Page 22 of Envious Of Fire
Raya does, too.
He faces her.My dear Raya, may I advise three things? Please never visit him or speak his name again.It’s for his safety.Two: let us, from now on, presume Kyle is entirely out of the picture, out of my life, and out of my heart.That part is formysafety. Tristan pauses.And also that requires presuming I have a heart. He nods, satisfied, then continues moving down the tunnel.
Raya follows behind, her footsteps slowed, contemplative. “That’s only two things.”
The third is, of course, we’ll still need to gather the items Mance requires, even if they’re all, in fact, unnecessary.It is part of his price, to humble us to his arrogance and prove we’re willing to do the work.See it like a test…an initiation into his terrible fraternity. Tristan moves the box to under his other arm and glances back at Raya.If I were to write down the list foryou, could you be a doll and give it to George? I think it’s only fitting that he gather the items, since he’s the doll who got us in this mess.Also, he’s an expert in procuring…oddities.But he must not know what he’s gathering these things for.Make it fun for him.Scavenger hunt.A secret mission.He likes feeling important.
Raya sighs. “And why wouldGeorgelisten to me?”
He sees you as a daughter.Sort of.And he is enjoying his position at Markadian’s side and delights in spiting me.Also, I can’t risk George telling Markadian…who is still raw about me abandoning him.Try using your daughterly power, do the pouty lip thing…just get George to gather these items before the full moon.
“I just realized I hate magic.”
And it hates us. Tristan stops again suddenly at a large, four-way intersection in the tunnels. He spots a shadow, then turns to Raya.Actually, you should go ahead back to the House.I have…one last tiny thing to attend to…alone.You remember the way, yes?
“I need afuckingbath after enduring this unspeakable night with you.” She takes four more steps, stops. “Markadian wasn’t the only one you abandoned all that time ago, you know.”
Tristan gazes at her, taken aback.Raya, dear…
“I will wait for that list in your tower, though I’m not sure I share your confidence that George will cooperate. Also …” She shoots him a look over her shoulder. “I still think you’re in love with Kyle. Despite all you do and say, you’ll always be his. He is the only one on this entire planet for whom you would risk consuming dark magic to protect.”
Tristan stares back, silent, expressionless.
Then Raya is off, footsteps clacking in the distance until, like all other signs of life in these tunnels, she’s gone.
Only when the tunnels fall silent once again does Tristanspeak.You can come out now.
From a shadow cast by an overhanging pipe, the odd shape of Wendy slides into existence. “Is it true? That your heart still belongs with the Kyle boy?”
Do you really care for the answer?Tristan returns.
Wendy gives it a second’s thought. “No,” she realizes, then draws closer. “Leave the box with Markadian, allow the choice to be his. To open … or not. It both satisfies your obligation to deliver the gift as well as render you blameless if it is harmful.”
Tristan turns to her.You shouldn’t have come, my darling.
In a flash, she is right in front of Tristan. “And you should be more wary around a witch.”
Most of us are, and with good reason.They know how to end us.
“And we know how to end them.”
Yet we do not.
“Due to the Protected Blood Truce. An eternal impasse.”
Not so eternal.This delicately fragile impasse of ours ends once the wrong witch learns we have killed Brock. Tristan hugs the box to his chest with a sigh, leans against the wall, gazes up at the pipes running along the ceiling. One of them drips on the floor nearby, creating a murky puddle.Thus, we must un-kill him.Sort of.Marky will forgive my blatant insubordination.
“He would sooner forgive you calling him Marky.”
Is that an attempt at humor? My, Wendy, how you surprise me.
“You should not trust the witch.”
I don’t.
“He is manipulating you to his will. He wishes to end you.”
Or is it me who is manipulating him? Everything is a game, my dear Wendy, and we are, all of us, players…even those of us who pretend to watch from the sidelines.
