Page 184 of Envious Of Fire
The directors don’t trust George.Most don’t trust you, either.But they all adore me.And while they are clueless and seeking explanations for this terrible night, the one thing they did pay witness to was me outsmarting the necromancer and giving us all the upper hand to defend ourselves against the Ferals.In essence, I am the hero tonight, even if I don’t deserve such a title.But only you know that. Tristan peers back at her.Only you are smart enough to see the truth.
Ashara turns her icy stare back onto him.
Tristan searches those cold eyes of hers for the single glint of curiosity still remaining in them.Yes, he finally confesses,I was the one who summoned the necromancer for the purposes of bringing Brock back to life.I broke Markadian’s sacred law to never fraternize with the practitioners of preternatural arts.I involved Raya, who is innocent.I used George to collect ingredients for the ritual.
Each statement of his becomes a tiny flame of vindication in Ashara’s eyes, nearly salivating at hearing the confession.
But what I did not count on was George interfering by opening a spell box and infecting himself with the necromancer’s dark powers.He is the true reason Mance was able to break into the unbreakable House of Vegasyn…along with an army of Ferals.George is, in fact, the cause of this terrible night.George…has fled with the Ferals.
Ashara’s face twists. “He has gone completely?”
And Mance is nowhere to be found.His current status is unknown.George might be involved with that, too…helping him to safety.
Her eyes narrow. “You’d better hope Mance is dead, because after tonight, you have certainly made a mortal enemy of him.”
Tristan doesn’t wish to sit with that disturbing thought any longer than necessary.I should also mention the night the directors arrived and I was sent to prepare martinis of our Blood’s blood, George stopped me on my way back and…took one right off my tray.
“He is expressly forbidden from drinking blood,” Ashara says at once. “A drink to him is not like a drink to us. He did this?”
Likely you’ll catch him on the cameras of the Scarlet Sands, making his way with the Ferals to wherever they reside, a place I can only hope is as far from here as Death itself.You will see the blood in him.He isn’t who we thought.Perhaps he never was.Just a Feral bound by chains, which a mere sip of blood was enough to break…
Ashara drops on the edge of the bed suddenly, as if unable to stand anymore. Before, she had no puzzle pieces to place together. Now, she has too many.
Tristan sits across from her.Ashara, maybe I played a role in the tragedies that befell us tonight.But do you truly believe it would do your Lordship better to punish me for something I did in good faith and with good intentions…over being rid of the pest of George once and for all?
Ashara stares down at her brother. “You mean to use George as a scapegoat.”
Yes,answers Tristan simply,though as you well know, he is far from innocent, so it isn’t such a stretch to blame him for it all.Had your brother not been harmed tonight, I would bet my own immortal life that he would think to do the same, if anything just to save face.
“There will be so much damage control needed after tonight. After what has happened. Our poor guests. The directors who’velost their lives. Lord Xiang will hear about this, will want to know how it came to be that we left ourselves so vulnerable to such a hideous attack, that our own Lord … that Markadian …” She puts a hand on her brother’s over the bed sheets, shuts her eyes as she swallows back tears, seems unable to say anything more.
Tristan peers at Markadian’s face—the bandages, the spots of oily residue from ointments and medicine that have been applied, the festering black and red lengths of skin between the bandages where the demonic fire played the worst on him. He can only bear looking for a matter of seconds before casting his eyes away.
“Should we …” Ashara speaks with a tender and unexpectedly vulnerable tone. “Should we utilize … an older method … to heal my brother?” She worries to even say the words. “A quicker, more natural method …?”
Tristan is surprised by her suggestion.To heal Markadian with blood? It would take so much of it, to recover from those…burns.No, he says, sighing.That method is too barbaric.It would change him.
“He cannot die.”
I know, but—
“He cannot die,” she repeats, firmer. “Not like this. Not the great Lord Markadian of the west region, my magnificent brother, he does not deserve this … thishumiliatingend.”
There are great risks, healing with such an abundance of blood,says Tristan.Yes, he’ll heal quicker, but he may also acquire a dependency on the blood.Let us trust his body to know what’s best, to heal itself…
“And if he isn’t strong enough? He could die by morning.”
If he is fed too much blood, especially in this weakened state, it could suppress his ability.Perhaps permanently.His illusions…
Her voice sharpens. “Filling this House with actual furniture is a small price to pay for my brother’s life, I do think.”
But to save his life by turning him into the very thing he despises?
“He will not become Feral. At least not by definition. He will simply be a stronger Lord … who no one will dare stand against.”
Tristan fails to see the difference.Ashara…
She rises from the bed. “I will address the survivors. I will tell them about George’s involvement. I will name him as an enemy of the region who must be found and brought to justice immediately. Once he is found and buried, so will our troubles be.”
