And then, with quick, nimble fingers, he slipped it out of the areola it pierced.
Immediately the strength ebbed from him. It slipped away like a quilt whipped from over a sleeping body, so suddenly that at first his fingers trembled with the loss. The bullet wounds he’d received only two nights ago, which had nearly healed, now pounded and throbbed deeply in his muscles, reminding him of what was to come. What his future would be.
Of course, he would remember none of this when he woke up.
He placed the vis on the little table next to a small lamp…and the mocking ruby box. And then, as if to counteract the blasphemous presence of Lilith’s box, Max took his small leather satchel and pulled out the few items he’d stored in it.
In the morning, or whenever it was he awakened, the box, the vis bulla, none of it would mean anything to him. The charred satin rose, the black stake with the inlaid silver cross on the blunt end, the small glass vial of holy water, the pearl earbobs, the gold watchcase…the items he placed on the table. None of them.
Max looked away, annoyed that he was feeling sorry for himself. He did what he had to do. There was no question. The day he’d awakened after the tragedy into which he’d brought his family was the day he promised himself in service. For the rest of his life.
And his life was not yet over.
What would he do after this?
Max shrugged. The path would become clear. He had only to watch, and to follow it.
A knock on the door drew his attention, gratefully, from his self-pity. “Yes. Come. ”
Wayren entered, her gaze moving quickly over him, the items on the small table, the untouched bed. “You’re ready?” she asked, still standing in the doorway.
“Have you heard from Victoria?”
Her eyes moved sharply over him, and she nodded. “Yes. She sent word by messenger bird, and asked whether you’d returned as well. ”
“Melisande?”
Wayren nodded again. “All are safe. Did you drink Ylito’s decoction?”
Max nodded.
“Good. He claims it will ease your way—although we don’t know exactly what will happen, do we? He did study the salve, Max, to determine if there was a way to use it, or alter it somehow, so that you could sever your bond with Lilith but keep your Venator powers. ”
“But then I would be no help in the destruction of Akvan, would I? No Venator or demon shall destroy him. And someone must. ”
Wayren chose to ignore his comment, replying, “I’ll be here when you awaken, so that I can remind you of your task. ” She came into the room, closing the door behind her.
He resisted a disgusted snort and instead settled himself on the bed. She would remind him of the task he must set out to do—to somehow annihilate Akvan, and to do it as a mortal man, a non-Venator. But what he might or might not remember and know of himself when he awakened was frightening to consider.
Wayren pulled the chair next to him and opened the small cachet box. The pomade’s scent—at once intriguing and horrific—wafted into the room. To his great annoyance his stomach lurched when he realized that an undercurrent of the aroma was the same rose smell that always accompanied Lilith’s presence.
He closed his eyes briefly, wishing that there was another way. That he didn’t have to make this choice, go through with this task, drink this cup…give up the life he’d built for himself, the one he’d managed to construct from the ashes of guilt and self-loathing.
She knew it, damn her. She knew this was the last thing he’d ever want to do. Ever be willing to do.
By God, she knew him too well. And he, her.
He hoped Victoria would remember his advice about Lilith. That she would learn her enemy and find a way to keep herself distant from the malevolence, the conniving, so that she could remain untrapped.
A glint of brightness caught his attention, and he willingly trod out of the depths of anger and regret and back to the present, where Wayren was holding something in front of him.
He recognized the small golden disk that spun on a web-thin chain in front of him, the lamp having been placed at such an angle that the pendant appeared to glow and glitter. The memory of Eustacia was bittersweet…and appropriate.
Yet it was soothing to stare at it as Wayren murmured something in the back of her throat that was just as relaxing. He tried to force himself into ease, to let it go…and it wasn’t as difficult as he’d expected.
Cool, sure fingers smoothed over his neck and at the angle into his shoulder; the smell of roses became stronger, sickeningly stronger. He tried not to breathe too deeply, watching the golden disk, letting himself feel light.
Lighter than he’d ever felt.