Page 46 of House of the Beast

Using it to pry the Thing’s hand off my chin, I quickly twisted sideways on the table and tore through the cuff holding my other hand.

Olissa Goldmercy was shouting something, but there was too much of my own pulse roaring in my ears for me to make sense of her words.

One of the attendants reached forward as if to restrain me; my metal hand snatched the drill she had been holding aloft to the Mother Meister and shoved it through the soft flesh of her neck.

The brightness in me flared as blood spurted hot onto my face.

I scrambled upright and ripped through the cuffs holding my ankles, then threw my weight forward to tumble off the table just before the Thing picked it up in both hands and launched it against the wall.

The sound of crashing glassware and metal drowned out Olissa Goldmercy’s voice.

I had no time to give myself an elegant landing; I scrambled almost on all fours toward my sword, heavy footsteps slamming the ground right behind me.

As soon as my fingers closed around the hilt, I spun around, and used the same movement to unsheathe it and lop off the Thing’s hand.

I felt blind. Everything came to me in such sharp clarity that I could barely make sense of it.

I became nothing more than the breath in my lungs and the sweep of my blade through the air.

I could not see Aster anymore, but it didn’t matter—he was all around me, inside me, inundated into my very being.

A movement in the corner of my eye; I threw myself back to avoid the Mercyguard’s lunging spear, and then darted in under it. Death flashed before me and I chased its path with my sword, through the guard’s armor, right into his beating heart.

My bond with Aster surged with the feeling of his approval.

With the guard still impaled, I spun, using his body as a shield against the Tinkerer’s Thing.

A blade had grown out of its remaining hand; it drove into the guard’s back in an attempt to get at me.

Blood soaked through my coat and onto my skin.

Over the guard’s screams, I could make out Olissa Goldmercy murmuring a prayer, using her gift to transform her Thing as it fought.

I planted my foot against the Mercyguard’s chest and used my weight to yank my blade free of his corpse, letting it fall to the side as I ducked under another slash from the Thing.

I had to get at its Meister; otherwise it would never stop.

I waited for another attack, posturing for a block, before I stepped back and dodged instead, leaving it off-balance for a precious moment, during which I broke away to dash at Olissa Goldmercy.

My path was cut short by the remaining attendant, who was foolish enough to try and get in my way—to do what, I could not tell.

I only knew that they fell quickly beneath my blade.

The brightness of my bond with Aster flared even stronger.

I was dizzy with it. I almost did not register parrying the Thing’s next attack as it caught up to me, too drunk on my own overflowing senses.

I parried again; then, the next time it struck at me, I stepped neatly aside.

My blade cut through its outstretched arm like it was butter.

I darted in. Both hands gripping my sword, metal on flesh on metal, I brought it down in a vicious arc and sliced clean through the Thing’s body from shoulder to hip.

The thread of life I was chasing severed with a snap.

It was dead.

The Mother Meister cried out in pain.

Inside me, Aster’s presence bloomed with—joy. Pure, vengeful glee. I felt it as if it were my own, letting it propel me toward the now defenseless Mother Meister.

“Wait,” she stammered, taking a step back. She was half doubled over from the strain of her Thing’s death. She held her hand up as if to halt me. “We can still—”

I did not want to wait. I wanted blood. She had tried to hurt me. She had trapped me and wanted to take away my will. We were going to kill her.

I drove my blade forward, deep into her gut.

As she choked on her own blood, as the violent delight surged inside me, I felt a fragment of something else—something heavy and unhappy, stirring deep from a memory within and then seeping outward and upward until it held me in its cold grasp.

A gentle voice from a time long ago whispered, “You can’t hurt people like that, Alma. ”

I looked down at my own hands gripped around my sword, at the three feet of black metal pushed through the Mother Meister’s stomach, everything drenched in blood.

What had I done?

The brightness inside of me faded. I had murdered a whole roomful of people—people who had wanted to do something terrible to me but people nonetheless, and one of them was a Pilgrim. The leader of House Goldmercy.

Horror flooded me, cold in the wake of all that light.

Aster’s presence was gone, pushed out by my own misery, and in its absence, I shook.

“I—I’m sorry,” I stammered, my grip falling from my sword as Olissa Goldmercy fell back heavily against the wall, leaving a deep red smear as she slid slowly to the ground.

“Alma?” said my monster, standing beside me again. Joy still radiated from him. He was practically glowing, his eyes ablaze, a smile tugging at the edge of his mouth.

He was so beautiful that for a moment I almost wanted to go back to him, to meld together as one again so I could experience some of that beauty in myself.

But then the Mother Meister mustered up enough energy to level a mocking sneer at me.

“Alma Avera,” she said in a terrible wheeze, like she wanted to laugh but didn’t quite have the strength for it. “The rumors of your god’s favor were true.”

The haze faded away again, replaced with shame.

“I—” I didn’t mean to , I wanted to say, but that was a lie: in those shining moments I had meant it with my entire heart, delighted in each kill as I committed it. So instead, I said again, “I’m sorry.”

“To hell with you and your rotten father both,” she spat back.

“He misjudged... fatally. You’re further along than Maximus is, and.

