Splintered

Chapter Thirty-Nine: Picking Poisons

"You girls had enough gossip time?" Augustus's voice was oil slick as it slid down the hallway. Hazel wrangled a groan. Hearing him was just about as pleasant as having a vat of the stuff dumped over her head.

A garish amethyst suit cloaked him, its shade identical to the streak in his braid and Gaul's ensemble. He was wholly unbothered as he crossed the corridor. Traipsing toward them, he browsed the wall of harrowed young faces, lips curving in a disgusting self-satisfaction.

Hazel's nerves congealed.

"Mr. Trask, we were just talking about you." Doctor Gaul's smile was plastic melted over a grimace.

Hazel felt a minuscule amount of satisfaction in their shared hatred of the man, even if the woman was advocating for his presidency.

"Consider me flattered, should I step back out and leave you ladies to it?" He faked a falter, "I certainly wouldn't want to intrude on such a riveting subject."

If only he truly would leave, preferably through the nearest window.

"Nonsense." Gaul forced a laugh that was more like a cackle. "We're all done here. Miss Marlowe has a speech to give after all."

The older woman once again presented her elbow. Hazel sighed and accepted it with the enthusiasm of someone taking a rattlesnake by the tail. Gaul cinched her close enough that she could smell the byproducts of old milk and partially digested crackers.

Augustus breezed closer to the two, studying their linked arms with a smarmy smirk.

Hazel scowled at his suit and eggplant braid. "Interesting makeover, Mr. Trask."

"Purple is authoritative, royal." Augustus adjusted his lapel.

"It suits you," Gaul commented.

"You as well, doctor," Augustus replied, appreciating her matching ensemble. Hazel wrestled down an eye roll. Augustus appeared to notice her expression, "I imagine it would flatter you too, Miss Marlowe."

Hazel didn't bother to hide her stare. "Last time I saw you, you were accusing me of treason. Now we're talking fashion?"

"I believe no one is beyond reform."

Hazel swept her gaze down his form before resettling her stare on his. "I can't say I share that opinion."

"A harsh stance for someone like you."

"What kind of someone am I?"

"You've spilled your share of blood, or has that slipped your mind?" Augustus goaded.

If only.

Gaul cut in. "All Victors carry blood on their hands. There's no shame in that." Her thumb pressed against Hazel's bandage. The pressure was just enough to make her flinch. "Battle scars deserve to be worn with pride."

Hazel scrutinized her injured palm. It stung slightly, but no red peeked through the layers.

Pride?

That word didn't belong anywhere near the image of a tree at her back, or steel sleucing through her flesh and ligaments.

All done by a boy she would eventually kill. One who was doing the bidding of a man who gambled on his death behind his back.

"I think I'll pass for now, Mr. Trask." It took everything she had not to spit out the answer.

His stare swept up and down her, "Sticking with blue then?"

"I'm afraid she chose her side a while ago, Mr. Trask." Gaul smoothed a wrinkle along Hazel's sleeve. "Though I have been trying to instill the merits of weighing her options."