Depths of Madness - Erik Scott De Bie [74]
Instead, all she managed was a question-a question she had no right to ask.
"Whence the scars on your arms?"
Liet bit his lip. "If you trusted me," he said. "If you'd share your scars with me, maybe I'd share mine with you." Turning purposefully, he walked away.
"It would make this all easier if you'd express your anger," Twilight whispered to the closing door.
She desperately wanted to tell Liet that she believed in him, that she knew he wasn't a spy and a traitor, but she resisted the impulse. The logical, reasoning side of her nature, by far the dominant facet of her being, knew that admitting such a thing to him would endanger the stability of the group.
How can equality be maintained, Twilight mused, if not by mutual antipathy?
With a shiver, she realized that it sounded like something he would say.
In that moment, she felt legacy stab like a thrust from Betrayal. And in that moment of defiance-despite all her emotional defenses, despite her rage and pain-Twilight almost called Liet back. She almost let her walls drop, almost let him in. She almost reached out to another. She almost loved him-or more appropriately, let him love her-in that moment.
But she did not.
Every one of Twilight's carefully cultivated fears and confirmed doubts came back in full force, and she was alone once more. She didn't need anyone. No one could hurt her-not again.
She found herself thinking of Taslin, of how noble the sun elf had been, and how close they had come, just as Twilight had with Liet. She remembered how Taslin had looked in the breath before the hangman's attack, beautiful in her anger.
Twilight scowled. The gods toyed with her-one in particular.
"Damn you, Erevan," she murmured as weariness claimed her. "Damn you."
The useless one paused outside her chamber, not quite within Gestal, where he stood watching. " 'Light?" he called through the open door.
No response.
Gestal waited, watching as she lay. He was certain she slept, but that was not all he awaited. The large one went off for watch, and the small one stirred in her blankets. She looked in his direction, eyes wide, then rolled back and huddled.
Satisfied, Lord Divergence entered, closed the door behind them, making sure it was locked, and stood over the one he wanted. She hadn't bothered to dress, but had fallen to slumber in clad only in her cloak. He knelt and traced the hands a hair above the soft, lithe body. He passed over her curves, made note of her scars. Their eyes lingered.
The elf s lip trembled and her face went white, but she did not wake.
"I could be your lover," he whispered. "I understand. I see." No response.
"I see through your lies," Gestal said.
Gestal stayed, their eyes not an inch from her own. He wouldn't touch her-not any part of her body. No, Gestal would do far worse.
He bent low, their lips just a hair's breadth from her throat. The elFs hands shook and she sobbed in her sleep. "Lilten," she murmured.
"No," Lord Divergence said. "A better lover."
Twilight's eyes snapped open. It was dark and quiet-so still that she might have awakened in another world. Somehow, the tranquility was not tranquil, and she shivered. Something wet and cold was upon her, like sweat. She brushed idly at her face and her hand came away sticky.
She realized she had not dressed. Instead, she had fallen asleep wrapped in the roughspun cloak upon which she and Liet had held one another.
"Silly wench," she chided herself. "Don't you realize that's not safe?"
Then she looked at her hand and froze. Blood was on her fingers.
It wasn't her own blood, she knew. She immediately fell into awareness of her body-no injury, no soreness. Nothing had damaged her-not physically, anyway.
The room suddenly seemed much larger, and she was terribly aware of her solitude. "Liet…" she whispered. Her voice came soft and weak-vulnerable.
Hardly daring to move, Twilight looked