Lord of the Night

Chapter 20: Danif

The moment he left, I started exploring the room. I hesitated to open the dresser based on the warnings from both the Duchess and Isalio, but the drawers were all bare. Moss covered the floor inside the washroom, bordering the toilet and sink and stretching into the shower.

Thirty minutes of searching confirmed Isalio's assertion: the room provided all basic necessities but nothing that could be used as a weapon.

Finally, I succumbed to exhaustion. I flopped down on top of the sheets, still fully clothed. As the rain reduced to a pitter-patter and the first light of morning spilled into the room, I slipped into a deep slumber.

When I awoke, sunshine lit the room, and birds trilled echoing calls. The bright cheer of the day only accentuated my despair. The night before, the thunderstorm had painted events with the shadowy brushstrokes of a fever dream, but this nightmare was real. Bodies of my fallen comrades floated through the destroyed base, and the rest of my people would soon fill the barns.

I rolled off the mattress and trudged toward the window. The sun beamed high overhead. Dark woodlands stretched out around the palace, and beyond that, bright desert sand twinkled on the horizon. Straight down, I spotted the dead oak tree, the crows black freckles dotting its branches. An ant-sized figure circled the tree—perhaps the Keeper.

In full daylight, the ground looked even further away. Remembering how close I had come to taking this leap the night before, my palms grew clammy and my throat tightened.

I turned away from the window and started my routine exercises to clear my head. My aches and bruises protested the strain, but the burn of my muscles dissolved some of the fog over my mind. Wiping away sweat, I dropped down on the bed and dug into the leftover food. I had just finished off the last bite when the door opened.

Isalio entered, shoulders stiff, clutching another plastic container. He still wore the black button-up, jeans, and dress shoes from the night before. His gaze darted from my sweaty forehead to the empty container.

"You're taking care of yourself," he said. "That's good. I mean, I'm sure you're only doing it so you can kill me as soon as the chance arises, but still...it's better than letting yourself waste away."

I vaguely registered his strange words and the even stranger lilt in his voice, but my mind was already preparing for what came next. He would repeat his request, I would refuse, and he would have me taken to the barn.

He took a few jerky strides toward the bed, gripping the container tight. I had the bizarre notion that if I stood up, he would jump back. When I didn't move, he closed the space between us and dropped the container on the bedside table. Then he backed up several steps and ducked his head. He fiddled with his belt loops as though he didn't know where to put his hands.

I studied him, perplexed by this inexplicable change. This was not the suave submissive from the base nor the powerful predator who struck down Demons and Guardians alike. Now, he just appeared self-conscious and a little lost.

I wondered if this was what he looked like as a child. He was a nice boy. Imagining a sweet child with Isalio's eyes, confusion twisted my gut. Somehow, this confusion felt even worse than the anger. At least all-consuming rage united my mind, heart, and body against a common enemy.

Eventually, the silence grew so unbearable that I considered bringing up his request myself. Maybe that was his plan—to just stand there until I broke down and gave him what he wanted. My jaw moved, playing with words I couldn't quite form.

But before I could speak, Isalio turned on his heel and left the room.

***

The next day passed the same way. Isalio entered the room several times, handed me a container of food, contemplated me for a long minute, and then exited again. Each time, he made some nervous, flimsy attempt at conversation, like a child dangling a toy before a tiger. Each time, I remained silent.