Chapter 47 Something Unsaid
SOMETHING UNSAID
Despite the fact that I’ve been on this route a couple of times now, I guess I hadn’t understood how far the angel stronghold is from the mansion. As time passes, I somehow manage some fitful sleep, and of course, the dreams won’t leave me alone, even now.
In this dream, I am in manacles in a small stone space.
The dream moves back instead of forward.
Even knowing this is a vision and not real, I feel dizzy with the odd movement.
I see myself, surrounded by blackness, carving a twisting shape onto the underside of my wrist with the point of a small knife.
It burns, and then the skin there is covered with flame.
As I scream and thrash in the dream, I am suddenly jolted into wakefulness.
As I wake with my heart pounding, I register that the carriage driver just knocked on the roof. Finding the carriage stopped, before I can be dragged out by the driver, I remove myself and stand on shaking legs outside the mansion.
Home.
There is nothing else to do at the moment, so I square my shoulders, firm up my legs the best I can, and walk to the front door. When I get there, I pause, unsure what to do.
Do I knock? Just walk in? Is anyone even there?
Before I can decide, the door opens and I see Lent standing there, staring at me, his hand still on the doorknob.
I am frozen for a moment, but while I’m trying to decide what is appropriate, he steps forward and wraps his arms around me.
He is gentle, but I still have to exert every bit of control to keep myself from crying out as he presses against my battered body.
As he embraces me, I hear someone call out from behind him, but it’s muffled with my ear pressed against Lent’s chest.
The rumble as he responds, “Just a minute,” makes me wince slightly, and with that, he pulls back and looks at me again. Concern is clear on his face.
“It’s so good to see you, Lent,” I say quietly.
He swallows, his jaw slack as though he wants to say something. Instead, he simply nods at me, his face uncharacteristically serious. Then he steps aside to allow me through the door.
As I walk into the entry hall, I see the other boys at various points in the room. They look mostly as I remember them, although their faces are clearly horrified by the injuries they can see.
Well, that is, except Dio.
He’s leaning slightly against the back wall, facing me directly, his hands shoved into his pockets.
His shirt is wrinkled, and his hair is longer than I’ve seen it and messy.
I watch him clench his jaw, his face a mask of emotions, most of which I can’t read at this moment.
His cheeks are more hollow than I remember, and his shirt is looser; he has clearly lost weight.
Before I can begin to wonder what happened to him, I sense the feeling of shadow at my periphery and turn to see Malam.
His gaze quickly scans over me, and I see rage briefly cross his face before he can compose himself.
He opens his mouth to speak, but before he can utter a word, I say to him, “I need to speak with you privately.”
He nods but gestures at someone behind my back and says, “Fem,” in a clear order for Fem to come with us.
I shake my head at him as I move to the office door and say, “Just you.”
He bows his head and then follows me into the room.
Once in the office, I place myself behind the chair facing the door, holding the back of it to give me some support. I am unwilling to sit for this conversation.
Malam closes the door and then turns to me and strides closer. As he gets near, I move to keep the chair between us, and he stops.
His face is a mask of anger as he glares at me. “I can smell the blood on you,” he says with a snarl.
“I can handle it,” I say, still meeting his eyes.
For better or worse, I’m not the person I was before. There is no reason to share what I went through with him. I am sure he has some conjecture, but there is no need to confirm it. This isn’t his battle. He created me with a purpose, and I will fulfill it.
Almost as though he can read those thoughts on my face, I see his posture relax slightly, and he takes a step back to sit in a chair facing me. “At least tell me what happened to your face and hand,” he says.
“I got into a fight with another prisoner,” I say, meeting his eyes while I carefully mask my face against the lie.
From the expression on his face, he doesn’t believe me, but instead of asking more questions about my injuries, he growls, “What did you want to talk about then?”
“Was it you who got me out?” I ask.
“No,” he says, and I see pain on his face at that statement. “You know my position in this. Action begets action, and in this, my hands were tied. I won’t be the one to break the unspoken truce.”
“Then how?” I ask.
“The band worked it out,” he says.
I nod silently.
I don’t need the details at this moment; I just had my suspicions that it was all part of a plot by the angels.
If they had chosen to release me of their own accord, I was aware that it was likely part of a trap.
That might have changed the landscape on the map in my head, potentially forcing a specific path.
I take a breath, relaxing slightly as I process the information that it was instead the boys who got me released.
Malam is clearly appraising whatever expression is showing on my face.
“Bonum was there,” I finally say to him, breaking the silence.
“Based on the description Reem gave me of the officials who arrested you, I gathered that,” he says.
“I don’t think Bonum agreed with what happened to me,” I say, knowing I risk more questions about my condition. It still needs to be said.
Malam closes his eyes and scrubs his hand across his face. When he opens them, I briefly see the weight of ancient power he carries reflected in them. Then he blinks and it’s gone. “And yet their actions don’t speak to that,” he says grimly.
I can’t say I entirely disagree, so I remain quiet. I never intended to defend an angel’s actions to myself or to the leader of the demons. My instincts tell me I have done what I need for the time being.
“I took the sword so it wouldn’t fall into the wrong hands,” he finally says into the silence. “I will return one to you soon.”
“Thank you, Malam,” I say quietly, hoping he didn’t look at anything else under my bed when he took the sword.
We are both silent for a long moment, and then he asks, “Can I do anything else for you, Chaosta?”
I simply shake my head.
He stands and says, “Tell the coven I’ll see them soon.” Then he vanishes in a swirling cloud of shadow and wingbeats.
I sit on the chair I was just standing behind and rest my head on one hand. I take a moment, steeling myself for the flood of emotions I know will hit me when I leave the room.
Eventually, when I can put it off no longer, I rise and walk through the door.
The boys are waiting still, just outside.
They begin to move toward me as I walk back into the entry hall.
Other than Dio, who just moves enough to stand on his own, no longer leaning on the wall.
He looks as though he wants to say something, but doesn’t.
Lent is standing close to Reem and they were clearly having a conversation before I left the office.
Fem is standing a little way away, closer to Dio, and in particular, he is appraising me, clearly noting my injuries. His face is full of concern.
Fem opens his mouth as though to say something, but before he can, I say to no one in particular, “Malam said he’ll see you soon.” I pause for a moment and then finish, “I’m going to go to my room to get some rest. It’s been a long day.” With that, I turn and walk out of the entry hall.
I still feel Dio’s eyes on me, but he remains silent.
As I step into my room, another wave of emotion hits, and once the door is fully closed, the sob I’ve been restraining escapes from my chest. I carefully lower myself to the floor, my legs wobbling badly enough that I’m not sure if they’ll be able to carry me to the bed.
I rest, leaning back against the door, carefully controlling my breathing and letting the pain recede.
After several minutes, I close my eyes, but all I can see in the blackness is Dio’s face, his cheekbones more hollow than I remember, and with a curse, I open them again.
Feeling stronger for the brief rest and annoyed with myself and needing a distraction, I carefully and slowly push myself to my feet and move to the bed.
I grab a book from a pile under my bed and disturb a stack of papers.
They fall across the floor at the side of my bed. A mess which I carefully ignore.
Swearing at myself, emotions still crashing into me, I clamber slowly and painfully into bed. After settling myself against some pillows, I open the book and begin to try to focus on words that, despite my best efforts, begin to blur with tears.