Page 21 of Spark of Madness

I walk straight across the white-tiled floor to the far corner of the bathroom. The shower has no doors, just a rainfall showerhead from the ceiling and a drain at my feet that I can walk straight beneath.

Naked, I step beneath the showerhead before turning it on, letting the cold water spill down my body. I don’t turn the tap to warm—I need the shock of cold to wake me from this shameful longing.

There’s nothing to be gained from wanting Mercy Madness. She’s been sentenced to death, and I’ve volunteered in a way to be her reaper.

I rub cold water over my face as I wonder what the fuck I was thinking volunteering to be the warden of the trial participants. I find myself hoping other servants will volunteer, because then there will be others to focus my time and attention on.

Yet, I also find myself hoping Mercy will be the only one, hoping I might have moments with her alone.

What sins wouldI commit with her alone?

A shudder rips through my spine.

I’m going to need a bathtub full of ice cubes to shake this blasphemous desire.

Breathing you in is sweet sin,

transgression worthy of fire and brimstone.

You are heat.

You are flame.

You are smoking ash which floods my lungs with each delicious breath I take.

Burn, sweet sinner, and I’ll bathe in flames with you.

I will disintegrate to ash at your feet.

And my remnants will beg for your grace, your sin…your mercy.

Mercy.

Sweet, sweetMercy.

Send me to hell, you demon of delight.

Burn with me.

chapter eight

Mercy

I SLEPT ABOUTas much as Cambria did last night, which is to say not much at all. She was in pain, and though she was stubbornly, bravely calm about it all, her silent screaming called to me.

I stayed by her side, waking every time she did. We splinted her toes as best we could, but I’m afraid they won’t heal well. I worry she’ll be in pain, that she’ll walk with a limp. The cuts all over her body were mostly superficial, though painful nonetheless, I’m sure. Only a few of them were deep enough to need stitches, and Ellary took care of those with her nimble fingers.

I’d laid in the bed beside Cambria’s in the chapel where we all sleep, our beds forming a large circle in the open square room. Pews once filled this space instead of beds—I once saw an old, faded photograph showing when they were still in place, but it must have been long before Ember Glen was founded. This space has been for servants to gather and rest as far back as I can remember.

Though I’d laid down to rest last night, I didn’t really sleep. Between Cambria’s pain and my concern for Delle, I couldn’t find peace. The wounds on Delle’s back were tended to, but her soul was broken. My ears strained all night, listening for the sound of her crying as I knew the tears would come eventually. And when they did, I was there to comfort her in an instant, staying by her side until she fell back to sleep.

Then, when I went back to rest again, Cambria’s whimpers of pain called me to her, though she’d urged me to go back to bed. There wasn’t much I could do except be there for her.

I hate it.

I hate watching someone I care about be in pain. I wish I could take the pain for myself, so she didn’t have to.

The sun shines through the stained-glass windows, signaling the girls to awaken, though I’ve been awake for hours.

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