“You know who I want,” I snarled, starting to come back down the stairs. “Where is Tristan?”
“Oh, that young one,” Macaire replied, his smile returning. He waved his hand and a pair of nightwalkers slipped through a door at the side of the hall. I was sorely tempted to follow, but I forced myself to remain standing in the hall. I wasn’t about to let Macaire out of my sight for a second if I could help it.
“You know, considering your struggles with the nightwalkers, warlock, and naturi, I grew concerned that you weren’t going to make it out alive, so I thought it would be best if I went to fetch the boy. Sadira had been so concerned about him. She was sure that he wouldn’t be able to survive on his own.”
As he spoke, the fire in the candles overhead increased. Wax rained down, creating a sickening sound as it hit the marble floor. Flags that hung from the ceiling erupted into flames and nightwalkers screamed in terror as they scrambled frantically away from the fire.
Close the doors! No one leaves, I directed Valerio, knowing he could use his powers to hold the doors shut. I didn’t know who was responsible for Tristan’s torture beyond Macaire, but I would be sure that everyone witnessed this fight. I wanted to be sure that everyone understood that I was a force that was not to be messed with.
The side door opened again and two nightwalkers dragged a limp Tristan between them. His brown hair was matted and knotted and his clothes were in disarray. I scanned over him as I ran to his side. I could find no physical injuries beyond a handful of scratches. Of course, it wasn’t bodily harm that had me concerned. The two nightwalkers dropped him near the center of the room and retreated again to the side, putting as much distance between me and them as possible.
Sliding to my knees before Tristan, I helped him sit up, cupping his face in both of my shaking hands. “Tristan, look at me,” I said, pushing the words past the lump in my throat. His gaze continued to dance around the room as if he were struggling to process his surroundings. “Please, Tristan, I need you to look at me.”
After another couple of seconds I finally got him to look at me, but his gaze was vacant and lost, as if he weren’t truly seeing me. Lines of pain and horror were etched deeply into his face, scarring and aging him by nearly countless years. My handsome, young Tristan looked as if he were trapped in a perpetual nightmare from which there was no escape.
“Tristan, it’s Mira,” I said, forcing my voice to firm. “Please, look at me and tell me you recognize me. Talk to me, Tristan. I’m going to take you home.”
“No!” he screamed, jerking out of my grasp. He crawled across the floor a few feet before curling up in the fetal position in the middle of the floor. I heard someone snicker, and she immediately erupted into flames. Her screams of pain faded into the background as I crawled over to Tristan and pulled him into my lap as best I could. My heart was breaking into a million jagged pieces as I held my wounded Tristan.
“Why don’t you want to go home?”
“She’s there. She’s waiting for me. She’s going to kill me,” he said in a trembling voice.
“Who?”
“The Fire Starter,” he whimpered. “She’s going to kill me.”
“I’m not going to kill you, Tristan. I want you to come home with me. I will keep you safe. Macaire will never touch you again.”
Tristan violently shook his head from side to side. “No, Macaire will protect me. The Fire Starter is going to kill me.”
“No, Tristan. I won’t hurt you,” I said, forcing back a swelling of tears. I wasn’t reaching him. He didn’t see me. He was lost in his fear of the Fire Starter, his mind locked in the horrible world that Macaire had created for him.
“Fire Starter is going to kill me. Fire Starter. Killed her daughter. Killed little Lily,” he murmured as tears streaked down his pale face.
“No, Tristan. It wasn’t your fault,” I argued as tears started to slip down my own face. “Lily’s death wasn’t your fault. You know that. I would never harm you.” I carefully maneuvered him so he was seated on the floor again with his face in my hands. I tried to get him to look me directly in the face, but it was as if I wasn’t really there. But in truth, he was the one that wasn’t there. He wasn’t truly in the Main Hall. He was locked in a never-ending nightmare surrounding Lily’s death.
Closing my eyes, I plunged into Tristan’s mind. His thoughts were a swirling chaos of fragmented memories. Nothing flowed in a natural order. The only constant was the vision of Lily’s death running over and over again in his mind like a broken record. I could find no sliver of Tristan’s conscious mind left. His sense of identity had been completely shattered, and that all that was left was a shell of fear and pain.
I pulled out of his mind and wrapped my arms around him in a fierce hug. I had failed him. I had promised to protect him and keep him safe from nightwalkers like Macaire. “I’m so sorry,” I cried, choking on the words as they crashed over the silence of the hall. “I am so sorry.”
There was no way to save him. There was nothing left of Tristan to save. He was trapped for the rest of his existence in a world of pain and horror. He believed that the one person that would defend him was going to kill him. He believed that Macaire was going to protect him, when the Elder was only going to add to his terror at every turn. I couldn’t save him.
Roughly wiping away the tears with the heel of my palm, I pulled Tristan away from where he was curled against me. I forced him to face me again and gave him a hard shake in frustration. “Tristan, look at me!” I ordered in a rough voice. “It’s Mira. Look at me. It’s Mira and I want to take you home.”
Tristan just shook his head, looking anywhere but at me as he whimpered softly in pain. A flicker of recognition would have stopped me. Just a glimmer of the old Tristan that would have indicated I might have been able to draw him out again. But there was nothing left.
Shoving to my feet again, I stalked toward Macaire drawing knives from my sides. With amazing speed I flung them at him, hoping that at least one would hit its mark before the bastard disappeared. I just needed to score a minor hit. Something to slow him down a bit so I could get a tiny edge.
“No!” Tristan screamed to my surprise. I watched as the spinning knives came to a sharp halt a mere inches away from Macaire as he stood before his chair. The blades hovered in the air, reflecting the shifting candlelight.
I turned around to find Tristan kneeling on the ground with one hand extended out toward Macaire. He was holding the knives steady in the air, his face twisted with fear. “You cannot harm him. He is my only protection from the Fire Starter!”
“He’s trying to destroy you,” I screamed in frustration as I grabbed more knives. I threw them at Macaire as well, but they hit the same invisible barrier. I was stunned that Tristan could stop any of them, considering how weak and fragile he was, but I could feel the fear radiating off him in sickening waves. It was enough to give him the strength to push on.
“He is my savior,” Tristan said. He waved his hand once and I turned toward Macaire in time to see the knives shooting back across the room at me. Running a few steps, I dove forward and rolled into a kneeling position. Three of the knives clattered against the floor while the fourth embedded itself in my back.
Macaire’s laughter echoed through the hall, pushing me past any rational thought. Not only had he tortured Tristan, shattering the poor creature’s mind, but he had turned him against me. Still kneeling on the ground, I twisted around and threw out my right arm, sending out three fireballs hurling toward the Elder.
Again Tristan’s desperate, terrified scream tore at the air. Pushing off the ground, he ran across the room and threw his body in front of the fireballs in an effort to protect Macaire. I didn’t have enough time to stop it. The flames pounded him square in the chest, engulfing him for a full second before I could extinguish them. He flopped to the ground, twitching and writhing in pain as all his exposed flesh was scorched by the flames.