Page 81 of What Blooms in Barren Lands

“What a romantic thought,” I remarked dryly.

He looked up at me, and the breath caught in my throat.

“I’ll make you shoot me first if it ever happens,” he told me without a trace of humour. “If for no other reason, then value your own life because mine depends on it.”

27

ASSASSIN’S PREROGATIVE

In three days’ time, returning from my chores in the communal kitchen, I once again found Einar sitting on the bed with his face buried in his hands. The only thing that disrupted my sense of déjà vu was a glass of whiskey on the nightstand. Knowing him, that in itself was a very bad omen indeed.

“Finlay’s started getting ill, hasn’t he?” I enquired carefully, stopping near enough for him to be able to reach me, but without touching him myself.

I could smell the liquor’s sweetly pungent odour from where I stood, and my stomach turned unpleasantly.

Einar straightened up. His hard-set jaw was dark with stubble, and there were bags like bruises under his eyes. The sun had almost set outside, and there were no candles lit in the room. In the dim light, the uncombed strands of his hair seemed darker than his usual shades of ash and gold. In response to my question, he just nodded wordlessly.

“It could still be a coincidence,” I said feebly. “ People do get sick this time of the year.”

Lips pursed to a thin line, he closed his eyes briefly with a frown and shook his head.

“Oh, Einar, I’m so?—”

He stood up and took a step closer to me, but without taking me in his arms. He was crowding me, towering over me, a simple strategy I well recognised by then as one of his go-to intimidation techniques. With a lurch of anger somewhere in the pit of my stomach, I resisted the impulse to back away, and I bore the razor-sharp scrutiny of his glacial eyes.

I didn’t have to wait long for him to tell me what it was he wanted from me.

“You’ll have to do it,” he said simply.

I figured out just what he meant by ‘it’ almost instantly.

“Einar, no! I can’t! Just think what it is you’re asking of me!”

I did retreat then, recoiling from him in horror until I was backed up against the wall. He approached me, entrapping me until my head swam with claustrophobia and dread.

“Someone needs to, and you’re the best person for it. You did it for Lucas, and you did it well.”

I was close to tears, and yet he didn’t touch me, only glared at me with indifference that was as effective as it was cruel.

“Not the same thing! Lucas was in agony!”

Ignoring my protests, he merely told me in a voice that ran like an icicle through me, “If you think that Finlay’s not, then you’re coming with me to see him right now. This is not a request you can refuse, Ren. I will carry you there by force if I have to.”

The windows were wide open, and it was freezing in the room, curtains swaying to and fro in the wind. Still, the sharp tang ofvomit and faeces was perceptible in the air, and I tried my best not to look at the contents of the foul-smelling bucket.

It was dark, save for a candle on each nightstand, and when we first walked in, Finlay was nothing but a shape huddled by the radiator. Immediately, he lunged forward, though, as far as his chains would let him, and his face came into the light.

Gone was the conventionally handsome man. He was pale, his skin was slick with sweat, and his eyes were bloodshot to the point of appearing red.

“Hey, Fin,” I said gently. “How are?—”

“Came to gloat as well, ’ave ye, ye cunt?!”

I froze. The impact of his words was akin to being slapped hard across the face.

“No ... I ...”

“Why else would ye come tae stare at me? Ye bitch, ye and that lavvy-heided wankstain who pretended tae be a friend of mein.”