Promises of a Deadly Bind {Sequel to Games of a Different Kind}

Chapter 12

Liam's POV

The soft sound of her singing trailed through the kitchen. I sat at the table, my arms rigid and tight on the surface of the scarred table. Serafina reached a trill and I felt like I was being tortured.

It wasn't that she was bad at singing - no, the exact opposite. Serafina had the voice of a nightingale, it was ridiculous how well she sang. That was the problem. Everything about the girl described a sweetness: not just in her voice, but in her actions, in the very way she appeared.

She had been raised by her father alone: a chaplain's daughter and had achieved some kind of ridiculously high level of sweetness - as if she drunk a gallon of honey every morning of her life. I was some pale ghoul of manners compared to her - she seemed to outshine everyone on that score. 

"Liam?" Her questioning voice made me turn in her direction. "You haven't spoken much since last night. Are you well?" 

I hadn't spoken much, no surprise at all when I was wondering how the hell I was going to kill this innocent girl, even if it wouldn't affect the future. She would still feel the pain and that cruel sting of betrayal. I was the boy she'd let in from the night, the one she'd helped even before she knew a name.

What kind of monster kills a girl like her?

"Just wondering of my journey," I replied hastily. "I've been thinking it's best if I stay in the village for  a few days, try and gather some supplies and bearings before I travel on."

As if a few days is going to make any kind of difference. Killing Serafina will still be a godforsaken act three days from now on and no matter how long I stayed, that wouldn't change.

"You're welcome to stay with us," she offered cheerfully, turning properly to me. Her black hair was gathered upwards in a bun, though her morning chores had let strand after strand cascade down, framing her pale face even more. "We still have the spare room, so you don't have to worry a bit about overcrowding us." 

Of course, I thought miserably. She just has to offer me room. 

This would all have been so much easier if she'd been a bitch. Killing her would still be crossing over the moral boundary, naturally, but I probably would have felt better about it. I nodded, dismally attempting to smile though it was a wretched try. Nevertheless, she smiled as if I'd granted her some goddamned gift by agreeing to stay. 

"Good," she replied warmly, returning to her place by the fire. Breakfast was cooking over the burn, something bubbling inside a beaten, old pot. Whatever it was, it smelled good and I was hoping that food inside my stomach might improve my mood. "I would hate for you to be stuck outside with nowhere to go."

Would you now? I wanted to grimace. 

"Oh, excellent, you're up." My forehead furrowed in confusion, wondering who she was speaking to. Her father had already left for his post at the village church. Scraping my chair out so I could see the newcomer, my limbs seemed to lose all kind of solidity. 

A little boy was standing only a few feet away, still rubbing his eyes solemnly. She said something but it was replaced by a dull buzz of realisation ringing in my ears as I saw her pick him up. I watched the little boy laugh, his arms raised and the earliness of morning shed to be replaced with the enjoyment his sister gave him. 

He wasn't dead. I remembered her story, the one she'd told Tyros. The beginning of it had caught my attention before I'd flitted away. Her little brother died when he was four, killed by ruffians who'd only meant to steal silver and not a life. But he'd screamed too high and they needed him to stop.