“Just make him remember that he’s not alone,” Suryc pleads as he curls up to wait for his Cadogan’s safe return. Despite his great size, the Ddraig looks vulnerable, dropping his head onto his front feet. “Do whatever it takes to help him remember.”
“I have an idea. I’ve used something similar before, and it worked,” Wren explains, silently offering a prayer to any of the forgotten gods, begging for the success of his half-formed plan.
“Just remind him—”
“I can do better than that! I’ll show him what he’s forgotten,” Wren boasts as he disappears from Suryc’s sight, weaving through the trees and searching for a flimsy piece of bark that might be used to create a new mask.
***
Cyrus clenches his eyes shut tightly as the folds of the canvas tent open to the night sky. It is the only form of rebellion left. At least this way I cannot see what tortures my brother will inflict upon me now. “Not another coffin,” he murmurs despite his strongest yearning to stay quiet. “Please.”
“Cyrus,” a voice whispers, its pitch a husky, falsetto that seems affected, but still familiar. “It’s me. Open your eyes.”
Cyrus’s eyelids slit open hesitantly. Iris’s white Mynah mask leers at him from beside the table, her mouth turned down to a frown. “Why are you wearing your mask?” His words are garbled by the relief and terror churning in his blood. “You shouldn’t be here! If Wolf finds you—”
“Suryc sent me to you,” Iris whispers, a gloved hand reaching up to trace the Dadeni lines on his face. “He told my Ddraig that you were struggling.”
“Siri’s here with you? Oh, get them out of here, Iris!” Cyrus wails, his hands straining against the bonds. “If Wolf finds her, he’ll kill her. Take Suryc and Siri and disappear!”
“I cannot leave you behind, Cyrus. Danger or no, I will not abandon you,” Iris insists, fumbling in those gloves, unsuccessful in each attempt to untie the ropes that pin Cyrus in place.
How desperately Cyrus’s heart longs to believe her words. Something’s not right, he reminds himself, hating the thought as soon as it has begun. “You’re not real. You’re just a figment of my nightmares. Leave me in peace! Do not torment me in my final days!”
“You will not die,” Iris hisses, leaning forward so that her mask is close enough to touch. “I will come back for you, Cyrus. I will save you!”
Cyrus observes the off-color blue around the sockets of the mask. His eyes roam the image, noting the dark undertones that mar the shock of white hair. You’re not my Iris. Before he can confront the stranger, Wolf’s boots rattle the canvas at the entry. “Get out!” Cyrus hisses as the imposter slips into a dark corner of the tent.
“Just remember that you’re not alone. Don’t give up, Cyrus,” the false voice whispers as the stranger disappears.
“Well, well…you’re awake,” Wolf muses as he strips off his shirt. “I’m glad. That makes my evening all the more fun. You’ll be able to scream when I cut you. You’ll cry when you bleed. I’ve always loved hearing the sounds of your pain.”
It wasn’t her…but it was a friend. Instinctively Cyrus knows it had to be Wren, for he is the only one who would attempt such a stupid feat. To waltz right into camp dressed as the object of Wolf’s obsession is suicide, even if it is well intended. Suryc? Are you here too?
Suryc sends a surge of calmness through their mental bonds, hoping to stave off some of Cyrus’s fears. She’s really coming, Cyrus. Don’t lose heart.
I’m glad you’re here, Cyrus whimpers, clenching his eyes shut once more. I thought you’d abandoned me to die. Thank you for coming back.
“Cat got your tongue? Or are you afraid that if I see it, I’ll cut it out?” Wolf laughs as he stalks over to Cyrus’s side. He raises a long, thin pick over Cyrus’s torso, feeling along his ribs for the fleshy space between them.
“What…what are you doing?” Cyrus mutters, his throat going dry. This is it, Suryc. He’s finally going to kill me. Feeling Suryc’s shimmering fear and rage, he adds, It’s okay, Suryc. It’s a relief, actually.
“So, you can speak still. You were just being rude,” Wolf replies as he continues his exploration, searching for the perfect spot on his brother’s body. “What’s your greatest regret, brother?”
A myriad of memories flutter through Cyrus’s thoughts at the question. The force of his regrets is strong enough to still his already taciturn tongue.
“See, I have a theory,” Wolf continues, holding his finger in the gap between Cyrus’s fourth and fifth ribs. “The thing that haunts your heart the most has nothing to do with Iris at all. Oh, don’t get me wrong, you torture yourself over everything that’s happened with her too. But I think that the greatest regret in your heart is actually about Warbler.”
Cyrus’s blood stills in his veins as Wolf uses a piece of charcoal to mark the spot in his ribs. Then Wolf sidles over to the opposite point on Cyrus’s other side. “What does this have to do with Warbler?” He questions, the shiver in his body making the words tremble as he speaks.
“Oh, she didn’t tell you, did she? Iris never shared the details of how Warbler died? I’m surprised she kept that information to herself,” Wolf explains with a grin, his pick gleaming despite the low light.
“She alluded that Creeper tortured Warbler, but she never got into the details,” Cyrus mumbles, remembering the horrible day when Iris had thrown Creeper’s mask at his feet. “I think everything was too much for her to bear at the time.”
“Interesting…because she told me everything. But then, she loves me, and we have very few secrets. Well, I will
