Chapter Thirty-Three The Trouble of Virtue #3
He went on, “If you were truly sorry for me, why would you fault me for making something of myself, for rising above my past?”
“Master Dothilos,” she said, grimly. “You allowed your abuser to spread his wickedness, and you gave him coin for it. You suffered, but you chose to pass that suffering on to people you deemed beneath you. Now, at long last, your crimes have caught up with you—the trading of nameless children from abuse into abuse, the fire, the deaths of countless innocents and your own brother.”
His eyes flickered in nervous agitation as she listed these things, dipping down to the burn on his arm.
After a moment of contemplation, he said in a low voice, “If you had gone through what I had, would you have done anything different? Would you truly be able to live a life free of rage, unburdened by your past and unwilling to make necessary sacrifices to ensure you’d never go through the same things again? ”
She stayed quiet. “Perhaps not,” she admitted.
She did not see the point in lying to him.
“I am as you are, in many ways. Mine is a moral compass readily pulled astray by fear, greed, and anger. I share the same fondness for petty revenge as you, the same vindictive hopes for the future. In the end, I am torn between condemning you and pitying you.”
He glowered at her. “If you did not come to mock me, then what did you come here for?”
She breathed in and out, the one question that had been bothering her itching to spring free from her throat. “Did you know?”
“What?”
“Desil,” she said reluctantly. “What he did at his final brawl.”
A look of grim realization settled on his face. “So you’ve finally found out.”
She buried her face into her knees, feeling like a fool.
“I’ve known for a long time,” he said. “Ever since I had my servants investigate you. I had them look into Desil as well, and the brawling square of Chuol Ward wasn’t shy to reveal the truth.
At first, I thought you knew, too—that you were keeping it secret for him.
But as time went on, I realized you genuinely hadn’t a clue what he was keeping from you. ”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Master Dothilos did not speak for long moments.
But at last, he turned to her and said quietly, “Because I knew that knowledge would break you. Your darling childhood hero being unmasked as a lying brute. How could you possibly cope with that? Yours is an honor that blinds you from conceiving of dishonor in anyone you love.” He smiled at her then—but not out of spite.
It was fondness, genuine as gold. “It seems that though mine may be meager compared to yours, I am not without my own supply of mercy.”
She stared at him, stunned.
“Thank you,” she said after a moment.
He hesitated, then scoffed dismissively. “Don’t thank me. I’ve done nothing for you.”
“But you have, Master Dothilos. You’ve taught me many things,” she said sadly, wishing the two of them had chosen many different forks in the road, “and I’m grateful for them.
Conviction, momentum—knowing to trust myself, knowing to run forth bravely.
I will go far if I can truly hold on to these things.
Even your third lesson has its merits in the right moments. ”
“Would that you hadn’t betrayed me, Golden Thorn, so that I could’ve taught you even more.
Perhaps I could have saved you the heartbreak of thinking your ideals could amount to anything in this world.
If there’s one thing I mourn, it’s that I didn’t teach you the foolishness of faith and hope before it was too late.
You will face much worse than me in your life, and you won’t know how to save yourself the trouble of virtue. ”
“I think you have taught me something new, Dothilos,” she said in slow realization.
“A lesson you did not quite intend on teaching. You once said that satisfaction lies in succeeding with spite at others, that it’d be wise to have rage and vengeance at the center of my convictions.
But I think I’ve found a better way to live.
For all you speak of conviction, I wonder if you truly hold no regret for the decisions you’ve made in your life.
” She retraced the memory of the fleeting, unbridled sadness that had crossed his face when he first revealed his burn to her.
He stared up at her witheringly. “If you’re about to announce some asinine creed you’ll calibrate your moral compass by, I’ll curse you and your unborn descendants to an early grave. Live your life as you will, and we shall see what the whims of the world do to you.”
“Then let us part, Dothilos. I wish you as well as you deserve,” she said, sticking her hand through the bars.
His eyes followed her fingers, and for a second, she could have sworn his hand twitched toward hers, ready to take it. Then he snarled and spat a thick glob of saliva over her palm.
“And I you, Little Candle Flame.”
She withdrew her hand slowly, contemplating the futility of reaching out to a man whose heart would accept neither kindness nor sympathy. She wiped her hand dry on the ground and rose to her feet.
“Farewell,” she said, looking down at him and meeting his glowering eyes.
Two souls stared at one another with nothing but genuine pity for the other.
· · ·
O N THE WAY out, she passed by the courtyard shrine once more. She crouched before Kilinor, one knee pressed into the earth, tightening her grip over his offered hand.
“My parents named me Lythlet, and that means ‘candle-flame’,” she spoke to her warden.
“A dismal name, I’ve always thought, like I could be blown out by a puff of air.
But if that is to be my destiny, then I shall ask for one thing only: before I die, let my little candle-flame light another wick, and then another, that my life will leave an inferno in my wake.
I won’t ask for riches; I won’t ask for joy.
I’ll only ask for the chance to carve out a path I alone can in this cosmic sphere, to be a piece that adds to the puzzle of this universe. ”
She drew the rite of supplication in the air—a two-fingered flick from right to left that looped around and then drew a line down to her chest.
Kilinor stared down at her, and it seemed to her that his everlasting tear glimmered for a second.
Thank you , she thought with a smile.
She rose to her feet. She clapped her hands thrice, steepled them by her chest, and bowed. “ Umera venturi, asigo venturi ,” she said in farewell to the shrine.
We live according to your whims, we die according to your whims .