“Where’s Krey?” Nora cried.
Then she saw him flying into the room, holding an unconscious female guard wearing a knitted cap. He set her down carefully, then grabbed Nora’s shoulder, his voice urgent. “We have to take your father with us. Get him away from his source of fuel.”
Her eyes widened, hope filling her chest. Yes—with her father unconscious, they could get him to safety. Help him through his addiction.
This was her chance to save Cellerin by saving the king.
“Ovrun!” she called. “Carry my father!”
Another voice shouted, “Stop!”
Nora turned. Three royal guards stood in the foyer, pointing weapons—two bows and a gun—at the group.
Nora held up both hands. “Don’t shoot! It’s me! The princess!”
“I know,” the tallest guard said. “Stay away from the king.”
“We need to take him with us,” Nora said. “You know he’s controlling everyone at the palace.”
“I do know,” the same guard said. “But he’s my king.”
“I am your princess.”
“That’s why I’m letting you leave unharmed. If you step away from the king.”
Nora, Taima called. I am holding them off, but we must go!
Nora gave her father one last look, then turned to the guards. “My aunt fled through the icehouse. Please make sure she’s okay.” When the tall guard nodded, Nora ran to the front door, followed by her friends. Outside, she opened the gate.
Her jaw dropped.
Taima sat, regal and proud, on the lawn in front of the palace residence. She’d set fire to a large, semicircular line of grass, starting at one corner of the residential fence and ending at the other. White-hot streams of fire, extending from Taima’s mouth into the dark palace grounds, kept the guards at bay.
Nora, Krey, Ovrun, and Zeisha mounted Taima. She took to the air, swathing the land in fire as she ascended.
20
Our nation’s leaders brag that our mental health services are top notch. I agree . . . to a point. When I dealt with depression last year, I loved my therapist. Daily medication keeps me going.
But what about those who can’t live independently? I visited a long-term inpatient facility yesterday. Do you know how many visits their average resident gets every year?
Two.
How can someone heal if we lock them away and forget about them?
-“Where’s the Care in Mental Healthcare?” by Genta Ril
The Derogan Chronicle, dated Cyon 1, 6293
Zeisha wanted to hold Krey close and tell him how sorry she was that she’d wrapped her vine around him. But he was behind her, clutching Taima’s scales just as she was. He hadn’t said a word since they left the palace. She couldn’t even hold his hand.
The wind brought her snatches of conversation from Nora and Ovrun, who’d mounted Osmius after Taima flew them back to the clearing. Their calm chatter contrasted with Krey and Zeisha’s silence.
What will I say to him when we get back to Deroga?
She could tell him everything would be fine. But was that true? Neither of them knew what the coming weeks and months would hold. He’d recounted the recovery he’d suffered through at eight years old. Would it be easier or harder almost a decade later?
Maybe she could tell him she understood why he’d done it. Except she didn’t, not completely. She knew he’d wanted to stop Nora from doing something stupid. But going off on his own, lying to Nora, not telling Zeisha when he was leaving or even asking her opinion on the whole thing—she didn’t understand any of that.
He was acting like an addict. The thought entered Zeisha’s mind, and she squeezed her eyes shut, as if that would make the truth flee. After so many years, just the thought of eating brain matter again had been enough to resurrect the worst of Krey’s addictive behaviors. Lying. Hiding things. Taking unnecessary risks.
What would the coming weeks be like?
Krey’s hand, warm and solid, closed around her ankle. “Zeisha,” he said, his voice loud enough to carry over the wind, “I’m sorry.”
“I understand.” The words slipped out, replaced by immediate guilt. That was what she’d just told herself she couldn’t honestly say. Well, he probably hadn’t heard her anyway.
“We need to talk about what happens when we get back to Deroga,” Krey said.
Zeisha turned her head and spoke louder. “I’ll help you through the detox and the cravings, and I’ll keep helping you after that.”
“Zeisha.” His voice sounded choked. “You don’t understand. In a little over a day, all I’ll be able to think about is getting more fuel. I’m afraid I won’t let anyone get in my way.”
