24. Invisible
Invisible
Ryn
Saskia casts a cloaking spell over me, and moves to clean-up the evidence that she used the organic printer. I guess story time is over.
I thought I held some distant affection for my sister in the pieces of myself that I still carry from childhood.
And maybe I did, before now. After all, she was my first friend, and before we started branching off on very different paths, she was the one person in all the world who knew what growing up in our court, our house, felt like.
It was never a home—never warm, or safe, or longed for.
I know that now more than ever. Any sentimentality I might have harbored for the few flickers of warmth from my childhood—brewing ‘potions’ with mud, pinecones, and wildflowers, practicing charms to make our shadow puppets dance, or even finding new hiding places from the creatures our parents would hire to watch us—is wholly extinguished now.
Listening to my insane sister's plans to lure the person who is the embodiment of the first real home I’ve ever had into her twisted little schemes ensured that.
Still, there’s an unwelcome ache in my chest for her.
For that little girl who danced through the only decent memories of childhood, because the Saskia I knew is dead.
Not only on the inside, but bodily as well.
I have no idea how she performed the soul transfer herself.
Although, if Brenyn was the brilliant alchemist she claims he was, maybe he figured out a way to alter one of her stones—devised some way to auto-trigger the transfer.
Either way, she did it, and I watched her drag her corpse toward the body coolers and carelessly shove it into a drawer.
Her arrogance is astounding, really, not even bothering to make a golem as a backup.
Technically, she can still be raised back into her original body, but now that it’s been dead for so long and cooled off, she wouldn’t come back entirely human, and she would have a much faster process of decay because of it.
I’m not sure what’s more tragic, really. That my sister all but killed herself in front of me—or that I’m only marginally distressed by it. Even with her sinister plot uncovered, my apathy is grating on my conscience more than my grief—and I fucking hate it because it’s so Unseelie of me.
Tears blur my vision as I try again to push warnings through our bond to keep Seth away, but it doesn't work. My gut churns with foreboding, and my pulse spikes as anxiety wraps its cool fingers around my heart. I want to scream because these feelings aren't all mine, which means he’s here—and the strength of them means he’s close.
Saskia’s words roll through my mind again, fear joining the bile clogging my throat.
He’ll be able to tell. Won’t he? Oh gods.
The doors open, and my heart leaps as he walks in, his face a menacing mask of determination, orbs spinning wildly as he takes in the room. He notices Sam and Eilidh right away, and if possible, his expression darkens when he sees the little half-orc’s small frame.
He calls for me, and my heart cracks. I want to answer him, but I’m trapped inside my mind.
For a second, he looks right at me, and I think maybe he can see me.
The tears building up in my eyes fall when he glances away.
I know Saskia put up a cloaking charm, but I’d hoped that somehow our soul-bond would override it.
If I could, I’d chuckle mirthlessly. I’ve never been so stupidly optimistic before, and it’s both a crushing and achingly sweet reminder of how much Seth has influenced me.
And then she’s there, and she’s touching him—and my vision goes red. It’s so much worse because I can’t hear what they’re saying. But he’s—he’s holding her.
Oh gods, he can’t tell. A sob traps itself in my still-paralyzed chest, and its pressure only adds to my pain.
She leans in for a kiss, and he’s touching her.
He—he’s going to…I squeeze my eyes shut and push as much loathing and discomfort as I can through our bond.
I want to keep my eyes closed in rebellion, because she specifically wanted me to watch, but I can’t.
I have to know what’s happening. When I open them, Seth is hovering over her, and she’s wrapped in his arms, and my stomach sinks.
Until his fingers snap into action and squeeze the ever-loving fuck out of her bitch-ass little throat! HA! My heart soars, and a sickeningly sweet satisfaction fills every spare inch of my being to bursting. He knows! Ha ha. Take that, you conniving bitch!
I wish I could fucking hear what they’re saying. She looks scared. Good. I hope she shits her pants.
“Don’t fucking touch me! Don’t you dare touch me with her hands,” Seth shouts, his voice dangerous and rasping, and a little shiver zips up my spine.
Probably not the best time to get turned on, but between the masculine rage (appropriately placed), and my implied possession of him—oof.
Because, yes, he does belong to me. Hearing him acknowledge it and throw it in that bitch's scheming face is apparently my catnip.
The door opens, and my poor, battered heart stalls out.
Kier motherfucking Darro. He stops short for only a moment before casting a long-suffering sigh up to the heavens and moving toward them.
