Page 186 of Envious Of Fire
“I regret to say, I had to make my true form known to him.” Even in the amorphous shadow of her face, Tristan sees her eyes narrow with discomfort—or whatever sensation she experiences that Tristan can loosely interpret as discomfort. “He swiftly took care of the Feral, as I knew he would. Then I followed the bus until the warding spell stopped me. It is done. Kyle. Kaleb. Raya. All are inside the town. Their conditions: unknown.”
Tristan looks away. He tries to picture the scene. To imagine how horrifying it must have been for them all. To have narrowly escaped such a scary situation here with Mance and the Ferals, only to face a worse one on the road. A battle for their lives.
And Tristan will never know its final outcome.
Brock. He turns back to her.Where is he?
“His father’s suite at the Scarlet Sands. He has been sitting in a bathtub for hours, perfectly still, neither moving nor blinking. Do you wish for me to take you to him?”
I will go myself. Tristan moves away from the bed, stops, turns back to her.You have done me such favors tonight, Wendy.More than I will ever be able to repay you for.
“It is my duty. The contract.”
You remind me of that so often lately, I noticed.
“Because it is the final year.”
Tristan is struck by that information. Nearly as struck ashe’s been by everything else she’s reported tonight. He swallows as he observes her.We have…been by one another’s side for so long…like companions in crime.I suppose I forgot our friendship had an expiration.
“It is one reason I remind you constantly we are not friends.”
Of course. Tristan tries to be strong. So much about tonight. Markadian upon the brink of death. Kaleb’s face bloodied by the lion. Kyle’s last words. Raya’s last words.Yes, we are…not friends, he agrees, as if uttering the words himself gives him some kind of power over them. Upon taking his next breath, his throat tightens, choking back a tear.We are business partners, of a sort.Bound by the terms of…of a contract.
“I detect your emotional state collapsing.”
Excellent observation, I shall note it in your monthly employee eval.
“If you prefer I call our contractual relationship a ‘friendship’ instead, then I will oblige, as it is my duty.” She pauses. “Is it better that I say: our ‘friendship’will end?”
No, Tristan decides,that is not better, not at all.
In the blink of an eye, Wendy stands before him in her sweet, human-girl-like shape, wearing a hooded cloak, soft-eyed, a hint of a smile upon her thin lips. “I am your friend, Tristan.”
He meets her eyes. The eyes she’s created for him. The eyes she has perfected to put humans at ease over the years.
He smiles wistfully.Your eyes have improved.Your emulation of human emotion, nearly indistinguishable from…from the real stuff.
Wendy smiles back. The smile looks wholeheartedly, utterly, fully, unquestionably genuine. Even if Tristan knows with one-hundred percent certainty that it is not.
Less than twenty minutes later, Tristan stands in front of the door to the Hastings suite. The door isn’t closed.
He moves inside, closes the door behind him. A dark room. The shutters left wide open, exposing the starry sky, the night, the glow of the moon. He follows a trail of bloodied clothes to the bathroom, where he comes to an abrupt stop at the opened door.
He hears nothing. No breath. No whispering. No droplets of water. Nothing at all.
Tristan steps inside. In the bathtub sits Brock. Water to his chest, just beneath his nipples. Arms resting on either side. Staring ahead, yet not seeing a thing. Eyes totally blank. Dry. Reddened. In his hair, bits of blood, thin trails of watery red spidering down his ears, his neck, pooling in spots upon his muscular shoulders.
Then Brock turns his face.
Sees Tristan.
Says nothing at all.
Tristan suspects this is the first time in over an hour, maybe two, that Brock has moved at all. Or is it presumptuous, to think that he is special enough to be the one and only thing in the world to draw Brock’s attention?
I’m sorry, he says.
Brock says nothing back.