“What are you saying?” she called over her shoulder.
“We need to tell Eira what I did. And she needs to lock me up.”
“When you are a child, you eat brains?” Eira thrust a wrinkled finger at Krey.
Zeisha took in his defeated posture: head low, shoulders slumped, hands in his pockets.
“Yes,” he said.
“When you arrive here, you do not think this is important to tell us?” Eira’s voice bounced around her little office.
Behind Krey, Nora said, “Don’t feel too bad about it; he didn’t tell any of us either.” They were the first words she’d said since they’d arrived back in Deroga. Her gaze was sharp enough to slice Krey to pieces.
Krey lifted his head with effort. Dawn sunlight streamed through the window, highlighting the redness of his eyes. “I should’ve told my friends. I should’ve told you. You’ll need to lock me up until the worst of the cravings are gone. I’m fine now, but tomorrow . . . it won’t be pretty.”
“You forget,” Eira said, “we trogs know how brain eating works. Come with me.”
“Can I come too? Please?” Zeisha asked.
“As you wish.”
Zeisha took Krey’s hand. It was clammy. When she squeezed it, he gave her a sad smile. Eira led them out of the building that held her office. Nora and Ovrun followed.
After walking for several blocks, Eira stopped in front of a house on a seemingly deserted street. She pulled out a key but didn’t use it, instead turning to face the four teens. “This location is not to be disclosed.”
They all nodded.
Eira unlocked the door and led them in. It was cold in the house. Eira explained that smoke from a stove would give away the location. They walked past a kitchen. A trog sitting at the table nodded in greeting. Eira took them through a living area and stopped at the entrance to a lantern-lit hallway where two trogs stood guard. “This place is guarded constantly,” she said. “The trogs have knives and are trained to fight.”
She paused briefly at the first door. “Elo Golsch is here.”
Zeisha recognized the name of the spy she’d apprehended. The memory rushed back, squeezing her gut as tightly as her vine had squeezed the man’s neck.
“As long as he cooperates with us, he will remain here,” Eira said. “It is quite comfortable.” She led them to the second door. “Krey, you will stay here.” When he reached for the doorknob, she touched his wrist. “Not yet. I wish to introduce you to our last resident.”
They walked to the final door. “How is he?” Eira asked the nearest guard.
“The same,” the guard said.
Eira nodded once. “Unlock it.”
The trog did so, and Eira opened the door. “Come in,” she said. “All of you.”
Inside, a young man sat in a comfortable, upholstered chair. He had shaggy hair and a dark beard and looked oddly familiar to Zeisha. He stared straight ahead, not turning his head when his visitors entered.
Eira walked up to him and put a hand on his shoulder. He didn’t respond. “This is Girro,” she said. “He is the brain eater who works with the militia for a time.”
Black intruded on Zeisha’s vision. Nausea twisted her stomach. Her knees loosened, threatening to collapse.
She must’ve made some
noise, because Krey’s head swiveled toward her. Eyes wide, he put an arm around her waist, holding her up. “You okay?”
The man’s face churned up deep memories, but they refused to leave her subconscious. Painful pressure built up in her head. “I just . . . need to sit.” Besides Girro’s chair, the only seat was the bed across the room. She didn’t think she could make it there, so she lowered herself onto the floor. The cold floor made her shiver. Krey sat too, but she said, “I really am okay. You can stand.”
He did, after confirming that she was fine. She’d have loved for him to sit with her, but he was the one who needed to hear what Eira was saying.
“Girro is a stone eater,” Eira said, “and a hard worker. He can create fences and walls from stone. He also has a very strong body.”
Zeisha looked up at Girro. He was pale, his clothes baggy over scrawny limbs. Eira was speaking of the man’s past.
The white-haired trog continued, “Then Girro works for the king at the warehouse. He eats animal brains every day. When the king sends Girro home, he is different. Confused. Violent. We bring him here. Two weeks ago, the violence stops. Now, Girro sits here every day. He lets the guards bathe him. Clothe him. Feed him. Attend to his needs. He never speaks. We want to send him home, but his family fears his violence will return.”