I can’t breathe, mostly because I don’t know if he’s here because he’s on my side and just really fucking late, or if he’s been working with Saskia all along and Seth is, once again, possibly in danger because of me.
And I can’t hear what they’re fucking saying! Again. But then—Saskia is talking, and Seth’s blazing orbs snap to me, but he can’t see me, and his face crumples for a split second before pinching with rage.
Darro waves a hand, and a tingling sensation fills the air all around me, and then Seth is looking at me again—but this time, this time he can see me. His face transforms into a tableau of yearning, and he moves so fast that my groggy mind can’t quite keep up.
One minute, he was over near Saskia and Darro; and the next, his shadows are cutting through the straps holding me to the table, and then I’m falling, and the next thing I know, I’m in his arms. He’s shaking, and I can feel his heart slamming against his chest, but still he whispers so fucking gently in my ear—trying to calm me down.
I climb him like a territorial koala and hold on as tight as I can, wrapping my legs around his waist and breathing in his familiar and comforting scent.
I can feel his guilt through our bond, and I quickly cut off any thoughts of self-flagellation.
The weight of our combined emotions and our exhaustion makes it hard to keep from spiraling, for both of us, but Seth uses his shadows to help us find our centers, and I let myself melt into him.
Which lasts all of thirty seconds before all hell breaks loose.
I reluctantly pull back from Seth enough to glance over to where Saskia and Darro were, only to find that Darro is alone.
My eyes drop to where he’s wiping a blade off on his pants, and then further still, to the crumpled body on the floor of my lab.
My crumpled body, with a slit throat in a pool of blood.
Saskia is burbling, choking on blood as it spurts out onto the tile.
I should feel something, but all I can manage is an aching sort of satisfaction.
I mourned the parts of her I held affection for not long ago, when I realized the Saskia I knew was never coming back.
Now, between her ‘steal your life’ scheme, and putting her hands on my fucking man, I can't find a kernel of sorrow.
Seth whines, and it pulls my eyes away from the disturbing image long enough to notice that he’s almost translucent in places, and his orbs are leaking slowly. I’ve never seen a psychopomp’s face drain of color—I didn’t think it was even possible, but I’d say this is probably the equivalent.
I frame his face with my hands and turn his head toward mine—it’s weird enough for me, but Seth has had a lot less time to wrap his head around the whole body swapping thing, and it’s clearly hitting him all at once.
I try to keep my voice calm and steady as I whisper, “It’s okay, baby. I’m fine. It’s not me.”
“I–It’s not, don’t think I’m upset for her. I’m not.” He winces, but continues haltingly, “It–it’s just, that’s…” His throat clogs up, and he takes a deep breath as I pepper his face with kisses.
“I know, Seth. I would freak out, too, if our roles were reversed. I know.” He nods and tightens his arms around me as he buries his head into my neck.
I wait for the guilt that he’s more empathetic about this than I am, but it doesn’t come.
For once, I’m too exhausted to care about my indifferent disposition or the implications it places on my character.
I look back over toward Saskia and Darro and blink.
He’s put his blade away now and is standing with his arms crossed, eyebrow quirked while he waits.
I’m not sure what he’s waiting for. My thanks?
For me to fall apart at the sight of my dead clone?
Or maybe it’s Saskia’s murder he thinks will break me.
I return his stare, lifting my brow in challenge.
I don’t really care what he wants; he can fucking wait.
A small smirk curls one corner of his lips for a moment before his eyes flick toward the doors. He tilts his head and wrinkles his nose and then strides toward us.
“I’d love to stay and compare notes, but actually, I’m quite famished, and I find this entire situation a bit pedestrian. Also, I just don’t want to. Let’s not ever do this again, yes? Lovely. I’ll be in touch.”
Seth huffs with exasperation, but before I can so much as blink, Darro’s gone.
The doors to the lab burst open, and a bunch of gnarly-looking psychopomps file in, armed to the teeth and ready to fuck shit up.
I blink twice as I try to make sense of it, and then a big dude with an air of command stops in his tracks.
His red orbs flare as his gaze assesses first Seth and I, then the shadow shield still over Sam and Eilidh, and then finally, Saskia.
His orbs narrow before he scowls and grits out, “Sephtis…don’t say a godsdamned thing.”
“Sir, I—”
“Not ONE word, son.” Hellas’s orbs flick between the me in Seth’s arms, and the 'me' that’s dead as fuck in a puddle of blood, and he rubs a weary hand down his face. “So much fucking paperwork.”