betrayal; it was expediency. You may not like my methods, but I did it all for you. If I could choose, I would. I would choose you. Please Meda, choose me.”
I didn’t. I left him to die, instead. A pity it didn’t work out as I planned. It would have saved me a lot of trouble now. “If you had told me, I would have told you to have a nice trip.”
“Would you?” It’s soft. Almost a whisper, his hungry eyes searching my face for something he will never find. When I don’t respond, he falls backwards against the wall and slides back down. His tone becomes mocking, his mouth twisted in a not-smile. “I guess it’s better that I didn’t then.”
“You must have known that’s how I’d react. Or why not tell me?”
“No, that's not why. I thought we were . . .” he finishes with a shrug instead of a word. “I didn’t think you could be happy, knowing I was in hell, knowing what was happening to me. Knowing you could have stopped it. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to have to make the choice, to choose me over your Crusaders. I thought it’d be easier if your hand were forced. I’d save you that, at least.”
“Well, you were wrong.”
After a long moment he relaxes. “Ah, well, I’ll keep my version.” He tilts his head back against the wall and closes his eyes. The rigid knob of his Adam’s apple is in sharp relief in his emaciated state. His eyes close. “As I said, there’s no fun in the truth.”
“Fun or not, you didn’t answer my question. Why marriage?”
He releases a resigned breath and doesn’t open his eyes. “Because I need the Crusaders to do something for me.”
“You need them.”
“Where else am I going to find an army of heroic self-sacrificing idiots?”
Can’t disagree with that one. “And you think they’re going to help you?”
His eyes open and he smiles faintly. “Not on purpose. Obviously.”
“Help you do what?”
“To get my soul back, of course.” He smiles sardonically at my shock. “What else?”
“How?” I stride forward again. “How can they help you?”
“The demons have secrets . . . secrets that if the Crusaders knew, it could change…” His voice became strained and his mouth forms words that he can’t get past his lips. The demonic gag-order at work. He finally substitutes a breathless “everything,” instead of what he wanted to say.
Even seeing the demon magic at work, I can’t help but ask again. “How?”
He opens his mouth then closes it again with a chagrined smile, unable to speak. “If I could tell you, we wouldn’t need to get married now, would we? Though maybe I would anyway.” His tone becomes challenging. “Anything to get rid of that damned indifference.”
I debate the value of pushing for more information, but Puchard had confirmed Armand’s claim that he can’t reveal secrets that the demons have forbidden. Gifted torturer though I am, I’m unlike to succeed at pulling the information within a few hours when the Crusaders haven’t managed to do over the last several months.
And frankly, I’m concerned he’ll discover more of my secrets in the process than I will of his.
“You have my attention now, Armand.” I place my hand on the door. “But I think you'll come to regret it.”
FIVE
There’s a tentative knock on the door. The kind of two-knuckle tap that’s more question than statement. Jo and I haven’t spoken since the night before, but we don’t need to. Not for her to know what I decided. She knows. She knew when she said yes.
“Meda?” Jo asks. I don’t answer and I don’t lift my head off the pillow. I hear her shuffling step as she crosses the room. The bed sags as she sits on its edge. “I am sorry. I know it’s not what you wanted.” I still don’t answer. “I didn’t . . . I mean, I don’t . . . I know this needs to happen, but I’m sorry it’s happening to you.” A pause and I hear the click of her leg brace as she shifts. “I would have gone
I didn’t. I left him to die, instead. A pity it didn’t work out as I planned. It would have saved me a lot of trouble now. “If you had told me, I would have told you to have a nice trip.”
“Would you?” It’s soft. Almost a whisper, his hungry eyes searching my face for something he will never find. When I don’t respond, he falls backwards against the wall and slides back down. His tone becomes mocking, his mouth twisted in a not-smile. “I guess it’s better that I didn’t then.”
“You must have known that’s how I’d react. Or why not tell me?”
“No, that's not why. I thought we were . . .” he finishes with a shrug instead of a word. “I didn’t think you could be happy, knowing I was in hell, knowing what was happening to me. Knowing you could have stopped it. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to have to make the choice, to choose me over your Crusaders. I thought it’d be easier if your hand were forced. I’d save you that, at least.”
“Well, you were wrong.”
After a long moment he relaxes. “Ah, well, I’ll keep my version.” He tilts his head back against the wall and closes his eyes. The rigid knob of his Adam’s apple is in sharp relief in his emaciated state. His eyes close. “As I said, there’s no fun in the truth.”
“Fun or not, you didn’t answer my question. Why marriage?”
He releases a resigned breath and doesn’t open his eyes. “Because I need the Crusaders to do something for me.”
“You need them.”
“Where else am I going to find an army of heroic self-sacrificing idiots?”
Can’t disagree with that one. “And you think they’re going to help you?”
His eyes open and he smiles faintly. “Not on purpose. Obviously.”
“Help you do what?”
“To get my soul back, of course.” He smiles sardonically at my shock. “What else?”
“How?” I stride forward again. “How can they help you?”
“The demons have secrets . . . secrets that if the Crusaders knew, it could change…” His voice became strained and his mouth forms words that he can’t get past his lips. The demonic gag-order at work. He finally substitutes a breathless “everything,” instead of what he wanted to say.
Even seeing the demon magic at work, I can’t help but ask again. “How?”
He opens his mouth then closes it again with a chagrined smile, unable to speak. “If I could tell you, we wouldn’t need to get married now, would we? Though maybe I would anyway.” His tone becomes challenging. “Anything to get rid of that damned indifference.”
I debate the value of pushing for more information, but Puchard had confirmed Armand’s claim that he can’t reveal secrets that the demons have forbidden. Gifted torturer though I am, I’m unlike to succeed at pulling the information within a few hours when the Crusaders haven’t managed to do over the last several months.
And frankly, I’m concerned he’ll discover more of my secrets in the process than I will of his.
“You have my attention now, Armand.” I place my hand on the door. “But I think you'll come to regret it.”
FIVE
There’s a tentative knock on the door. The kind of two-knuckle tap that’s more question than statement. Jo and I haven’t spoken since the night before, but we don’t need to. Not for her to know what I decided. She knows. She knew when she said yes.
“Meda?” Jo asks. I don’t answer and I don’t lift my head off the pillow. I hear her shuffling step as she crosses the room. The bed sags as she sits on its edge. “I am sorry. I know it’s not what you wanted.” I still don’t answer. “I didn’t . . . I mean, I don’t . . . I know this needs to happen, but I’m sorry it’s happening to you.” A pause and I hear the click of her leg brace as she shifts. “I would have gone
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