Page 98 of A Tower of Half-Truths
“I know, but didn’t Ellice say he intended to clear up some details? Perhaps he had second thoughts.”
She laughed coldly. “Neldren never has second thoughts.”
She took another drink. When she looked at Alain again, there was an unfamiliar darkness behind his eyes that was as surprising as it was unsettling.
“If we ever cross paths,” he said, “gods help me, I’ll—”
“You’ll what? Challenge him to a gentleman’s duel? Write him a strongly worded letter?” She patted his hand. “I don’t mean to disparage you, but Neldren isn’t the type to play fairly.”
“Perhaps…but the concept of having blood on one’s hands is not completely foreign to me.”
His words, and the dark tone with which he delivered them, gave Mavery pause. “What do you mean?”
He looked at her with unfocused eyes. He blinked, and the darkness seemed to pass. “Nothing. We ought to get some rest. The bed is all yours. I’ll kip here on the sofa.”
“Nonsense. I’m not putting you out.”
“No one is putting anyone out. I amofferingyou the bed.”
She shook her head. “As generous as that is, allowing me to stay here in the first place was generous enough.”
“Shall we flip a coin over it?” Through heavy-lidded eyes, he smirked at her, and there was no doubt that he was still incredibly drunk.
“I’m staying right here. Full stop, end of discussion.”
“Have it your way, then.” He hoisted himself off the sofa, wavered a bit as he stood upright. “At least let me fetch you some linens.”
While he stumbled into the storage room, she dug her comb and sleeping shift from her pack, then went to the bathroom to ready herself for bed.
When she returned, the last of the embers had burned out. Outside, thick clouds shrouded every trace of moonlight while rain continued to pour. The only light—a white glow that she recognized as Ethereal—peeked through the crack beneath the storage room door. Though Mavery could have conjured her own orb, she didn’t need it; she knew this apartment like the back of herown hand. She followed the light through the pitch-dark sitting room.
She opened the door and found Alain sitting on the floor, his back to the wall and his orb of light floating overhead. His eyes were wide, his body completely still, as he stared at something directly across from him.
“Alain, what’s—”
“Forgot to put away,” he mumbled, “after you…”
She followed his gaze and realized at once what had left him so paralyzed.
“Here,” she said softly, “I’ll handle it.”
After all, it was her fault the paintings had been uncovered in the first place. When he voiced no protest, she padded across the room and draped the paint-splattered tarp over the canvases, hiding away the man with the mismatched eyes.
Her efforts made little difference; Alain remained frozen, distant. She approached him slowly, then sank next to him on the floor. She raised her hand, hesitated before resting it on his shoulder. Though he didn’t move, he didn’t recoil from her touch.
“You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want—”
“No,” he said quietly, with a slight shake of his head. “I don’twantto, but maybe Ineedto.”
The Ethereal light revealed his reddened eyes, his tearstained cheeks. Though he wasn’t crying now, she wondered if that was how he’d spent his evening prior to her unexpected visit. Outside, the storm carried on. Rain pelted the roof while wind howled past the turret overhead. Further in the distance, thunder rumbled.
“He was very important to me,” Alain said at last.
“I figured as much. Who was he?”
“Many things. My muse, my lover, and…” He sighed deeply. “My assistant.”
Mavery nodded. “Conor, I presume.”
