her flesh was healed and her heart was armored anew.
She went straight to the smithy, her clothes clinging uncomfortably to her damp skin, and took the creaking stairs two at a time.
If Alderic was still asleep, she would sit at her desk and wait for him to wake up; she couldn’t stand the thought of going back to the cottage with Ragnhild and Nadia and their knowing smiles.
But Alderic was awake already, staring at the articles about the Beast that she had tacked up all over the walls around her bed.
“Why do you want to kill it so badly?” he asked without turning around. Like he knew it was her by her footsteps alone.
“Do you ever listen to what anyone tells you, or are you too busy thinking about your next shopping spree?” she said with as much frost in her voice as she could muster. “Rags and I won’t stop until we’ve killed every last faerie and Hound on this island.”
“You don’t have an entire wall devoted to every last faerie and Hound,” he said, his voice hollow as he peered at the collection of articles speculating about why there had been a monster at the circus to begin with. “You have a wall devoted to the Beast of Buxton Fields.”
The words were on the tip of her tongue again: The Beast killed my brother and I swore an oath to kill it, but she shoved them away.
The time for confessions was over between them.
She had made her decision and she had to stick with it—for Eddie, for Alderic, and for herself.
It didn’t matter that they had this grief in common.
All that mattered was avenging those they had lost, and sharing any more of herself with him than she already had would only make that more difficult.
“I want to become a legend,” she said instead.
“The Beast killed more people than any of the other Hounds, and then it vanished without a trace. It has become a story people tell their children at night, to scare them into being good. I want to kill all of the Hounds, sure, but if I kill the Beast? I might as well kill Death. And what little girl doesn’t grow up dreaming about killing Death? ”
He didn’t laugh. “Listen. Lyssa.” He finally turned to face her, and she frowned with concern at how miserable he looked. “I think I made a mistake.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I shouldn’t have told you those things, at the lake,” he said, running a hand over his face. There were dark circles beneath his eyes, and she resisted the urge to scold him for not sleeping longer. “About me. About my past. I … wasn’t thinking. I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable.”
“You didn’t make me uncomfortable.” He had done something far worse. He had made her care about him—and she couldn’t afford to care about anyone or anything but killing the Beast.
A sword is only a sword. For all his pretty words about control and the difference between humans and monsters, she knew what she was. A weapon. It was all she’d ever be, until she fulfilled her oath.
“Oh. Good.” He looked at the floor, as though he was trying to figure out how to phrase what he wanted to say next and couldn’t do it if he knew she was staring at him.
“It’s just that … well, it complicates things, if we are anything other than employer and sword-for-hire, and I think it’s best if we discontinue the friendly repartee and fireside confessions, and focus on the task at hand. ”
“I was thinking the same thing,” she said, relieved that he had come to the same conclusion she had. It would make things easier, anyway.
At least, that’s what she tried to tell herself. But beneath the relief was a layer of hurt, like raw skin chafing against a poultice.
He looked startled. “You were?”
“Yes,” she said, angry with herself. “Like I told you before, we don’t need to know anything about each other just because we’re stuck gathering ingredients together. Ragnhild’s bones said you had to come because of your personal connection to the Beast. That has nothing to do with me.”
The words felt wrong, after what had happened at the lake.
He had shared too much of himself with her to take it back now, and in turn he had cracked open something within her that she had thought impenetrable.
He had built a bridge with his honesty, offering her a way out of the lonely liminal realm she had locked her heart away inside.
But she could not allow herself to cross it, even if she wanted to.
Alderic looked like he was going to be sick, and she thought that maybe the words felt wrong to him, too. But he only nodded. “Right. I’m sorry I muddied things up, before.”
“It wasn’t your fault.” It was hers. Enlighten me, she’d said, opening the door for his past to come tumbling out while he stitched up her wounds.
Her hand wrenching up his sleeve to reveal his darkest secret.
She had instigated this dangerous descent as much as he had, because despite how much safer it was to build walls around herself, she could not seem to destroy her hunger for human connection.
“I’m the one who crossed the line, last night.
It was unprofessional, and it won’t happen again. ”
He nodded, but the look of wretched misery didn’t leave his face.
“Feeling all right?” she asked, trying to sound brusque, but she was unable to mask the concern in her voice. “We can stay here for a few hours, if you need more sleep. It shouldn’t throw things off too much.”
“No,” he said. “I just want to get this over with.”
Her throat tightened as she remembered what he had been doing when she came up here—staring at the articles about the Beast. Seeing them must have upset him, must have made him think about his brother. She shook off that persistent impulse to comfort him, and turned her back on him instead.
“Then let’s get going,” she said, retreating down the stairs.
This time, when they left, Nadia was holding a rope looped through Brandy’s collar so that he couldn’t run after them. He barked, a look of utter confusion on his face.
Lyssa knelt down and wrapped her arms around his neck. “You have to stay here,” she told him. “For real this time. It’s not safe for you out there anymore.”
The bullmastiff yowled, insulted, and Lyssa kissed his muzzle in apology.
“He looks so sad,” Alderic said, and Brandy turned pleading eyes on his new friend, perhaps hoping that he might intervene on a poor betrayed dog’s behalf.
“I’d rather he be sad than dead,” Lyssa said sharply.
Her nerves had already been stretched taut from the conversation she’d had with Alderic—the wrongness of it—and now, leaving Brandy behind, they were frayed to the point of snapping.
“He’s too much of a distraction. I can’t afford to worry about him.
I have a job to do, and I need to focus on doing it.
” They met eyes, and quickly looked away.
“I completely agree,” he said.
“I’m glad we’re both on the same page,” she replied.
Ragnhild and Nadia exchanged another of those weighted glances, but this time there were no twinkling eyes or sly smiles.
Lyssa kissed Brandy’s muzzle one last time and stood. “I’ll be back soon,” she told him. “I promise.”
But Brandy wasn’t done with his goodbyes, limping in circles and barking expectantly until Alderic reached down and stroked the bullmastiff’s head.
Satisfied, he let Nadia lead him away, while she told him all about the treats waiting for him in the house.
He looked back at Lyssa once, and she dropped her gaze to the ground, the sharp ache of loneliness already piercing through her.