Wren
Ch. 7
“Alex and I had been together for two years.” Rich knew he should stop here. This isn’t the kind of thing that Fitzroy was fishing for, but it was definitely memories he did not want to relive. But he had too much in him now, and he was beyond the point of faking being an open book. He was just an open book now. When he was drunk, nothing could stop him talking once he’d started. Not even himself. “He’d helped me through a lot of stuff. Helped me get out of some bad circles. I wasn’t even in it for the money, I still had my inheritance. I just wanted the adrenaline. He got me out of it. After that, all I wanted was to be with him. We spent every minute together. After all, we were young and in love. I used my inheritance to buy us a nice place in Cary. Every day we would wake up when we felt like it, beholden to nobody but ourselves. Some days we would picnic by Beau Isle, others we would go to the marketplace. And some days we wouldn’t even leave the house. It was bliss. Until I decided to open up.
“After two and a half years together, I told him about my sword. About what it could do. I felt bad for keeping it from him, but he reassured me that it wasn’t a big deal. He understood why I kept it from him. And I trusted him. And what a fool I was to trust him. And what a fool I was to love him.
“The next morning, he said we should go take a walk, outside the city. I was afraid he was going to leave me. I was sure it was because I’d kept the sword from him, and because we’d never gotten married. He knew I could afford it, hell, I could’ve rented out half the city if I’d wanted to, or we even could’ve eloped. I just never felt that it was a thing we needed to do. After we got a decent distance away from the city, in a small patch of forest, he stopped us. He turned to me, and held both of my hands. ‘I love you,’ he said, and he embraced me. And then I felt a sharp pain in my back. I collapsed.”
Rich started to tear up. It was the first time he’d cried in a very long time. Normally drink just numbed him, but normally the people he was around when he drank didn’t ask any questions of him to get him talking. Once someone got him talking, however, he could never hold back his stories of Alex, and the pain that came with them.
“He said ‘I’m sorry I had to do this, but I need the sword.’ He turned and started walking away. I don’t know much about medicine, but I’d seen people get stabbed where he’d stabbed me. I knew they don’t live long afterwards. I knew that all of my actions were life or death. I played dead, letting him get far enough away that he wouldn’t notice me moving. Once he was out of earshot, I wrenched the knife out of my back, and started gushing blood. I started using magic to heal myself. I felt my body aging on the spot. I lost a decade repairing the wound. Now I had to take care of him. I knew that if he noticed I was alive he’d rush home. And if he got there before me I wouldn’t stand a chance. He’d have the sword. I didn’t want to take the risk that he would win that race. I slowed down time for myself, the world passing by at a glacial pace. I’d picked this trick up from my time running with rough crowds, but I normally had my sword to slow down time for me. I didn’t know how long I had in this state so I had to act quickly. I flung the knife towards him. In my earlier days I would showboat by having the knife stick into the victim blade-first. I didn’t have time to aim that precisely. I dropped back into normal time, an additional five years older. I heard a deafening crack. The knife went straight through him. Straight through the heart. I didn’t want to take the risk of him doing what I’d done and repairing the wound. A hole that size would take him more than the rest of his life to fix. Sometimes, though, I wish I’d let him live just a little longer just… so…” Rich trailed off. He couldn’t bear to finish his thought.
“I’m sorry you had to go through that.” Fitzroy said, and offered Rich a cloth tissue.
“Sorry doesn’t do shit!” Rich threw the glass at the bartender. Fitzroy dodged it and it hit the wall behind him.
“You’re going to have to leave. We will send a bill to your address.”
“Fuck yourself.” Rich said, tears still rolling down his face. He stormed out of the tavern and into the street. It had started to rain. While he was feeling sorry for himself, someone bumped into him, and knocked him onto the ground.
“My apologies.” the man said.
“Don’t worry about…” Rich trailed off. Osparian accent, ring on each finger, and bald. This was the target. He had to do something. This man, or otherwise himself, was going to die tonight. “Actually, do you think you could escort me to a temple? I’ve hurt myself a few times today, and after this I think I want to get myself checked out.” Rich was lucky he was drunk. He couldn’t lie when he was sober.
“Sure thing. Follow me, we can find someone who knows where one is.”
“Actually, I know of one near here,” Rich picked himself up, “I just need someone to keep an eye on me on the way. I might have gotten a concussion from the fall.”
“I’ll follow your lead.”
They set off, the man thinking he escorting Rich to a doctor, Rich knowing where the nearest secluded spot was where he could dump a body without being noticed.