Page 44 of Envious Of Fire
“Oh, they cannot truly escape. It is a mere daydream.”
“Then how—?”
“I plan to stage their opportunity. Allow them to think theyare succeeding. The path will be perfectly open to them.” Her every word drips with a specifically dark and playful pleasure. “I think it is healthy, to let a human feel the lustrous pull of hope … only to crush it between your fingers like a bug. Seven bugs, to be precise.” She chuckles to herself. “1025’s music is worth nothing if his heart isn’t true. Don’t you see humans can’t be trusted? They are lower life forms in every way, even literally.” She faces Tristan with authority. “I trust you’ll assist in setting your friend straight, being the older and wiser of you two. Off you go, Raya,” she then says with a wink at her. “I must speak with Tristan alone.”
Raya, who looks like she swallowed a butterfly, quickly sees herself out of the garden. Tristan’s eyes linger on his friend as she fades through the greenish-white haze, butterflies following her with their ghostly glow.
Ashara strolls up to a hanging garland from the tree, plucks a purple petal from a flower. “How about thedead bodyproblem that is so plaguing my brother? Have you solved it yet?”
Tristan can’t remember the last time he was questioned by someone in such a way, making him feel like a child. Was it in a classroom he shared with Kyle, when a teacher called upon him to answer a question, then scolded him for his answer? Granted Tristan’s answer was wildly inappropriate to say in front of a room full of impressionable, soft-minded teenagers, but it was more honest than the teacher expected, and who better to know the histories than someone who literally lived it? The textbooks were so inaccurate. It very much pained Tristan to lie.
It does not, however, pain Tristan at all to lie to Ashara.The situation is being handled brilliantly.Markadian will be pleased.
“The wife of the deceased is becoming … inquisitive,” she goes on. “Not good. I dislike coming home to messes.”
Markadian trusts my ability to handle such messes, saysTristan with an aloof smile.One time, I had to wash blood out of a Persian rug, a real one, non-illusionary, and would you believe, the solution was something I had picked up in the human world involving vinegar and a dollop of unscented dish detergent—
“I know who you are.”
Tristan pauses, tilts his head, looks at her.
“My brother may be soft on you, but I am as hard, sharp, and deadly as the silver bullets you put through your creators.” She studies the purple petal pinched between her fingers. “You know, were I Lordess, it would be the most unforgivable sin to destroy your own creators. There’s something deeply perverse about it. Unnatural. Your pretty blond head would be removed from your shoulders and hung at the front of my House for such an offense. I may yet make it a law going forth, a law for all the west region when my brother finally names me Lordess by his side. Don’t worry,” she suddenly adds, her voice turning sweet, “your offense would be grandfathered in, of course, you would be pardoned. If we had to hunt down every past offender for breaking the new laws I will implement … can you imagine the paperwork?” At once, she grinds the purple petal between her fingers into dust. “Oh, how I relish the scent of your fear right now.”
Thank you, says Tristan at once, smiling.I shall place it in a bottle and market it as a special brand of cologne for cowards.You will earn a well-deserved royalty for every sale.
“Funny,” says Ashara, lets out a bark of dry laughter, “that is always what you are, funny, since your birth, funny. I wonder if you will die laughing someday …” She strolls down the long cobblestone path. “Funny, funny, funny,” she sings, then turns a corner, gone.
Tristan’s smile fades.
He makes his way swiftly through the infirmary, passes theroom that used to keep Brock’s bloodied corpse.
Passes the blood donation area that is empty at this late hour.
Enters the elevator and taps a button near the very bottom.
It does not respond to his touch.
Ashara is quick, likely having predicted he or Raya would try to warn Kaleb. Or perhaps the effect was instant, the human cells being sealed off. Or even worse, Ashara already knew it all, had prepared the test ahead of time, and there was never even a sliver of a chance of Tristan gaining the upper hand.
No one will be able to speak to Kaleb. No one will be able to warn him. No one can protect him ever again. There isn’t even a human in the blood donation area to send a message through.
Tristan steps back from the array of blank elevator buttons, stares at them, heart sinking, ridden with guilt and anger.
But guilt and anger look like nothing on Tristan’s face.
He shows nothing on his lips nor his face. Not in his eyes. Not in his posture. Decades upon decades of life have taught him to keep every cell of expression within him.
His every true feeling, a precious secret.
Like a boy he once saved from a fire.
A boy who is now a man.
You are on your own now, says Tristan.Your life, your fate, your future…perhaps for the first time…truly in your hands.
9.
The Dreaming Ends.
