10. Stage of Grief Depression #2
“No one said thank you,” I pointed out.
His eyes flashed. “Exactly. You’re both extremely ungrateful for the charm I bring to this miserable base.”
Ella stood up and pulled me to my feet, ignoring her brother completely. “Let’s go to dinner.” We tried to leave quickly. Unfortunately, Axel, with Squire still on his head, followed closely behind us, humming.
Our usual chairs were set up at the dining table in our wing. Today an extensive spread of dire scorpion meat, beans, bread, and vegetables was already waiting for us.
I took large helpings of everything but the scorpion. I’d never been comfortable with eating animals I hadn’t killed myself, because something about it felt intrinsically wrong.
The twins sat in the two chairs across from me like usual, and they dug in without reservation. Thankfully Axel forgot his fiddle on the floor. Leaning back in my chair, with a singing Squire now balanced on my head, I tried to breathe slowly through my mouth.
The door slammed open.
Tarantula stalked into the room, prisoner chains glinting.
“Where have you been all afternoon?” I asked, trying to act casual, like he hadn’t kissed me right before I tried to murder him.
“Hi, spider slut!” Squire chirped (helpful).
Tarantula rolled his eyes. “Greetings, minuscule bird.”
His curls were slicked back, a single lock hanging over his forehead. The zipper of his suit was still pulled down lower than respectable. He prowled silently around the table.
“Where were you?” I repeated.
His eyebrow arched. He pulled back the only free chair with a harsh squeak and gracefully sat down beside me. Posture rigid, shoulders and head pulled back, he even sat pompously.
“Answer me.” I slammed my fist down on the tabletop, plates and glasses rattling.
He leveled me with a hateful glare. “I owe thee nothing, Ravenal.”
“I thought you were my partner. Aren’t we supposed to be working together?”
“Thou failed to pull my chute.”
“What did you want me to do? Save you? You killed Aurora.”
He tensed.
“You murdered her in cold blood,” I continued. “Did you think it would make me like you? Ruining my life and taking her away—”
“Silence, Ravenal!” He pounded his fist on the table.
The twins startled, and a fork clattered to the floor. “Don’t speak to her like that,” Ella said, regaining her composure first. Axel bared his fangs.
“Thank you, Ella,” I said calmly. “But please, stay out of this. He’s my partner to handle.”
Tarantula breathed out roughly. “Thou. Have. No. Power. Over. Me.” He bit out each word, his accent distorting the hard consonants.
I reached for the dial lying on the table, but his arm shot out in a blur, too fast to track. He pointed his metal fork at my neck before I could grab the device. The dull utensil hovered a hair’s breadth away from my skin.
“I dare thee to try it,” he taunted quietly. “We can both play murder—if that is what thou want.” His cold smile said he’d stab me with the fork and happily cause grievous bodily harm.
I stared longingly at the dial.
He pressed his fork tines into the side of my neck—not hard enough to break the skin, but enough pressure that I froze with alarm. Primordial panic. Slowly I reached for my fork and jammed it against the top of his fabric-covered thigh. He grunted, and his fork scraped down my flesh.
The twins looked back and forth between us, matching expressions of concern on their faces.
“Don’t worry.” I cleared my throat. “I have him handled.”
Pain pricked as he pushed his fork deeper, and the old bite mark on my throat tingled.
“You should eat the food—not each other,” Axel said with a lazy drawl. “But I understand how you might be feeling right now, Zora . . .” He winked at me and whispered dramatically, “About his . . . pickle.”
“Dill!” Squire hooted, remembering the lyrics (extremely unhelpful).
A flush traveled up Tarantula’s neck, all the way to his ears, and we pulled our forks away from each other at the same time.
“I would never eat the likes of him,” I said to Axel, not sure why my voice was so husky.
Tarantula bit down on the crimson pillow of his full lower lip. “Speak for yourself,” he muttered.
“What?” I wasn’t sure what was happening anymore. My heart was pounding in my throat, and my thighs were pressing together.
“I would eat thee . . . out.”
My chair squeaked as I jolted.
Tarantula’s heavy-lidded gaze shifted, ice turning molten, as he radiated cruel satisfaction. “Thou should be very afraid, Ravenal. The depth of what I desire is . . . untenable.”
I arranged my fork neatly beside my plate, then chugged water greedily. The cool liquid soothed my ragged throat.
