She stared at him flatly.
“A necessity of being adventurers out of work, of course,” he said, “but you and I would always spend time investigating the carcass, detailing everything. It was our thing, you know? We were the ones that cut it up. We were the ones that catalogued it. If our findings before didn’t get us noticed, I’m sure this-” he gestured to the netherling, “-would. So. .” He shrugged. “I guess maybe I just thought of this as old times. Better times.”
When he looked back at her, her expression was no longer blank. Something stirred behind her gaze. He felt his pulse race.
Steady, old man, he cautioned himself. She might break down any moment now. She’s going to break down and fall weeping into your arms and you’ll hold her tightly and find out what plagues her. I hope Bralston knows to leave the room. Any moment now. What is that in her eyes, anyway? Better know so you can be prepared. Sorrow? Pain? Desire?
“You,” she whispered harshly, “stupid little roach.”
Possibly not desire.
“What?” he asked.
“Those were your better times for us? Up to my elbows in fat and blood while you scribbled away notes on livers and kidneys? That’s what you think of when you think of us?”
“I was just-”
“You were just being freakish and weird, as usual,” she snarled. “Is there anything about you that doesn’t make one’s skin crawl?”
He reeled as if struck. He hadn’t quite expected that. Nor did he really expect to say what he said next.
“Yes,” he said calmly, “I’ve been told my ability to keep silent around the ignorant and mentally deficient is quite admirable.”
“I find that hard to believe, as I’ve never actually seen you be silent.”
“No? Well, let me refresh your memory.” His voice was sharp and cold, like a blade. “Whenever you’ve prayed to deities that don’t exist, whenever you’ve blamed something on the will of your gods that you could have helped, whenever you’ve prattled on about heavens and morals and all this other garbage you don’t actually believe for any reason other than to convince your toddler-with-fever-delirium-equivalent brain that you’re in any way superior to any of the people you choose to share company with,” he spat the last words, “I’ve. Said. Nothing.”
And so, too, did she say nothing.
No threats. No retorts. No tears. She turned around, calmly walked past Bralston and left the hut, hands smeared with blood, brow smeared with blood, leaving a room full of silence.
Bralston stared at the door before looking back to Dreadaeleon.
“You disappoint me, concomitant,” he said simply.
“Good,” Dreadaeleon spat back. “I’ll start a running tally. By the end of the day, I hope to have everyone dumber than me loathing me. I’ll throw a party to celebrate it.”
“One might call your intelligence into question, acting the way you do.”
“One might, if one were a lack-witted imbecile. You saw the way she was talking to me, talking to you.”
“I did.”
“And you said nothing.”
“Possibly because my experience with women extends past necropsies,” Bralston said smoothly. “Concomitant, your ire is understandable, but not an excuse for losing your temper. A member of the Venarium is, above all else, in control of his abilities and himself.”
Dreadaeleon flashed a black, humorless smile at the man. “You are just hilarious.”
“And why is that?”
Dreadaeleon replied by holding up his hand. Three breaths. The tremors set in. Bralston nodded. Dreadaeleon did not relent, even when the tremors became worse and the electric sparks began building on his fingers. Bralston glared at him.
“That’s enough.”
“No, it isn’t.”
The tremor encompassed his entire arm, electricity crackling and spitting before loosing itself in an erratic web of lightning that raked against the wall of the hut where Bralston had once been. The Librarian, having sidestepped neatly, regarded the wall smoldering with flames. He drew in a sharp breath and exhaled, a white cloud of frost smothering the flames beneath it.
When he looked back up, Dreadaeleon was holding his arm to his chest and gritting his teeth.
“The Decay is getting worse,” he said, “at a far more advanced rate than has ever been documented. I can’t control anything about me, least of all my abilities.”
“Hence our departure to Cier’Djaal,” Bralston replied. “Once we can get you to the Venarium, we can-”
“Do not say cure me.”
“I was not going to. There is no cure for the Decay.”
“Don’t say help me.”
“There is little help for it.”
“Then why are we going?” Dreadaeleon demanded. “Why am I going there for any reason but to die so you can harvest my bones to be made into merroskrit?”
“As you say, you’re advancing at a progressed rate. Beyond the harvesting, we could learn from-”
“Let me learn from it, instead!” Dreadaeleon all but screamed. “Let me try to figure out how this works.”
“There is no ‘how this works’ to the Decay, concomitant.”
“This isn’t any normal Decay. I felt it strongly days ago, when we were first shipwrecked on Teji. But that night when we swept into Sheraptus’s ship, I was. . the power. .” His eyes lit up at the memory. “When I was there to save Asper, when I. . when I felt what I did, I could control it. I could do more than control it. My theory holds weight, Librarian. Magic is as much a part of us as emotion, why wouldn’t emotions affect our magic?”
“Concomitant. .” Bralston said with a sigh.
“And with these days? With all the tension between my companions and I?” He shook his arm at Bralston. “With what just happened? It only adds more weight to my theory! Emotions affect magic and I can-”
“You can do nothing but your duty,” Bralston snapped suddenly. His eyes burned against his dark skin. “Your companions are adventurers, concomitant: criminals on their best day. You are a member of the Venarium. You have no obligations to them beyond what I, as your senior, say you do. And I say you are going to die, very soon and very painfully.
“And I will not watch you languish in their-” he thrust a finger toward the door, “-company. I will not watch you die with no one but criminal scum to look on helplessly as they wait for the last breath to leave you before they can rifle your body and feed it to the sharks.” He inhaled deeply, regaining some composure. “Coarse as it may seem, this is protocol for a reason, Dreadaeleon. Whatever else the Venarium might do once the Decay claims your body, we are your people. We know how to take care of you in your final days.”
Dreadaeleon said nothing, staring down at his arm. It began to tremble once more. He focused to keep it down.
“When do we leave, then?”
“By the end of today,” Bralston replied. “As soon as I conclude business on the island.”
“With whom? The Venarium has no sway out in the Reaching Isles.”
“The Venarium holds sway anywhere there is a heretic. Even if Sheraptus is gone, we are duty-bound to make certain that none of his taint remains.”