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A Stroke Of Midnight :: Гамильтон Лорел
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I didn’t know whether to be embarrassed, or try to explain that it wasn’t brave. That I’d been afraid the whole time.
“You are our ameraudur, and we will follow you wherever you may lead. To whatever end. I will die before I let another harm you.”
“You can’t mean that,” Amatheon said.
I agreed with Amatheon. “Do not give your oath to keep me from harm, Adair, please. If you must, give your oath to save my life, but not all harm.”
But it was as if I wasn’t there for him, or for Amatheon in that moment. I was the object of the conversation but that was all.
“She saved us last night,” Adair said. “She saved us all. She risked her life to save ours. How can you stand there and not give her your oath?”
“A man without honor has no oath to give,” Amatheon said.
Adair put his mailed hand on the other’s shoulder. “Then come with us to the queen, regain your honor, rediscover your oath.”
“She took my courage with the rest. I am too afraid to go before her with such news.” A single tear glittered down his cheek.
I looked at the despair in his eyes, and said the only thing I could think of. “I will try for guilt to allow this. Her guilt over never solving her own brother’s murder. But if guilt won’t work, then I will remind her that she owes me the life of her consort and her pet human.”
“It is not always wise to remind the queen she owes you a debt,” Doyle said.
“No, but I want her to say yes, Doyle. If she says no, then it’s no, and I need it to be yes.”
He touched my face. “I see in your eyes a haunting. I see in your eyes your father’s death like a weight of injustice on your heart.”
I closed my eyes and let my cheek rest against the warmth of his hand. His hand was worn from centuries of sword and knife practice. It made his hand seem more real, more solid, more able to protect. Some sidhe, those pure enough that they couldn’t get calluses, thought it a sign of impurity. Racist bastards.
With Doyle touching me, I could let myself remember that awful day. It’s funny how your mind protects you. I saw the bloody sheet and the stretcher. I held my father’s hand, cold but not stiff, not yet. I had his blood on my hands from touching him, but it wasn’t him. It was just cool flesh. That feeling of terrible emptiness when I touched him was like going into a house that you thought would be full of people you loved, only to find it empty, and even the furniture taken. You walk from room to room, hearing your footsteps echo on the naked floors.
I didn’t know whether to be embarrassed, or try to explain that it wasn’t brave. That I’d been afraid the whole time.
“You are our ameraudur, and we will follow you wherever you may lead. To whatever end. I will die before I let another harm you.”
“You can’t mean that,” Amatheon said.
I agreed with Amatheon. “Do not give your oath to keep me from harm, Adair, please. If you must, give your oath to save my life, but not all harm.”
But it was as if I wasn’t there for him, or for Amatheon in that moment. I was the object of the conversation but that was all.
“She saved us last night,” Adair said. “She saved us all. She risked her life to save ours. How can you stand there and not give her your oath?”
“A man without honor has no oath to give,” Amatheon said.
Adair put his mailed hand on the other’s shoulder. “Then come with us to the queen, regain your honor, rediscover your oath.”
“She took my courage with the rest. I am too afraid to go before her with such news.” A single tear glittered down his cheek.
I looked at the despair in his eyes, and said the only thing I could think of. “I will try for guilt to allow this. Her guilt over never solving her own brother’s murder. But if guilt won’t work, then I will remind her that she owes me the life of her consort and her pet human.”
“It is not always wise to remind the queen she owes you a debt,” Doyle said.
“No, but I want her to say yes, Doyle. If she says no, then it’s no, and I need it to be yes.”
He touched my face. “I see in your eyes a haunting. I see in your eyes your father’s death like a weight of injustice on your heart.”
I closed my eyes and let my cheek rest against the warmth of his hand. His hand was worn from centuries of sword and knife practice. It made his hand seem more real, more solid, more able to protect. Some sidhe, those pure enough that they couldn’t get calluses, thought it a sign of impurity. Racist bastards.
With Doyle touching me, I could let myself remember that awful day. It’s funny how your mind protects you. I saw the bloody sheet and the stretcher. I held my father’s hand, cold but not stiff, not yet. I had his blood on my hands from touching him, but it wasn’t him. It was just cool flesh. That feeling of terrible emptiness when I touched him was like going into a house that you thought would be full of people you loved, only to find it empty, and even the furniture taken. You walk from room to room, hearing your footsteps echo on the naked floors.