“I’ll be fine, Angel.” Sterling offers me a tight, hollow smile. One that illuminates just how notfinehe is. I shake my head, taking in a burning, deep breath.
“You won’t be. Go hunt. Zeke can stay with me.” Sterling opens his mouth to argue, but I don’t let him have the chance. “I’m feeling better tonight anyways,” I lie.
Sterling watches me for a moment, not believing me in the least. But he swallows, his jaw feathering, before he nods once and turns away. He makes eye contact with Zeke. “Be nice. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
Zeke huffs but doesn’t say anything. He picks up the rifle from where it’s propped against the door. Sterling looks like he’s about to argue, but Zeke lowers his voice in that commanding, intrusive way he does. “Take it.”
Sterling sighs but accepts the gun without argument before trudging out the door. I watch him go, glad he’s finally listening, but terrified about him going out on his own. The door closes behind him and I can’t seem to pull myself away from the peninsula, to focus on anything other than what Sterling will encounter beyond that door.
The minutes tick by, turning to hours as I watch the door. At some point I migrate over to the sofa, but my eyes never leave the rough wooden frame Sterling disappeared behind.
“He’ll be fine.”
I turn, realizing Zeke is in the kitchen, watching me. He disappeared some time after Sterling left, and I don’t recall noticing him return.
“How do you know?”
“It’s not our first time out here. He knows how to handle himself in the WildLands.” But I don’t miss the tension in Zeke’s features as he turns back to face the door.
I’ve heard them briefly discuss their previous time here, but neither have been exactly forthcoming with the details. “What happened? Before.”
Zeke doesn’t speak for a long moment, going instead to the kitchen table and sitting down so that he has a perfect view of the porch through the bay window, along with the moonlit woods beyond. He’s silent for so long that I think he’s not going to answer. I’m nearly about to retreat into the bedroom, resigned to pass the time by wallowing in more self-pity, when he finally speaks.
“Sterling and I . . .” Zeke won’t make eye contact with me, just continues to stare out the window. “We’re not from Requiesse. We come from a different city center. Sommael. It’s about four days north of Requiesse, by foot. I’m not sure what he’s told you, but it wasn’t a kind place.”
I push off the sofa and slowly make my way over to the kitchen table, lowering myself delicately into one of the wooden chairs across from him. “Some would argue that Requiesse isn’t a kind place either. I seem to remembera certain individual voicing their distrust of the Watchers rather passionately.”
That gets me a sidelong glance. “And where do you think that distrust stems from? I promise you, whatever hells you’ve experienced in Requiesse, Sommael was worse.”
I flinch a little at his words, memories of my darkest moments assaulting my mind as I try to imagine how anything could be worse. He must notice my reaction because the rigid lines of his face soften slightly.
“So what happened there?” It’s a simple question, but it takes all the courage in my chest to voice it. Zeke has never been a sharer. I don’t know what's compelling me to test my luck now, but something about this, something abouthimfeels different out here. In this cabin. Away from the ungoverned district and the Blood Order.
Zeke pauses again, an elbow leaning on the table, his fingers absently stroking the stubble on his chin. I think for a moment I’ve made a terrible miscalculation, that there’s no chance he would share something so personal with me. But to my surprise he turns to face me head on.
“I won’t speak for Sterling. His traumas are his to share. But I will tell you that the Alpha in Sommael had a certainaffinityfor him.”
I swallow hard, following his implications.
“The Watchers there are not like the ones in Requiesse. Nor are the laws. Your father has made a society of segregation. It's vile, yes. But at least those touched by the Arcanehave the choice to exist in the ungoverned district, or live as servants in the Temple.”
“But is that even a choice?” I ask, brows furrowed. “It doesn’t feel like much of one to me.”
Zeke huffs out something akin to a laugh, nodding his agreement. “You’re not wrong. The Blood Order is well off in the ungoverned district, but my duties have afforded me the opportunity to see much of the ugly underbelly of the area. It’s not much of a life for many. And I dare say a life stripped of power and condemned to servitude to absent gods isn’t any better.”
“It’s not,” I answer coldly. I’ve seen first hand how they are treated, spent countless hours beside them in Tamiel’s lab. I was treated much the same as many of them. And it’s a hells of an existence.
Zeke must follow my line of thinking, because he dips his head in an apologetic way before continuing. “Regardless, Sommael's Alpha was not quite so charitable with the Arcane-touched. There were no options for us. We were born into servitude, every single mortal in the city. Only the Watchers were afforded any sort of freedom. The rest of us were forced to work like dogs for them. And Sterling and I—”
Zeke sighs deeply, as if he’s not interested in voicing what comes next. “Sterling and I were personal attendants to the Alpha. There were a small few of us who caught his eye. And he kept us close, used us to satisfy his vices.”
“Vices?” I ask, cocking my head as I lean my elbows on the table.
Zeke nods, turning back to look out the bay window. “Sterling was so drugged up during his time there that I still am not sure he knows exactly what all happened. That was the gods' one saving grace, that the Alpha couldn’t do anything sober. And was, for whatever reason, always willing to share his indulgences.”
I sit and listen, scared that if I say anything, it will snap him out of sharing more.
“But out of all his vices, his wrath was saved for me. Andthathe had to be sober for.”