Axel narrowed his eyes. “What did he just say?” he asked Ella under his breath.
“He wants to eat her,” she whispered back.
My knees knocked painfully against the table.
The twins turned their heads in sync, studying the two of us like we were scientific specimens.
I drank faster, needing to quench the endless fire.
Water spilled down my chin and across my throat.
Hastily I wiped it away. Flushing with embarrassment, I felt like a fool.
Bracing myself, I waited for a sneering comment about my lack of decorum.
Tarantula held himself still, chest heaving, like my affliction was contagious.
Ella covered her mouth as she tried to hide her laughter.
Axel smirked. “Oh, how you vex me, honey,” he sang sarcastically, eyes flat.
“How stupendous,” Tarantula drawled, matching Axel’s scornful energy, but his gaze kept shifting back to me. “We have a jester. Art thou also the Groom of the Stool? I do love fresh towels and a helping hand for . . . other inconveniences.”
“No.” Axel bared his fangs. “I do not serve any man. I make art because it’s my passion.” He sang, “Sexy and cruel, you play me still, your body so hard, like a pickle . . .”
Ella and I both shook our heads no.
Axel, who apparently wanted to die, smiled. “Dill.”
A splotchy flush covered Tarantula’s cheeks, scarlet spreading up beneath his mask as he stared at Axel with horror.
“Jester, do thou want to live?” Tarantula asked slowly, radiating quiet menace. “No bard has ever—”
“Wait, you know actual real-life bards?” I asked.
“Oooh, I’m so scared.” Axel rolled his eyes as Ella struggled to breathe.
Tarantula frowned at me. “Do thou not have personal bards? Are they not common on Westmere?”
All three of us gaped at him, and even Ella stopped laughing.
Squire chirped, “Zora has Squire!”
I reached up and patted his head. “Very true, darling.”
Tarantula’s eyes narrowed, his face still flushed bright red as he tried not to look at any of us. “ ’Tis just a personal jester,” he muttered. “ ’Tis not a big deal.”
“You are genuinely the most out-of-touch person I’ve ever met,” I said.
His lips curled down into a scowl. “Of course, one cannot compare riches with churls. Royalty is not aspirational for the impoverished—my mistake. I forgot.”
“And yet,” I snarled, “here you are at a classless peasant’s mercy.”
“Ah, that is where your error lies.” His canines were too sharp for comfort. An awful trick of the light. “Thou art at my mercy, Ravenal. I am in the process of educating thee.”
“There is nothing the likes of you could ever teach me.” I picked up the dial, fingers cramping. “I’m in control here, bastard.”
“Maybe with your pathetic past dalliances, but not with me, brat.” His tone dropped an octave as he leaned closer, invading my personal space. “Thou will be beneath me when thou . . . climax.”
I choked on air, my enraged brain taking a second to process the meaning. Wait, he’s not talking about . . .
Ella gasped loudly. Apparently I hadn’t heard him wrong.
“Wait—what did he just say?” Axel asked. “Curse it all. I missed it.”
“Extra food servings and drinks,” a soldier stated loudly as he entered the room, slicing through the mounting tension. He replaced the empty bean bowl with another. Legumes were a food staple in the Middlelands, and I’d grown to love them.
The twins and I dug in eagerly. Training with the Marshal left me ravenous, and these days it felt like my stomach was a bottomless pit. I could never eat enough to feel full.
“I’ll bring out a third course,” the soldier said to me.
“Thanks.” I smiled back through a mouthful of food.
The soldier jumped, tray shaking in his hands as Tarantula glowered at him.
Three wooden tankards were hastily placed in front of me and the twins.
They were sealed and had tiny wooden straws that somehow were built into the body of the vessel.
They must have poured the liquid in through the tiny straw opening.
The twins immediately started sucking down the contents, sighing with relief as they noisily gulped.
“What is it?” I asked the soldier.
“Special medical liquid for Mages. Enough time has passed since the Iron Ritual that your body can now digest it,” he said. “It helps strengthen your magic and is specially formulated for—”
“Leave,” Tarantula said. The soldier bowed and hurried away.
“That was rude,” I said.
“Spidery man very rude,” Squire agreed, lying belly up on top of my head. We both pretended one of his feathers wasn’t hanging loose across my forehead.
I stared at the strange tankard, distrust rising. “Is it . . . good?”