Page 119 of The Master and the Marionette

I smile at him. “No, not for me.”

“I met Dessin when I was ten, then Foxem when I was eleven. And Syfer when I turned fourteen.” He nods at the memories attached to each alter. “I thought he was a faker. A theatrical son of a bitch.”

Kane listens while he prepares the dead animals. I sit down between the two men, waiting for Warrose to tell me more, fill in the missing pieces that still make up the mystery of who he is.

“It wasn’t until I met Dai that I fully believed in what he is. The many faces of who he is.” Warrose smiles at me sadly, knitting his brow together as he considers whether he should tell the rest of the story or not. He’s handsome. An inch shorter than Kane, thick lashes, a dimpled chin, and a voice of sand and gravel.

“You met DaiSzek?” I ask.

He glances at the massive beast guarding the entrance, diligently watching for movements. Pellets of snow melting on strands of his fur. “No. I met the animal that he turns into when it is forced out of him.” Warrose stares at Kane, asking silently if he can tell his story.

“I’d rather you didn’t.” Kane doesn’t bother looking up.

“And how mad would you be if I told her anyway?”

“It’s not just her you’re telling.” Kane looks up from the meat, making eye contact with Ruth, Chekiss, and Niles who are all gathered around, listening eagerly. Completely mesmerized by Warrose.

“We can keep a secret,” Ruth offers quietly.

Kane sighs. “Please leave out the graphic details.”

Warrose smirks, raising his eyebrows at me with an I will tell you later look.

“There’s a point in training where Demechnef wants you to be able to destroy an identity after you kill. Meaning, make the person unrecognizable. Meaning, rip them apart so no one will know who they were.”

“That’s graphic detail,” Kane scolds.

“I was given the task of doing that to an elderly man.” Warrose sighs, shaking his head. “And for the first time in my training, I couldn’t do it. I refused. There had to be boundaries at some point. Well, that was it. But because I refused… they brought Dessin in before he was ready, before he hit the right age. He was only twelve.”

I can’t help but watch Kane rotating the meat on a stick, focusing his attention on feeding us. My heart throbs, clenches, and sinks into my stomach.

“I watched it happen. The split. The animal he became. It—” He blows out a breath. “It wasn’t human. I felt like an ass for thinking the worst of him for years.”

This man knows Dessin, Kane, and the others so well. They’re practically brothers. And here I am, lucky to know anything at all.

“What were they training you for?” I ask, feeling that edge of irritation grip me by the lungs, burning a hole in my stomach. The story reminds me of the bit Albatross mentioned. The fucking dolls. How Dessin would take part in their assault. “Why the two of you? And what do I have to do with any of it? Has he told you how he knows so much about me?”

My timing is terrible. Pathetic. Inappropriate. But this desperation to learn everything he knows is eating away at my insides. It’s searing my patience.

Warrose parts his lips and scratches the side of his jaw. “War with Vexamen. Some children were experimented on to make the best quality of soldier.” He blinks a few times because that’s all he can really say.

“Okay. So I get tortured for what feels like several months, nearly brainwashed, starved, beaten, isolated and no one can tell me what my part is to play in all of this? Doesn’t that seem a little unfair?”

Those dreamy blue eyes fall to his blood-stained hands.

“No? Okay, another question. Who wants to explain to me the fucking dolls that Demechnef used to offer the soldiers?” The aggressive intent comes pouring out of me like a volcanic eruption. I don’t know what brought this anger on.

“How did you—”

“How could a stupid girl like me know about the fun activities you boys took part in?”

“Skylenna,” Kane warns, voice alarming yet low with caution.

“Tell me! Was it a manly thing to do? Rape a woman when she’s unable to fight back?” It’s acidic fire shooting from my chest. I can’t stop it. I can’t slow it down.

Draw the strings. The legs. The arms. The eyes.

The sketch in my mind fades. It doesn’t calm me down.

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