Lord of the Night

Chapter 47: A Million and One

I didn't realize I had made a sound until he flinched away. When I turned to study him, his face was hidden, downturned, but I could read the tension in every line of his body. He was bracing himself, preparing to be rejected.

In his mind, he was irredeemable.

Maybe I should have felt the same way.

I wanted to hate him; it would have been easier. But I now saw my memory in a new light. I saw a Demon with literally broken wings, a man pushed past his limit, a victim of oppression ready to destroy anyone and everyone who stood in his way.

All the Guardians who fought died that year, he had told me.

I touched his shoulder. "Isa?"

He backed out of my reach and curled into himself. "That was you, wasn't it? The toy was...you were..."

"Yes. But..." I hesitated, searching for the right words. "I can't forgive you for what happened, but I also can't hate you for it. Anyone who went through what you went through would have done what you did. And if you hadn't fought back, my family would have killed you."

"They should have killed me." His words were barely audible, whispered to the floor. "You should have killed me."

That was wrong somehow, but I couldn't explain why. His words buried in my skin like a splinter, a tiny intrusion my body wanted to reject but didn't know how. So instead of disputing his claim, I countered with a question.

"Why didn't you kill me? When you saw me in the palace, you were killing everyone you crossed, but you didn't kill me. Was it because I—" Because I froze. I had frozen solid, no more useful than the pillar I stood beside. Worse than the pillar, actually, because I had kept my family from running. Swallowing bitter saliva, I returned my focus to the man beside me. "Because I didn't fight?"

"No." The response came out sharp and decisive, but then he drew a breath and spoke more slowly. "I don't think so. From what I've pieced together, I was killing pretty indiscriminately. Killed some Demons, too—the ones who got too close to me."

"Why, then? Why didn't you kill me?"

His head dipped to examine his hands, twisted together on his lap. Silence stretched between us, a cold and hard metal wall. His jaw worked while he picked at a half-shredded nail.

I broke the silence. "Why did you bite your nails on the wagon ride here?"

"Why do you think?" The venom in his voice sounded just like when he had told me to leave when I first entered the cell.

"You didn't bite your nails in the dungeon at the rebel base," I said.

"I had more to lose this time."

I shook my head. "You could have been tortured and maybe killed. More to lose than that?"

He hesitated; clucked his tongue. "I shouldn't be here. I can do even less to help here than I could have at the palace."

"You've already shared some things that could be helpful for the Guardians to know. I mean, assuming you're willing to tell everyone? Or, if it's alright with you, I can tell them."

"I can't stop you."

"Hey." When he still didn't look up, I pressed my palms to the floor and shifted to face him. "Isalio, I told you this is just for me. I won't tell anyone any of this without your permission."

His eyes met mine briefly before flicking away again, and he shook his head. "That doesn't make sense."

"Doesn't make sense, why?"