.. somehow, he still missed it. And now.

.. look where we are.” She paused to grimace, as if the very thought of it disgusted her.

Eyes turning glassy, she fixed her gaze on the grimy ceiling above.

“Lady’s heaving tit. Tell your father.. . he’s...”

I waited with bated breath to hear exactly what my father was, but she didn’t ever manage to finish that sentence.

Awful, heavy regret lodged itself in my stomach.

“Alma, it’s fine,” said Aster, a comforting hand at my elbow to hold me steady.

He turned me to face him, his other hand going to cup my blood-splattered cheek.

“You had no choice. She was going to take your mind away, and she would have done it without an ounce of remorse. Tempering a vessel of an elder god like they were cattle—she deserved what was coming to her.”

Yes , I thought. I had no choice.

But that terrible feeling wouldn’t go away—and worse, it only grew as he stroked my jaw with his thumb, intending to comfort me. How could I explain to him that I was scared? That I was ashamed of the glee with which I had butchered these people, when the glee had so clearly come from him?

I often felt that I could share anything with Aster. But for the first time in my life, I felt afraid to do so.

I was saved from having to answer by a flicker of movement in the corner of the room.

I whipped around, instincts back on edge—but it was only the little Thing, the one Olissa Goldmercy had called Six.

It had been hiding behind the armchair and had poked its helmeted head out to peek at the carnage I had left.

I stared. A Tinkerer’s Thing was supposed to expire as soon as its Meister died. But this one seemed to still be functional. It jumped like a startled animal once it noticed it had drawn my attention and ducked back behind the chair with a small squeak.

Aster spared it a disinterested look. “Did we leave one behind? Let’s finish it off.”

My chest seized. I did not want to kill this Thing, even though it was not technically alive.

Aster strolled toward it, practically strutting in his good mood.

I lurched past him to get there first, almost feeling like I needed to protect it from him.

That feeling mixed with all the other ones raging in my head, making me sick.

Why was I acting this way? Had it not been a wonderful thing, to be so connected with my elder god?

But the quiet guilt left in the wake of all that bloodshed would not go away.

The memory of my mother’s voice, gently chiding me after that first time I had broken that boy’s arm in the field behind my apartment, would not stop playing in my head.

I knew then that if I followed Aster’s orders, if I allowed him to kill this child-Thing, I would regret it.

Ignoring his questioning look, I peered around the armchair at the trembling lump on the ground.

“Hey,” I said. “Six, was it?”

The little Thing jumped again. It lifted its face to me. Despite the utter blankness of its helmeted features, I received the distinct impression that it was giving me a look of wide-eyed terror.

“Yes,” it stammered. Its voice was soft and a little raspy, as if rarely used. “I am Six.”

It could talk. I had never heard of a Tinkerer’s Thing talking before.

“It speaks,” said Aster in mild surprise. “Maybe this is why it was the Mother Meister’s favorite.”

My thoughts were already racing. This Thing named Six could talk—which meant that maybe, just maybe, it could be of use.

It could help me testify against the Inquisitors when they eventually found that I had killed the leader of House Goldmercy, tell them what the Mother Meister had been planning to do to me.

I had little doubt that my father would be displeased once he found his ally dead, and he was cunning and had far more resources at his disposal than I.

I could not predict whether he would make another move against me, this time with the court at his back. This could be my only defense.

“We should take it with us,” I said, quickly turning back to Aster.

“Alma,” he said, smiling as if I had just told a good joke.

“You know that Thing is a construct, right? Made of dead flesh and the Tinkerer’s animating magicks.

If it was ever alive, it was forsaken long ago, before it ever fell into the hands of the Meister you just killed.

There’s no point in bringing it with you. ”

“I know,” I said, hoping his good mood would make him more susceptible to my argument. “But it can talk. If the court tries to confront me about Olissa Goldmercy’s death, it can act as a witness.”

“If the court tries to confront you about Olissa Goldmercy’s death, we will simply destroy them.”

“We can’t just get rid of Sorrowsend’s governing body,” I said, unable to keep the frustration or the hint of fear out of my voice. “Would you be willing to speak for me?” I asked, turning back to Six, knowing I was reaching for the stars but hopeful anyway.

It —he , I thought; there was something about the Thing’s voice that struck me as boyish—stared at me awhile, probably wondering why I had been talking to the air.

Then he glanced at the surrounding carnage, at his Meister’s body.

I thought perhaps he would say no—after all, I had killed his master before his eyes—but instead he seemed to draw strength from the sight of her dead. “Okay,” he said quietly.

“See?” I said to Aster.

His expression turned murderous, eyes dark, mouth twisted in fury.

For one terrifying moment, I forgot to breathe.

It felt as though even my heart forgot to beat.

Images of the Beast destroying cities and murdering whole battalions flashed in my mind.

If he truly wanted the Thing dead, I would not be able to stop him.

Then, so quickly I had to wonder if I had imagined his wrath, my monster was smiling again and putting his hands on his hips with an exaggerated sigh.

“All right,” he said magnanimously, moving around me to peer down at Six with benevolence. “If it will make you feel better, we can take the Thing along. But remember—you’re going to be the one to feed it and care for it.”