Page 155 of Fallacies

The Rogue snorts. “Always the martyr, aren’t you, Grey?” He releases his grip with a shove, and I hear a body slump to the floor. “Still playing the fucking Captain after all these years.”

I stiffen, forced to watch as he swings his leg back, his boot connecting with what I can only assume is a ribcage.

“Always.” Kick. “A fucking.” Kick. “Martyr.” Kick.

I’m going to be sick.

The Captain. Not my Captain—not Callan. The former Captain.

Shock gives way to impulse, and Salem might call it reckless, but screw him. He isn’t here. He isn’t witnessing what I’m witnessing, and it’s all my fault. The guard, the dungeons…Callan’s father is being punished for it. For something the Hound did that I was very much a part of.

An illusion is the first thing that comes to mind. It pours out of me before I can second-guess myself, and a pounding fist bangs on the door to the room I’m looking into.

“What?!” The Rogue whips his head around. “I’m not done!”

“You’re done.” I mimic the Countess’s voice, careful with her accent, making sure it bleeds through the exterior door at a realistic level. “Take him back.”

“But he hasn’t⁠—”

“That’s an order!”

The Rogue goes silent, glancing once to Callan’s father, who is still just out of my eyesight. There’s anger on his face, frustration that he won’t get to finish what he’d started.

Come on, I beg silently. Leave.

My heart pounds as his searing gaze drifts up the wall—towards the grate.

Bang, bang, bang. Three more loud pounds of a fist on the door.

The Rogue snarls, baring his teeth in the direction of the exit. “I’m coming!”

He charges forward, reaching down to haul Grey to his feet, and I wince at the sight of him. Bloodied from head to toe.

As he turns, I note the bruises under his eyes, down his neck, and more purple and blue splotches on his arms and wrists. Arms shaking, Callan’s father holds his chained wrists out to the Rogue, allowing him to check his restraints. It’s unprompted, like he’s done this enough times that he’s familiar with the procedure.

I’m still smothered in shadows, nothing but a dark void beyond the vent, but I swear he sees me. I swear the former Captain looks right into my eyes, and instead of a painful expression, he’s wearing a grateful one. He’s still adorning it as the Rogue tugs on his arms, forcing him towards the exit.

At the sound of the door shutting, something stirs inside me, a beast in its own right. I have too many to deal with as is, but this new monster creates room. It buries itself deep in my chest, churning and searing its own path. I’ve felt anger before, true anger, but nothing like this.

Nothing like this.

36

The Hound

“It can’t be a coincidence!” the Countess roars, the boom of her voice carrying through the hall. I’ve not even made it to the dining room yet. “He’s been here for three days and⁠—”

“Good morning.” I admire the way the guards reach for their weapons when I stroll through the open doors. They have no courage to use them, but if only they knew that in my current state, they might actually do some damage.

I’m lacking the majority of my strength and power thanks to the King. Right now, it’s all about the show. Pretending I have what I don’t. And judging by the room full of hesitant guards and paling faces before me, I think I’m doing a good enough job.

“You.” The Countess whirls around, crooked finger stabbed in his direction. “What have you done with the Baron?”

“The Baron?” I feign shock. “I don’t believe I’ve met the Baron.” Alive.

“Bullshit!” The woman to her right stands from her seat. She’s an older, slightly sharper version of the Countess—pointed nose, gaunt cheeks, yellow eyes blazing with accusation.

The Umbra bursts through the kitchen doors. “Alesi is missing. Again! Fucking ungrateful little brat,” she mutters under her breath.