The Heirs of Death

42. The Cradle

THE CRADLE

I hadn't bothered changing, and instead had gone through the opposite door leading to Leon's rooms. The wall around our bond had been down the moment Blake's shadows vanished, and I left nothing hidden. Not a word, not an emotion.

I couldn't do that to him, not again.

I was still trembling as I went in, not bothering with looking around. I found him in the bedroom, sitting at the edge of the footboard, a small paper in hand, yellow stains smearing its edges. Blake's drawing.

He remained silent as I went in and rested against the doorframe, arms around myself. Still trembling. My bones felt cold, my legs numb.

He didn't say a word, didn't make any attempt to do so.

I couldn't remember for how long we remained like this, me standing at the door, him seated on the edge of the bed, staring at each other.

I waited for him to say something, to yell, to set something on fire. Begged for him to do so with each breath.

He didn't.

I'd seen this face before, the cold, unbothered eyes, the calm, waiting face. I'd seen it so many times during work, at courts, in meetings. I'd never thought I'd see it when we were alone. Never thought I would be at the other end of that voided stare.

Say something.

There was no strength in my legs to carry me to the end of the room. And I didn't know how to speak, how to look him in the eye when Blake's scent wafted from me with every movement. I'd let him see what happened—all of it. A bare truth.

I was tired of lying, of hiding.

Say something. Please.

Leon put the paper aside, not offering it another glance, his eyes not slipping from my face.

The silence pressed on my chest, on my lungs, stealing every breath. I couldn't take it anymore, couldn't take the distance between us. Couldn't take the quietness anymore.

"You're angry.'' So small—my voice was so, so small.

Not even a blink. "I am not.''

He was—I tasted it in my mouth. In my soul. Not because of the mere fact that I didn't kill Blake, but for what laid behind it. The reluctance, the memories, the emotions. I didn't tell him about them, kept them a secret. He'd taken an oath, he'd chosen death than to live without me. I kept secrets from him.