Vassal by Sterling D'Este (ebook reader computer TXT) 📕

Etienne running away in fear.

The glorious heat of the flames, calling to her. Singing to her.

She remembered it all. Every terrible, gruesome piece. Every detail.

The healer had barely sat up and looked around, their new campsite down the road from the ruined piece of forest she… Enyo… They had created. Because Enyo wouldn’t have been that enraged nor alone had the healer not run off. Escaped with Etienne. She, Alphonse, had created the opportunity for that destruction and insanity to wreak havoc.

She was responsible for the sullen silences and maimed bodies. Tears immediately flowed from her eyes, sobs making her body convulse, and she sat that way, unable to stop or soothe herself.

When she finally remembered herself well enough to start healing her companions— she dare not think of them as friends anymore, for no one could or should be friends with a monster like her—she began with Delyth.

The priestess’s beautiful wing was broken, her skin marred by scratches and bites, bruises, and a few minor burns, but despite the need to concentrate on her task, Alphonse could not stop crying. Her hands shook as green healing light came from them, her voice choked and quivering as she asked Delyth to raise her wing, lower it, stretch it out.

It was incredible how Delyth ignored her pain, mute and tight-lipped as Alphonse worked. She didn’t say a word throughout the proceedings, and with every silent moment, Alphonse felt her own guilt redouble. Gone was their easy camaraderie, and, as soon as she was able, the priestess stood up and disappeared into their tent.

She must be furious with me, Alphonse thought, sniffling. She watched the tent flap swing shut and then moved onto Etienne, though somehow he had come out mostly unscathed. An image flickered in her mind, tripping over her own feet…

Swallowing, Alphonse only gripped his shoulder tightly before dragging herself over to Tristan. “Are you hurt?” she croaked, silent tears still dripping off her chin and cheeks. Even he had come for her, had to run to survive the madness. And this was a man who she feared and hadn’t given a chance, hadn’t tried to see any good in.

Instead of answering her question, he curled his lip. “Why’d you do it, mouse?”

Alphonse flinched and looked away. She understood what he meant—not the fire, not the attack.

Why had she fled?

Wasn’t it obvious? She was growing sicker each day, weaker. It was becoming more and more difficult to fight the Goddess to keep control. This was a battle, and Alphonse was losing ground. She couldn’t share this body with Enyo for the rest of her life, and she couldn’t let Enyo out to attack other people. The Goddess was cruel and savage.

It was her duty and responsibility to put Enyo back.

I’d rather die trying to escape my captor than be a slave the rest of my life. And truly, it was that simple. But she didn’t say that.

“I was trying to do you all a favor. She’s madness. She’s dangerous. She would have killed you all today…” Alphonse shuddered. That blood would have been on her hands too. She had been so blessedly lucky today.

She glanced at Tristan once more. He seemed unharmed.

Alphonse turned to go to her tent, only to realize Delyth was in there… What would she do now? There weren’t enough apologies in Illygad. “She hates me.” The words came out as a whisper.

⚄

Tristan snorted derisively. “You have a pitiful understanding of others,” he told her, but then refused to say anything else. It wouldn’t do him any good to save the relationship between Delyth and Alphonse. The priestess had an annoying habit of sticking close whenever Enyo was paying him any attention.

But the girl was behaving ridiculously. Humans were stupid, selfish creatures. They did not break their bodies for people they hated.

That sort of hatred was the realm of the divine.

Alphonse shuddered and turned to look at Tristan incredulously. “It is because of me she bled. It is because of me that her bones were broken. Would you be friends with someone who did that?” Her wide eyes took in every facet of his face, of his expression. Begging for him to tell her something kind. Something that would save her feeble heart.

She was an idiot. And Tristan wanted Enyo back. The Goddess, at least, could be a good time.

As for Alphonse?

Tristan could not imagine being trapped with so feeble a creature. Her ceaseless crying only grated against his nerves. Pitiful. Spineless.

“I certainly wouldn’t have done it for you,” Tristan told her, and then had a stroke of sudden inspiration. “I wonder what she thought she’d get out of it?”

He smiled innocently and shrugged. Let the squalling creature stew over that.

Etienne, annoyingly, seemed to wake up at the remark. “Don’t listen to him, Alphonse,” the boy said in his girlish Ingolan accent. “Not everyone thinks that way.”

Tristan just shrugged again and slipped into his own tent. Anxious people were easy to manipulate. Give them an idea, and they’d work it to pieces on their own.

✶

Etienne watched Alphonse from beneath his lowered brow while she hesitated, clearly unable to make herself follow Delyth into their tent. She wrung her hands and sighed, struggling, then finally gave up to sit by Etienne at the fire.

“I’m sorry, Etienne,” she whispered. “Enyo is stronger than I am…”

“At least you’re strong enough to fight her.” Etienne’s voice was dark, laced with self-loathing. He had done nothing, been absolutely useless. Worse, he had run. He had left Alphonse behind.

She might have burned herself to ash had it not been for Delyth.

Alphonse actually snorted. It was an especially snotty sound, given all the crying she had been doing. “Yes. I fight her with tripping. What a mighty warrior I am. Delyth actually knocked her out…”

“Etienne.” She laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. “You were willing to try. You were willing to fight for me. That’s all that matters. You’re a true friend.” The tears that had faded started to flow