Lord of the Night

Chapter 41: No Guardian

Her threat stung. I had been so fixated on Isalio that I hadn't fully considered how my other relationships were now changing. Fraschkit was my best friend—the one who knew me better than anyone—but a wall had grown between us. Did she doubt who I had become? Or did she doubt who I had been all along?

"You will not speak to him again before the trial," she said. "That is an order."

"As you wish," I heard myself say.

Kardki grabbed Isalio's arms, and after a moment of hesitation, the other two soldiers grabbed his feet. The Guardians watched him carefully and avoided touching his bare skin, the way one might carry a sack of roaches. They were not gentle enough for my liking, and they let him swing around far too much. His eyes flicked open and then squeezed shut, face pinched.

I pressed my lips together and dug my nails into my palms to prevent myself from saying something or going after him. He was the Lord of the Night, I reminded myself—and he killed my family. But those words felt like pebbles compared to the cold boulder in my gut. I couldn't stand seeing him so helpless.

"Your father is near the front of the line," said Fraschkit, still watching me.

"Right."

I allowed myself only a brief glance at the wagon Isalio was being loaded into as I passed by. A little further along, I spotted Zuzette walking a ways off from the rest of the humans, and I slowed to speak to her quietly.

"Zuzette, Isalio is in the wagon three back. Can you check on him?"

She didn't bother to lower her voice. "Really? You can't check on him yourself?"
"Fraschkit asked me not to speak to him. Besides, I'm planning for the trial tonight." I inwardly cringed at my second claim. My 'plan' was laughably far-fetched and riddled with holes.

Zuzette dug her fists into her generous hips. "And what am I supposed to do?"

"Just come get me if he needs something."

She expelled a noisy exhale through her nose. "Fine, I guess. I'm serving everyone else, so why not serve you too?"

I frowned. "This is a request, not a demand. Isalio and I both have no power or right to demand anything from you right now."

"But others do."

"If you don't want to serve anymore, I'll tell Fraschkit you need to rest. I'm sure she'd understand."

"Oh, yeah? Will you tell her I'm simply too tired from all of that time serving the Demons? I'm sure that will go over well." She barked a bitter laugh. "Save your arguments for the trial, Guardian. It's not me you need to convince."

She spun away, and I reluctantly continued forward in search of my father. Half of the wagons I passed held supplies, while the other half carried the weakest humans from the barn. Scars marred their bodies, raggedy clothes hung to gaunt frames, and shadows danced in their eyes. Between the walking humans and the ones in the wagons, there must have been at least three humans for every Guardian. I wondered whether the Guardians here were equipped to protect them from returning to that fate.

When I spotted a familiar hobble, nerves tightened my throat. Even if my father had always loved Hefgar more, our good interactions had once outweighed the bad. But remembering the good only made losing him harder.

Pushing aside my trepidation, I caught up to him. "Hey, Dad."

He glanced up at me—and missed a step, teetering sideways. "Remgar!"

I caught his elbow to steady him. "Whoa, you alright?"

"I'm fine, but what about you?" He scanned me with pursed lips. "You're not hurt?"