Brought Down

33. The Absolution

Julian

Hours of negotiations take their toll, and it requires all my self-control just to sit straight and pay attention. There's little else I can contribute, since the chief representative of the rebels, Thompson, seems to have everything under control.

A small, grey haired man, he's remarkably confident and persistent in getting their demands through. Increased food supplies, no more attacks on surface settlements, and many other clauses are discussed and argued upon. He almost matches Burnface in his calm demeanor. Sometimes they even laugh together, like a couple of old friends rather than representatives of two hostile camps.

There are proposals and contra proposals and numbers and charts. Judging by the faces around the table, I'm not the only one struggling with the amounts of information. Some people manage to follow, and even chime in every now and then, but some have given up and just sit and look around with glassy eyes.

To my left, Garrett looks positively miserable. I suppress a smirk. This is so not his cup of tea.

Burnface is the only representative of the Royal Forces. On one hand, it's a relief to not have to face my father just yet. On the other, it seems strange that he has given Burnface a free hand in such an important matter. We should demand a video conversation with him by the end of the negotiations. If Thompson doesn't do it, I will.

Despite my efforts to remain focused, my thoughts wander, and my eyes keep returning to Burnface. The way he holds himself is so painfully familiar it brings unbidden memories - how I feared him, how I hated him. Especially on that first night, when he decided it was time for our joke of a marriage to be consummated. He just sauntered matter-of-factly into my room in the middle of the night, turned on the lights and casually ordered me to undress.

I obeyed, wishing for it to be over, determined to show no emotions. He didn't care about my attitude, and his persistent, infuriating politeness only made me feel worse.

"Would you mind taking that position?" he would say. "Like that, thank you. That's perfect. Now don't struggle, sweetheart, we don't want you to feel any pain, do we?"

Yet I expected pain, for he was the master of pain, as everybody well knew. The tortured screams coming every now and then from his laboratories testified for that. I shuddered when I felt his hands on me, his body next to mine. Each treacherous kiss I expected to turn into a bite, each caress to end with a blow. Yet he remained gentle, and, despite my resolve, my body began to awaken to his touch.

"Just do it already," I muttered through gritted teeth.

"I dare say you're more willing than I expected."

"Fuck you."

"You got it all mixed up in your pretty head, darling," he whispered in my ear, making me shudder for all the wrong reasons. "It's I who's fucking you. And I like to take my time."

And take his time he did. By the time he was done with me I was screaming, but not from pain. Perhaps that was his sadistic game with me, to make me love what I wanted to hate.

There's more than one way to break a person. Night after night, he would break my cool indifference and melt me into a begging, desperate mess, eager to do whatever I was told. I never admitted that to him, but I awaited his steps behind my door. I craved his attention, my dreams and ambitions almost completely forgotten. I hated him for reducing me so low, yet I loved him for making me feel so good. I hated loving him. In a twisted, wrong way, I was happy with him.

And then I ruined it all with that fire.

"Are you okay?" Garrett whispers. "Your face is really red."

"I'm okay. Just... so hot in here." I blink and look away, only to meet Burnface's gaze. It's hard to tell where he's looking due to his glasses, but I'm sure his eyes are on me. His scary, lipless smile is directed at me, and his fingers move on the table in barely noticeable caressing motions. Did he read my mind? It always felt like he could.

I shudder and look away.

"So," says Burnface.

"So," says Thompson, matching his tone.

"I believe we've had all the major points covered."

"So we have. As promised, your first cargoes are awaiting you at Rosefield, Greenfield, Shando and Mayfield. In exchange, all four mines will receive fresh food supplies. To avoid surprises, the transactions in all four locations are to be performed simultaneously."

Burnface nods. "It's fine, although your lack of trust is slightly discouraging."

Thompson shrugs. "There are trust issues only time could resolve. Respecting the new agreement should be the first step to a future of forgiveness and cooperation."

"Speaking of forgiveness, there's another little clause that we must discuss." Burnface stands up. "An absolution clause."

Thompson leans forward and locks his fingers on the table. "Absolution?"

"Yes." Burnface nods and looks around. "We all know that in the course of our conflict, terrible things have been done by both sides—murders, torture, execution of captives. Any attempts to avenge the crimes of the past would be... impractical. Therefore, we propose to open a new page. Old sins should be forgiven. Any attempts at revenge should be outlawed. Both sides should be willing to start anew."

"We have contemplated this as well, and arrived at the same conclusion," says Thompson. "Starting from scratch is the only way for us to work together." He bows his head. "Now, one more thing before we sign. We hope you won't take it as an offence to your authority, but we need a --"

"Lord Maynard's approval, yes. It's only reasonable that you demand that." Burnface turns his chair so that it faces the screen on the wall. "The transcripts of the agreement have been transferred to his highness. We are expecting to receive a video call any moment now."

The screen lights up and, immediately, a face appears on it. It strikes me harder than I expected. My father's willful features, his long hair reaching down to his shoulders. It looks considerably grayer than I remembered. His thin lips are pressed together, his cool eyes gaze ahead, focusing nowhere in particular. Can't he see us?

Can't he see me?

"I greet you, my friends," he says in a flat, listless voice that makes me frown. "This remarkable occasion will hopefully signify a new and better era for humankind." He sounds as if he's reading from a screen, but his eyes don't move. "I approve of the treaty, and General Connelly is authorized to sign it in my name."

Burnface nods respectfully and turns back to the table. The screen switches off before anyone can say anything.

People exchange glances. This was strange. That's not how my father usually speaks or holds himself.

"Well, my friends, we have the royal blessing." Burnface gestures to one of his three assistants in the background. "May I trouble you for the printed version of the treaty? We will do some signing, and then—let the new era begin!"

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