The Obsidian Pillar

Chapter Fifty-one

Waincroft had already recovered by the time I reached the top stair. He was sat on the edge of the round bed, his head in his hands, his fingers crawling agitatedly through his dark hair. He still looked worn and tired.

When he heard me reach the pillar, his head shot up and he rose to his feet, fear clouding his dull pewter eyes as he looked worriedly from me to the staircase.

'Valla,' he whispered. His voice was softer than the turn of a page in a book.

I allowed him to approach me, but when I didn't say a word, he faltered. He seemed stronger, his eyes were slowly brightening and the golden colour of his tanned skin had returned, reminding me how terrified I had been when I found him, pale and drawn and alone. Ready to die.

It had been enough to drive me down there.

I turned his hands over in mine and thumbed the fading scars and calluses. The keeper of my dreams had been true to his word. I started to shake.

A large sofa appeared from thin air at our side. I remembered seeing it from one of my first visits there, when he had placed it in perfect position to look up at the stars above. They definitely were not just stars.

I sat down with him, feeling empty. I shivered. He conjured a thick blanket and tucked it over my legs, but I simply sat there, wooden.

'What happened on the rooftop?' I mumbled as he nestled me to him and started trailing lazy caresses along my arm.

'I was grateful you didn't return with us in the end. It was chaos.'

I placed my hand in his, needing to feel his reformed skin upon my own, to remind myself that he had survived. That it was worth it.

He broke off for a few moments, staring down at our hands clasped together, our palms scarred and scorched. He noticed the sapphire wedding band that I had forgotten about, but he didn't comment. But he observed every interlocked finger and his eyes softened.

'The guardian had been possessed all along. All of that time he spent under the roof of the Fold, he had been under the influence of another.'

'Who? Or what?' I stuttered, remembering the Laxo hounds and the creature that hoarded broken dreams in the depths below.

'We believe it was the God of Vice himself.'

'Is that possible?' My voice was barely more than a whisper as we stared up at the glistening sky.

'Anything is possible. You are living proof of that,' he spoke softly, tucking my hair behind my ear.

'What did Vice want with him?'

'You know how the legend goes. He wants her. He was drawing on the guardian's power every time he opened the Rupture. He weakened him enough to take over his mind. He wanted to tear the Fold apart from the inside. Perhaps he thought we were harbouring his lover. That's what he wants: to find Fortitude.'