Page 100 of Scourged
“That’s too bad. There’s too much going on for us to be constantly worried about if you’re taking care of yourself. So, we’re going to sit here until you tell me what’s bothering you, or else you’re going to find it very difficult to find a refill of that whiskey bottle once you finish it.”
Andrian seethed, the world swirling around him.Fuck, Drystan was clever.
The threat of losing his whiskey was, in all truth, the only thing that would’ve ever gotten him to open up. From anyone else, that threat would’ve been meaningless. But from Drystan …
From Drystan, Andrian knew to take it seriously. Too many blurry memories swam through his mind; memories of Drystan besting him in every sparring match, winning at too many games of chess played on bored nights around a fire.
If any of the Armature could follow through on a threat, it was Drystan.
Andrian dropped his head into his hands, running his fingers through his hair. He needed a haircut. It was too long and too thick, too messy, and in his eyes.
The thought of a haircut cracked something in his chest. Loosened the ice that had formed, allowed sadness and grief and anger and rage to spill into its spaces. His mother and Mariah were nothing alike, but in a way, he’d been the one to hurt them both.
The first woman he’d loved and the last. Bound by a common thread: him and the way he’d hurt them.
He would never,neverlet Mariah suffer the same fate his mother had.
He lifted his head from his hands, meeting Drystan’s stare, and knew that tears lined his eyes.
“I hurt her.” His voice was so quiet, he wasn’t sure it would be heard.
Drystan leaned forward. “What? I can’t hear you. It’s just me here; no one else has to know.”
Andrian drew in a shaky breath before voicing his sins into the glade.
“Ihurther.”
Drystan stilled.
“What do you mean,” he began slowly, “youhurther? Do you remember something?”
Andrian shook his head, grief tight in his chest. His hands shook as he lifted his glass to his lips, as he forced down another gulp. “I remember nothing, but I … I … I saw her back. Her scars. And when I asked her who did that to her …” Andrian choked on the next words, unable to force them free. He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply, before turning his head to the sky.
“I asked her who did that to her. And she saidme.”
The clearing was silent, but for the barely there whisper of the spring breeze through the trees. It was a mild day, as was typical for the early vernal season in Verith, the smell of salt on the wind from the bay mingling with the crisp scent of mountain snowdrops.
After several long moments, Andrian opened his eyes and dropped his head, finding Drystan watching him with an expression that shocked him to his core.
The golden-haired man wasn’t angry, or scared, or anything that Andrian might’ve expected.
Instead, he simply looked … sad. Devastated.
“Do you remember?” Drystan asked quietly. “Any of it?”
Again, Andrian shook his head. “Even after she told me, I still remember nothing. It’s all just dark memories and nightmares. Besides,” he said, looking at his whiskey glass, tightening his fingers so his knuckles turned white. “Do you think I would still be here in the palace if I did?”
“No. You wouldn’t be. I think you would have tossed yourself into the Bay of Nria with lead tied to your ankles.”
Andrian grimaced but didn’t respond. They both knew Drystan was right.
They sat like that again, in silence, just the wind around them. With another swallow and a clench of his teeth, Andrian spoke.
“She can hardly look at me.”
Drystan’s brow furrowed in contemplation. “Are you sure of that?”
“Of course, I’m fucking sure. She couldn’t even look me in the eyes.”