57. Lazarus
LAZARUS
If looks could kill, Lazarus would be dead a hundred times over.
You should have told me!
Yes, he should have. But he’s a coward.
He’s known about Kallias since they were fifteen. About what he is to the Educator. And even though Lazarus was far under the Council’s thumb, it still felt wrong.
“What the Forms are you guys on about?” Eudoxia yells.
“Why don’t you tell us, Laz?” Alexander spits the nickname like a curse. “Since you’ve known for so long.”
“He wouldn’t want me to.”
“Well, he’s not here to stop you, is he?”
Lazarus sighs. It takes effort to push the confession out. “Lykos has been… infatuated with Kallias since he was a child.”
Lazarus wishes someone would gasp or interrupt him, because if they do manage to get him back, Kallias will kill him for spilling his secrets.
“Kallias ran away when we were twelve—Zeno, you must remember. He was gone for days, out in the city. He was quiet before he left, but when he got back something was different. It was like someone stole the life away from him.
“I learned what happened years later—Apollonia used to bring me to Council nightcaps to give me some credit with the other members. Kallias was trying to get to the countryside and he almost made it, but some wannabe Auxiliaries found him and dragged him back hoping to be pulled up. Lykos says that’s the last time… ” Lazarus trails off, exhausted.
“Last time for what?” Ophelia asks.
He forces himself to continue. The words are dirty in his mouth.
“Last time he cried. Last time he held up his hands to block a slap. Last time he showed anything at all. And now all Lykos wants is to get him to that tipping point. To make him break. Because what’s more satisfying to a power-hungry man than making a stone bleed? ”
“A stone,” Alexander asks flatly.
“What could I have done, Alexander? No one goes against the Educator.”
Alexander’s eyes catch fire with realization. “You used this to blackmail him, you bastard. And now you’re going to sit here and… I swear to God, Lazarus, I’ll—”
Lazarus sees the punch coming, but he doesn’t try to stop it. In fact, he welcomes it—because he deserves it.
Alexander hits him once, a solid strike to his cheekbone that makes him see stars, before Zeno yanks him back.
“Alex. Alexander, stop it!”
“Lazarus, you’re dead.”
“Alexander!”
Alexander thrashes until Zeno lets him go, but he doesn’t come back to Lazarus. Instead he slams his fist into the wall. They all wince at the crunching sound of his knuckles hitting the marble.
He turns to face them, then his head drops back against the wall as he slides to the ground. His anger is lost somewhere in between standing and sitting, replaced with heavy, devastating sadness.
“I didn’t see it. He was telling me and I didn’t see it.”
The hesitation is plain on everyone’s faces. Alexander doesn’t get like this—violent and angry and irrational.
“They’re going to hurt him, once they realize we’re not on the boat. What if they kill him?” he sobs.
“They won’t,” Lazarus responds, probably very inadvisably. “He doesn’t need to be loyal to be useful to Lykos. He just has to lie there.”
Glares shoot at him from every direction except for Alexander, who curses venomously and pushes himself to stand.
“I’m going back,” he says. Then, turning to Eudoxia, “Anyone who disagrees gets my sword to their neck.”
Eudoxia’s eyes widen. “Of course you should. We’ll come with you, Alexander. I didn’t think… I didn’t know.”
He doesn’t respond to her—doesn’t even look at her. He turns back out to the city, eyes screaming bloody murder.
“I’m not leaving this place until I have Lykos’ head on a stake,” he promises.
Lazarus more than believes him.