A sigh left Zeisha’s chest. She didn’t know what exactly this man had done to her. But she wouldn’t wish this fate on him or anyone else.
“Krey.” Eira stood directly in front of him, her hands gripping his shoulders. “You are talented. You have strength and purpose. If you cannot conquer your desire, he”—she pointed at Girro—“will be you.” Her eyes, unblinking, remained fixed on Krey’s.
“I know.” Krey’s words were barely audible.
Zeisha stood, certain her strength had returned. “I want to stay with Krey.”
Nora’s eyes widened. “No, Zeisha! He did this to himself!” She spoke in a harsh whisper, as if that would keep Krey from hearing her. “You don’t deserve to be locked up with him!”
Yes, I do. Zeisha didn’t say it aloud, but she wondered if the truth was written in her eyes. Maybe she could’ve stopped him if she’d confronted him. She couldn’t change that now, but she could help him heal. “I want to stay.”
Eira didn’t respond, but back in the hallway, she called both of the guards over. “This man,” she said, gesturing to Krey, “is your prisoner. He will be chained to his bed.” She placed a wrinkled hand on Zeisha’s shoulder. “This woman will stay with him. If your prisoner does anything against her, if he even yells, you will protect her.”
Zeisha’s breathing sped up. Krey would never hurt her . . . would he?
Next to her, Krey’s shoulders slumped.
A loud, ragged gasp woke Zeisha. She sat up, disoriented. She was lying on a hard floor, wrapped in two warm blankets.
Krey’s voice floated across the room to her, loud and low-pitched. “No. . . . no . . . no.”
The doorknob rattled as someone unlocked and opened it. Lantern light filtered into the room. “Are you all right, ma’am?” a female trog guard asked over Krey’s continued moans.
She stood. “I’m fine, but he’s not. Please—can you get him some water? And can you bring me a lantern?”
“I will fetch water,” the guard said. “The lantern . . .” Hesitation stiffened her expression.
“I’ll keep it away from him,” Zeisha said. “I promise.” A padded shackle and thick chain connected Krey’s left hand to a ring anchored to the wall next to his bed. The chain rattled as he brought his hands to his face and started sobbing.
The guard nodded. “You can have this one. Keep it in the opposite corner.”
Zeisha thanked her, took the lantern, and put it on a table in the corner of the room. The guard left.
Krey had been fine the previous day—though he’d repeatedly warned Zeisha about what was coming. They’d gone to sleep early. Now, as he continued crying, she approached the bed slowly. “Krey?”
“I need it,” he wailed through his tears. “Oh, God, oh, Zeisha, I need it! Please, I need fuel!”
Zeisha knelt by the bed. He was so pitiful; he wouldn’t hurt her. “You know I can’t, Krey.” She touched his trembling leg.
He lowered his hands and used both of them to grab her hand. He squeezed it tightly enough to make her wince. Even in the dim lantern light, his eyes were frenzied. “They trust you,” he whispered, no longer crying. “They’ll let you leave and come back. All I need is a little bit. A little now, and less tomorrow, and less the next day—and then I’ll be fine. Just a bite, Zeisha. I can tell you where to look.” He lifted one hand to point at the barred window. “It’s dark; no one will be there. You just have to—”
“No!” When he kept talking, she spoke over him. “No, no, no, no, no!” Finally, he quieted. “I will support you however I can,” she said. “But I won’t make things worse by feeding your addiction!”
Krey released her hand and flipped over, facing away from her. His weeping resumed. Interspersed with his wracking sobs were five words: “I thought you loved me.”
“That’s why I’m saying no.” Zeisha touched his back. He pulled away. She returned to her pallet on the floor, but she knew she wouldn’t sleep.
“Please,” Krey groaned again once he’d calmed.
“I love you too much to hurt you.”
He raved, never letting his voice get loud enough to bring the guards. He begged. He cried. The sun rose, and his pleading continued.
