Eridessa
We dress in silence.
I feed him. We wash up again. Then I rebind the rope around Orán’s wrists.
Night has fully settled, and I have work to do. Since I can’t leave him wandering my house unattended, I take him by the elbow and guide him outside, around the back of the homestead.
He goes without argument.
Still, he’s leary. His gait is slow, and there’s a great deal of tension in his shoulders. Whatever trust he offered me earlier only stretches so far.
The air is cooler than the day before, damp with earth and pine. Our boots scuff lightly over gravel and packed dirt, the sound steady beneath us. The forest presses close beyond the house, alive with the rustle of leaves and the distant trill of birds greeting the morning.
At the cellar, I retrieve a key and work it into the bolt. The chain loosens with a dull clink as I unfasten the lock, then pry one of the heavy steel doors open. It resists before giving way, opening with a low groan to reveal the steep staircase below, swallowed up before the landing by darkness.
Orán turns his head, glancing down at me.
“You first. I’ll follow right behind you.”
His pale blue eyes hold questions he doesn’t voice. His arms flex subtly, instinctively testing the impossible strength of the bindings. The rope answers with a faint hum, its woven strands glowing softly where they cinch his wrists.
He is killable now.
Weaker than me, if the Grand Minister’s imparted wisdom about the rope holds true.
It would be the perfect opportunity to end his life, yet I can not bring myself to do so. Not yet.
Much of what he has revealed to me has me questioning things I shouldn’t, and before I take that irreversible action, I have much to contemplate.
He steps forward, takes one measured stair, then another.
Halfway down, he pauses and looks back at me, skepticism flickering across his face before he turns and continues. I follow, letting him wait in the dark at the threshold of my workshop while I fumble for the propane lighter. The click echoes softly. Within a few minutes, lanterns flare to life one by one across my workbench, bathing the room in amber light.
I let him see it.
Because either we find understanding here, or he does not leave this cellar.
There is a fragile hope that it won’t come to that. But I don’t yet know whether to place much faith in it.
His gaze moves slowly over the space. Glass beakers. Coiled tubing. Tattooing equipment lay out in careful order. On the far wall are more glass cases and cages. White insects. Small animals. Living things I’ve shared the elixir with. Creatures, I plan to personally make sure endure past the ending Orán and his brothers have planned.
He strides toward that wall, studying them with quiet focus, the same way he’s studied everything else of mine.
I fold my arms across my stomach and watch him in silence. Waiting for his reaction.
“You changed them?”
“I did.”
“They’re like you?” His gaze flicks from the cages back to me. “Like me?”
“Yes.”
His jaw tightens. “You’re playing God.”
Heat climbs up my spine. It settles heavily in my chest before I let it loose. “Someone has to, if He won’t.”
“Eri.” His voice softens, not in disagreement but more as an appeal for me to come to my senses. “You can’t do this.”
