Page 55 of Chasing the Night
“There’s more to the job than burning.” He sniffed. “And more to mercy than looking the other way.”
“What do you know about mercy?” she scoffed.
“I know enough about this world to know that mercy is circumstantial. Some would say mercy is taking a young woman in. Offering her a home and resources.” His voice trailed off, but his gaze remained fixed on Chalice. “Then there are those like us, love. The ones who know that mercy often comes with an ulterior motive.”
She stilled for a moment and swallowed his words.” Everything and everyone has an ulterior motive.”
“Don’t ever forget it,” Messiah and I chorused.
In no time at all, she had made a sulfur poultice, and all that was left was the wait. He would heal, or infection would set. It was up to the Fated Few now.
“What happened to him? Did he show mercy to the wrong House?” Chalice asked, sweeping the hair off my brother’s forehead. Me and Messiah stared at her, unblinking. Had she really missed half of the conversation?
“This is…” Messiah started, but his hand dipped beneath the long-twisted strands of his hair and he silently started to massage his neck.
“This is what?” Chalice asked, raising her brows and folding her arms defensively. No one had leveled any fault toward her, but it was like she knew.
“Atticus had plans for you. The scene at the Sip Room was quite public.” I attempted to fill her in but found myself filling the silence with short clipped details. “He had to sit up here and listen to the updates without being able to fix it. Doing so would have drawn more attention to the matter.”
“This was what, revenge?” she asked, disbelief dripping from her tone. Her face convulsed, and she turned away from us for a few moments, shifting the vials around just to look busy.
“It isn’t your fault,” Messiah patiently announced. “It isn’t anyone’s fault. It is a facade meant to assign blame. Atticus doesn’t agree to unions unless he can control them. He might have aspired to have control over a Princess, but he can’t. Not with that house.”
I nodded to the wisdom of his words. He always seemed to see things from a broader perspective. Sometimes the things he said gave me chills. I’d wonder how he could imagine something so sensational or horrific, only to later marvel when things went exactly as he anticipated.
Messiah knew people. He studied their behavior until he could read even the smallest expression and discern the deepest of lies and webs. It was a game to him, to see if he could predict their intentions and actions. It was safe to say, he knew some people better than they would ever understand themselves.
“While we are discussing Atticus, I persuaded him not to leave you like this. He asserted that you had no value… now that you are known to frequent peasant scandal houses.” He hadn’t said all that, but I didn’t bother to correct Messiah when he told it. “I know you’ve been tailing me. What you do is petty. A child’s art. You are to study the true art of shadow walking.”
“I’m not petty,” she snapped, whirling back around. “And I don’t need you to teach me anything.”
“You do actually. You need me to show you the most basic of all things, Chalice. You need me to show you how to fucking stay alive. You can let us… or you can try your chances with that crazy son of a bitch.” He hefted his shoulders in an aggressive shrug and cocked his head to stare down at her, having closed the distance between them during his lecture.
She had to know. I knew she did, the way her eyes darted around the floor like Uncle Icarus, and her beautiful deep golden skin paled a few shades. She swatted at his dreads and brushed past him. Without a word, she snatched up a clean cloth on her way past and moved to clean up a bit of blood on my brother’s chest.
I reached out without thinking and grabbed her wrist. Without warning, the cloth in her hand swatted and hurled against my face repeatedly. I danced with her, away from the operating table. She refused to stop slapping at me, and I refused to let loose of her, so we tangled about for a bit until Messiah started to stomp toward us.
“I don’t even know if I want to be here anymore. I don’t. I don’t want to be here anymore!” Chalice yelled.
“None of us do. But here we are,” I retorted, matching her loudness.
“There is no leaving,” Aella mumbled from the doorway. Chalice froze in place, watching on as our sister sauntered into the room. Her skirt was nothing more than a piece of satin wrapped around her and tied at the hip. Above it, a slave chain was fashioned around her belly. A delicate piece of jewelry that no respectable woman would wear.
Her hair had been drawn up and secured under a brilliant blond wig that made her almost unrecognizable until she drew close. Chalice’s eyes bugged momentarily, but before she could question the costume, Messiah smacked Aella in the back of the head and pointed to the back of the surgery. “Find a damn smock already.”
“I’m not wearing an examination smock, you put one on,” she shot back scornfully.
“It will cover more,” Messiah scoffed before swatting her suggestion away. “I’m not the one a breeze away from baring it all.”
Aella slid past us and made her way through the underground passage rather than staying to argue.
“Why is she dressed like a…” Chalice asked.
“Never mind all of that. She has her tasks, and you have yours.” Messiah redirected, before stepping toward the table. “May I borrow your workspace a moment?”
It was a warning more than a question—he was already waving Chalice closer.
“You must know the canvas before you attempt to paint,” He lectured, pulling back the sheet that covered my brother’s torso. He pointed out the arterial accesses, most of which she seemed to already know.
“Did you really just refer to torture as paint? Something I’m to beautify my subject with?” Chalice asked with more than a little disdain.
“If they end up in his hot seat, chances are they were too ugly to save to begin with.” I thought aloud.
She looked over her shoulder and studied me like I was something on the bottom of her shoe.