Redemption - Fourth Wing

53. To slide on my knees and wait

Aifos' pov
Leadership had us individually interrogated for twelve hours each, with scribes dutifully recording our answers.
When they prodded around the meeting with the Irids, I remembered the grey scales of the dragon I'd killed, and my hands flexed, and shortened my answers so that I would not risk any slip up.
Dragons were exiled in Navarre for killing their own; what would happen to a Rider whose hands were as bloody?
"You're known for being bonded with two dragons," said Makram, apparently the most important among the scribes, "And yet I only see one. Your oldest. Of the Alagaesian race, if I am correct."
His eyes were narrow, and I squared my shoulders, "Alagaesyan. The accent and fluidity of the word is quite different, can't you hear it? Nevertheless, I trust your clerk to have caught it up and rightened your honest mistake with the skill of her accents." A quick flash of white teeth, stark against my dark skin, "True knowledge is to be found in details, shouldn't you agree?"
Makram laid back, his white cape already fallen on his shoulders, "Details you seem to be skipping over the beach where the seventh dragon breed was found, though."
I shrugged and feigned to follow the stones of the ceiling above us, while I tried to forget the line of the beach Chex had left me; it wasn't the one Makram was referring to.
"You should be poising such a question to Violet, instead. The dragon whom the Irids were so sharply inquiring was hers, not mine."
"And yet, yours is her brother."
My heart trembled, and I set my teeth: he wasn't to know the truth of Chex's departure. I wouldn't let him.
"Yes, he is. But dragons don't always follow humanity's consistency, yes? They study the individual, not the bloodline."
The last word came out slightly too rough, and I forced myself to fold my hands on my knees and ease my shoulders. The chamber was narrow and humid, and only a flicker of light was illuminating the younger scribe's parchment.
"And yet," rumbled Makram's voice, "A dragon is their bloodline, and bloodline is power. For instance, your younger dragon's father is renowned mostly because of his remarkable dynasty, from which the power he harnesses to his mate and rider is astounding."
I cocked my head, and kept my expression schooled, "Your age made you dangerously bold, sir. If power were a synonym of dynasty, then you should've come from a long bloodline of adept scribes, shouldn't you?"
His cheeks reddened and I thought that it'd been so easy to slip past his unguarded mind, that I wondered how even Navarrian dragons couldn't feel that he was hiding under his cloak a wholly ordinary family.
If only he knew he wasn't the only one with secrets too shameful to be brought to light.
I got on my feet and nodded to the younger scribe, whose eyes were shyly flitting between Makram and I.
"I gather the interrogation's over," I said, "Should I call in the next? Tavis, I believe."
When the heavy, wooden door clanged behind me, I briefly placed my back on it and closed my eyes. My lips twitched, and my shoulders sagged.
-Kid?- was Ronny's soft question, -You managed well.-
I shook my head, but said nothing.
Because would ever exist proper words, when the gentlest part of my soul was gone?
So, I peeled myself off the wall and dragged my legs forward: their weight was mockingly similar to the one pressing at my ribcage, caught between throat and lungs, never quite making it to my eyes.
Tavis' broad shoulders were taking up most of the narrow hallway, and he wasn't alone. I said, "Garrick? It's your turn now."
Xaden's eyes flicked on me, and Bodhi moved towards Imogen, but she was already striding towards me. She was taller than me, and her pink hair caught the faint light of candles, and then her punch cracked my nose.
Blood flowed and Ronny shouted my name while my shoulder scraped against the wall. Her hand swung again, but I managed to croak out a "Letta!" which immobilised her.
Ronny's mind jumped to mine, and remained silently alerted, but too late I realised I was waiting for a higher, sweeter voice to call my name.
My lips twitched when it never came.
I healed myself up with an annoyed mutter, then rolled my shoulders and held Imogen's green eyes for a couple of seconds before letting her go.
She stumbled back, and Bodhi was swift to interpose himself between his friend and I.
"It isn't their fault who their parents are. Think about Violet," he said, and I thought his features were softer than Xaden's, slightly more similar to mine.
"They fucking lied to us," snapped Imogen, wrenching her arm off Bodhi's grip. My body tightened when she skipped her eyes on my half Elvish ears, squinted to spot the scars on my forearms and my Gedwei Ignasia.
"I omitted," I ground out, then turned to Garrick,  "You're late to the interrogation."
"Just make sure Imogen won't kill you," he said, and I huffed, "Makram's waiting for you."
After a short nod from Xaden's part, Garrick moved to reach the wooden door, and I saw Imogen's gaze following him. Then, she hardened her expression and crossed her arms, "You're not one of us marked kids, Alagaesyan."
On that we shared common ground, I bitterly thought, but before I could tell her Bodhi cut through, "Except that you're wrong, Gen. They are one of us: they're Fen's son. Or, uh... Daughter."
He briefly glanced at me, and I gave him a quick smile.
Imogen clenched her jaw, "I don't see a godsdamned marked relic, Bodhi. Wear a pair of fucking glasses."
Shadows rippled, and my eyes found Xaden. He was tall and silent, so I gritted out, "Couldn't you have waited for my presence before telling them a secret which has never been yours?"
"No."
My hand ticked, but I didn't bother an answer and moved to get past him. But as I stepped around him, his voice was sharp, "You are to stay here. You're my sibling, I can't let you die."
I halted my steps, "The war is tipped in favour of our enemies. Command would never let an asset straggle behind."
"I am the Duke of Tyrrendor: I am command."
My heart bashed in my throat, and I could see nothing past the pommels of his twin swords. My eyes caught the amber flecks of his own, and I resignedly thought he'd be command within the enemies lines, the day he'd fall.
Would he still be a Duke?
I kept walking, although I only wanted to sink on my knees and wait for my skin to crack open like marble, until Chex would come back.