18 #2
I suspect the only way to feel the presence of the divine is to convince yourself of it wholly and completely.
But even as a child, barely accustomed to the weight of life, the prospect of eternal punishment felt too far removed.
I did not fear hell as my sister did. I refused to be cowed by threats of divine judgment.
Instead I’d found truth in the firmness of the ground beneath my feet, solace in the rhythm of my breath. For me, that’s all there will ever be.
Or so I’d thought.
I let my gaze drift from the dark window over to the Warden, sprawled on the bench seat across from me.
His mere existence thrusts my entire worldview into question.
It’s the inexplicability that bothers me most: There’s no logic behind what he can do.
I can’t decide whether it unnerves me or gives me hope.
He makes the compartment feel stiflingly small.
The train boasts no interior lights, so I can see him only by the glow of the moon.
Gilded silver, he looks inhuman. Unholy.
The planes of his face are too sharp, like an artist’s exaggerated rendering.
I wonder what he’s thinking. If he’s as serene as his exterior suggests.
“What?” he asks, the first word either of us have spoken in nearly an hour.
I should have known he would feel the weight of my attention. I wish he didn’t look the way he does—beautiful enough to cut something. Untouchable in a way that makes you yearn to be near him.
“Nothing.” My reply is sharp as I try to corral my thoughts.
“You’re still angry with me.”
“And you’re astonishingly astute.”
The Warden crosses his arms. “Do you want me to apologize?”
“For what?”
“Pulling your glove off.”
I flex the gloved hand in question as I attempt to parse his sincerity. “That depends. Are you actually sorry, or are you just trying to make yourself feel better?”
“Neither. I want you to stop trying to bore a hole through my head by sheer force of will.”
“You are such a fucking—”
“Talin.” He cuts me off. His focus on my face is unwavering. “You’re too strong to let the Bloodrot have this much power over you. You’re too brave to shy away from the sight of it. The dark in your veins is just another part of who you are.”
My fingers curl into fists. I don’t know how to react to those words. I don’t want to have this conversation at all. “It’s killing me, and fast. You said it yourself.”
“Maybe,” he allows. “But you’re going to fight it every step of the way. You can’t help yourself.”
“And I’ll die nonetheless.”
“You and everyone else in the world. It doesn’t mean they give up on living.”
I scowl. “That’s different, and you know it.”
The Warden’s mouth tightens. He uncrosses his arms, slinging them onto the back of the bench. The motion stretches the fabric of his shirt taut over his chest. “How badly do you want to live, little sinner?”
Badly. With the kind of voracity that makes my whole body ache. This life, pathetic as it may be, is the only one I’ll get. “I think you know the answer to that.”
“Even if living meant becoming something else entirely?”
The air in the too-small compartment goes static. I understand his implication at once—I just don’t believe it. “Something like you?”
He doesn’t confirm or deny it. His pale eyes seem to glow in the dim. “Is that something you would want?”
“What does it matter?” I remember what Gabriel said, about how the mutation that creates a diabolist appears to be congenital. “You’re born, not made. It’s not something you can re-create.”
“And you know that for certain, do you?”
“If you were made, there would be more of you.”
“It’s a dangerous process. And as you can imagine, very few people are interested in undertaking it.”
Disbelief continues to stab at me, but alongside it is the tiniest flare of hope. Undiluted, ill-advised hope. “What is that process?”
The Warden’s face gives nothing away. “Let’s just say the Bloodrot doesn’t have to be the end.”
“Prove it,” I counter at once. My heart is alive in my chest. This is almost certainly a mistake—letting him see how badly I want this—but then I think of my mother’s horror. Ilse’s lips forming the word sinner. My life slipped through my fingers long ago, before I even realized it was gone.
“I will. Soon, in fact. And then, when this is over—if we’re successful—I’ll help you become like me.
” The Warden glances down to his ring-studded fingers, flexing them.
“However, if you give any indication at all of betraying me, the deal’s off.
I won’t hesitate to kill you before the Bloodrot has a chance. Understood?”
I clench my own fingers into a fist. I don’t believe him, of course, but I’m willing to play along, if only to see what else he’ll divulge. “There is no deal, apart from the one we already have. Why offer me this at all?”
“Perhaps I have a benevolent streak.” He shrugs. “Perhaps it would amuse me to watch Gabriel’s dutiful little creature become the thing he hates most.”
“Or maybe you think I’ll be more obedient if I’m convinced you have something I want.”
“Trust me, I’m under no misconception that you’ll ever display anything close to obedience. You can scarcely bring yourself to do as I ask.”
“That’s because you don’t ask,” I fire back. “You command. And that’s not usually the best way to get what you want.”
The Warden angles his torso toward me, bracing his forearms atop his thighs. The motion brings his gaze in line with mine, making it impossible to miss the devilish narrowing of his eyes. “On the contrary, I find my commands tend to get me precisely what I want.”