Page 5 of Pain Run Rampant

In the back of my mind, I hear Invictis groan. “That one again? I have the ridiculous notion that, if you were to ask him to jump off a bridge for you, he would do it in a heartbeat. He is the doltiest of dolts—I don’t know why you go to him for anything.”

“Shut up,” I hiss, and I make the mistake of saying it aloud, because as we walk up the steps to the upper district, Frederick gives me a strange look. “Sorry,” I quickly say. “I just have a song stuck in my head.”

Song. Ancient evil. Take your pick.

“What kind of songs do you sing in your world? Any that I would know?” Frederick asks.

“Uh, I don’t think so.”

“Someday you will have to sing one for me, then.”

That makes me laugh. “I don’t know about that. I don’t have the best voice. I think a dying cat would sound better thanme.” And that’s not an exaggeration. In ninth grade, I had too many free periods, so I signed up for concert choir. The teacher actually told me it’s okay for me to mouth the words during our concerts.

“I’m sure you’re too hard on yourself,” Frederick remarks with a glance my way. “And, forgive me for saying this, but I feel as if that might be a common practice for you.”

We’re just through the upper gates when he said that, and I stop. He stops a second later. “What do you mean by that?” I ask him. I’m not sure if I should be insulted or not.

“It’s—” He rubs the back of his neck. “I get the feeling that you’re constantly hard on yourself. Maybe you’re hard on yourself because the world has been hard on you and you’re only reacting to that. Or perhaps you’re hard on yourself so when the world is hard on you, you’ve toughened yourself up, so to speak.”

I don’t say anything to that, mostly because, as much as I want him to be wrong, he’s not.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. It’s not my place. Come. We’re almost to the tailor.” Frederick turns away from me and resumes the lead, but I have to take a moment to come to terms with what he said.

He’s right. I am hard on myself. I’ve always been hard on myself. After losing my dad, I guess it was my way of trying to be better so I could prove to my dad’s memory I could make it and do him proud.

What would he say now if he knew where I am and what I’m doing? I still don’t know if he knew the whole story about my mom and who she was, and I’ll never know. Some questions I have will never be answered because the only ones who can answer them are dead.

With a sigh, I hurry to catch up to Frederick.

Chapter Three

The tailor is disappointed when I tell him I want pants and a shirt similar to the one I’m wearing instead of a dress. To quote him, it’s been so long since he’s had the opportunity to create something truly magical.

But whatever. I just want a shirt that’s like a t-shirt and pants that aren’t so tight they’ll restrict my movements but not so baggy that they’ll drag on the ground since I’m short. He has to take some measurements for me.

Frederick returned to help the shepherds with the animals, leaving me alone with the tailor—which I’m fine with, because after my measurements are taken, I ask him to make me another set, but bigger.

“Bigger?” The tailor’s eyebrows are as high as they can be on his forehead. The man is in his forties, wearing a ridiculous outfit I would never be caught dead in: feathers and pin-stripe patterns, all brightly-dyed. “How big?”

“You know Frederick? Bigger than that.”

“Why would you need—forgive me, my lady, it is not my place to question your desires,” he quickly says, catching himself. “Now, when you say bigger than Frederick, do you mean bigger as in—” He reaches in front of him and draws a fake belly in the air. “—or taller?”

“Taller. And wider, too.”

I help the tailor with the measurements for Invictis to the best of my capabilities. I’ve never told the asshole to sit still while I measure exactly how big he is, but even if these clothes don’t end up fitting him well, they’ll still fit him better than the ones I took from Frederick’s house.

The tailor tells me he’s got nothing else to work on right now, so he’ll have the clothes ready in a few days. Oh, and for Laconia’s savior and new high empress, they are free of charge.

Not going to complain about that.

After I finish with the tailor, I go searching for Frederick’s dad. There are a few questions I want to ask him, but I have to be careful in how I say everything, otherwise he’ll spill the beans to Frederick and maybe even the whole city. Obviously, that would be bad.

Fred is in the library beneath the conclave’s chambers, where he usually spends his time, his nose in a dusty book. Small candelabras illuminate the long, narrow library and all the rows of full bookcases. He’s in the back, near where the door to Laconia’s undercroft is—although the etching in the stone has been once more covered by a bookcase.

The only reason I feel comfortable enough to sit across from him at the table is the fact that he’s alone in here.

Fred looks much like his son, only older. He’s gained a bit of weight so he’s not a walking skeleton anymore, and he doesn’t have that mad glint in his eyes, the one he got while stuck in Acadia’s dungeon for years upon years, kept alive by Krotas’s—my mom’s—magic. The same brown hair, the same honey-colored eyes, only with a few more wrinkles and gray strands.

---