Constantine (Daughter of War #1)

Chapter 32: Walking and Talking

Gilbert's eyes gleam like a cat's in the darkness; his olive skin blends in perfectly with the shadows. The whole effect of his being is unnerving, as though he were an avenging Pietist ready to swoop in and smite sinners.

"Yes?" I say stiffly. I don't think he's quite forgiven me over our little spat this morning.

"I want to talk to you," he says. No greeting, no waving of a hand, not even a crack of a smile to ease the tension. I'm not sure if I should offer a casual grin of my own—would it make him less irritated with me? Or would it just fuel his rage?

"We'll talk as we walk back to the outer ring," I finally reply. The only words I can say without embarrassing myself.

We emerge into fading sunlight and into a scattered crowd of inner ring inhabitants, whether it be servants or courtiers. The whole atmosphere is relaxed and subdued, a swan gliding lazily over a body of water. For some reason, I find myself eagerly awaiting for the sun to set completely, for the night to temporarily rule the world, for the sky to be completely blanketed in stars. And yet, as I watch the sun's last rays winking at me, I feel a painful ache in the pit of my stomach—a warmth that I hadn't known was there slowly cools down. I do enjoy watching sceneries, but I've never felt anything like this before.

"I've something to say to you too," I say, drawing my attention away from my sudden bout of poetic fancies, shattering the barrier of silence put up between Gilbert and I.

Gilbert's expression is frighteningly unreadable. In a gruff voice, he replies, "You go first."

It seems like he truly means it, so I steel my nerves and gather my courage to speak. "Sir Kendrick...How are we going to deal with him?"

Gilbert cocks a curious brow at me. There's some hint of amusement creeping over his face at my flimsy discussion starter. "You're the Champion of the Lord of Strategy," he snorts. "You tell me how we're going to deal with him."

"I—I don't know." I bite my lower lip as he gives me an expectant stare, as if I could magically come up with a solution out of my head. A flicker of anger sparks within me—why should I be the one who comes up with all of the answers to the riddles? I can't defeat Diomedes by myself, not when the necromancer knows who I am. As much as I'd hate to admit it, it'll take two Champions, not one, to score a victory for our side.

To his credit, Gilbert doesn't rub salt into the wound. Instead, he focuses his eyes ahead, at the gates looming before us, a solid arch of shelter. "Back on the field, when Sir Kendrick almost collapsed..." He casts a sidelong glance at me. "I think you compelled me."

"What?" I compelled him? If I did, I didn't realise it.

"Remember when I was far too stunned to react to the situation, but you managed to steel yourself to take action?" I nod my head cautiously. "I had no control whatsoever when you commanded me to go get help," he continues, almost to himself. "In fact, I remember very little of what was happening, both before and after the incident. Even now, I only recall snatched images of you kneeling over Sir Kendrick. Like"—he frowns here—"like my mind had temporarily blanked out."

I give an involuntary shudder. I want this ability so much—crave it. But now that I have it...I'm not sure if I want it anymore. Seven Heavens, I don't even know if my speeches have a compulsion woven into its words! The full force of Gilbert's fear when he'd first discovered his own ability to compel crashes over me like a wave; my limbs suddenly feel very heavy. I drag my feet to keep up with Gilbert, barely remembering to salute the guards patrolling the area.

Maybe Abner would hold all the answers to my questions. Then I'm reminded that Gilbert probably still doesn't know the technique to properly enter and exit a vision. "Gilbert, do you know how to control your visions?" I ask him hastily.