Her response didn’t change. “I love you too much to hurt you.”
21
I’m making a glossary of phrases politicians use and what they really mean. Here’s what I’ve got so far:
“Unfortunate error” = “Oops, you caught us lying”
“Leak of confidential information” = “We could’ve sworn we’d get away with it this time”
“We deeply regret this mistake” = “We deeply regret getting caught”
-“Politician Glossary” by Genta Ril
The Derogan Chronicle, dated Cyon 3, 6293
After eating an early breakfast, Nora and Ovrun walked to the prison house. The day before, Eira had taught them a secret knock. She’d also written a note giving them permission to visit him. “The first days without fuel are the most difficult,” she’d said. “Things are easier if the brain eater is with people who love him.”
Nora had tried not to snort at those last four words: people who love him. Love was about the last thing she felt toward Krey right now. But when Ovrun had suggested they check on him, she couldn’t bring herself to say no.
The scene in Krey’s room was dismal. He was curled on his bed like a baby, facing the wall. Zeisha sat on a pile of blankets across the room. She was hugging her knees. Her eyes were red and utterly exhausted.
Nora knelt by her. “Are you okay?”
Zeisha shook her head.
“Come to the kitchen with me.” Nora stood and extended a hand. “We’ll talk.”
Zeisha complied. On their way out, Nora turned to Ovrun. “Beat some sense into him, would you?”
Ovrun raised an eyebrow.
The guard who’d opened the front door for them was sitting at the kitchen table. When he saw Nora’s pursed lips and Zeisha’s bloodshot eyes, he left the room without a word.
“He was fine yesterday,” Zeisha said, “but then in the middle of the night . . .” She shook her head. “He won’t stop begging me to bring him fuel.” She rubbed her temples, groaning.
“Is he hurting you?” Nora asked.
“No, but he’s not exactly being kind.”
If Zeisha would admit such a thing, Krey’s level of assery—assishness? assination?—whatever it was, it must be in the stratosphere. Nora clenched her teeth to prevent herself from venting her anger on Zeisha, who looked like she’d crack into a million pieces if she heard an unkind word.
After a few moments, Nora was ready to speak without screaming c
urses. She was pretty impressed with the gentleness in her voice when she said, “Krey is an idiot.”
Oops. That wasn’t what she’d planned to say. Zeisha’s squished-up forehead proved that it hadn’t gone over well. “I didn’t mean to say that out loud,” Nora blurted. “I meant to say that you’re amazing, and I’m so, so sorry you’re going through this. You don’t deserve it.”
Zeisha let out a long sigh and leaned into Nora’s open arms.
“Have you had breakfast?” Nora murmured.
Zeisha shook her head.
“Sit here as long as you need to. Then I’m gonna stay with Krey, and Ovrun will take you to breakfast. After that, you can take a bath and a nap.”
Zeisha pulled back. “It’s not my day for a bath. And I’m supposed to work at one of the rooftop gardens today.”
Nora tilted her head and gave Zeisha a smile. “You’re taking the day off. So are Ovrun and I, so we can sit with Krey. I already cleared it with Eira. And trust me, when they see you at the bathhouse, they won’t be able to say no. Just make sure you look just as miserable as you did when I got here.”
Zeisha actually smiled at that. Despite her lack of sleep and her red eyes, she was beautiful. I’m going in there, and I’m going to make sure Krey knows what a jewel he has in her. And how incredibly, mind-bendingly stupid he is for not treating her like a queen.
“Please don’t be too mean to Krey,” Zeisha said.
Nora let out a surprised laugh. “I won’t tell him anything he doesn’t deserve to hear.”
Zeisha gave her a worried look but didn’t argue. With a wobbly smile, said, “I guess I’m ready to go.”
Nora stood. “I’ll get Ovrun.”
When Nora entered Krey’s room, Ovrun was sitting on the floor next to the bed, arms resting casually on his raised knees. He was talking, but his deep voice grew silent when Nora entered.
The Vine Eater (The Magic Eaters Trilogy Book 2) Page 18
