The Young Gods (The Young Gods #1) [NEW DRAFT]

•capítulo diez // chapter ten•

Mornings have a way of tangling themselves into Eden's mind.

They wind their way into every crack and crevice, squeezing in where no sunlight reaches, brightening him up from the inside. Sometimes, he thinks that his eyes glow like Val's; there's so much light in him that he might explode. His heart swells at the sight of the magnificent sun, pushing past the confines of his ribs, outlining itself beneath his skin, concealed by his Sentinel regalia. It washes away the despair of the night before, searing away his memories until the moon rises again.

There's no sun today. It hides behind angry grey storm clouds as rain pelts the capital. A million droplets snake into the spaces between the tiles of the rooftops, running over the eaves of the roofs and soaking anyone who dares to cross beneath them.

Eden's fingers tap on the table beneath his hands. He fixes his attention on a rambunctious pack of children that fill the streets below, their screams and shouts absorbed by the stone walls of the Citadel.

Mornings have a way of tangling themselves into Eden's mind, but not this morning. His hands ache to rid himself of it.

"Buenos dias," says the Sentinel beside him. He's older, with crow's feet, and he's a patrol captain like Eden, his name hopelessly forgettable.

Eden nods at him. "Good morning indeed. I haven't seen so much rain in years."

The older Sentinel sighs. "We may all drown in it soon enough." He looks across the table, and then at the door, where the nine other patrol captains are beginning to file in. They take their seats, murmuring to each other, although the chair at the head of the table remains absent. "Do you have any idea why we've been called here?"

Another patrol captain- Ramos- leans back in his chair. His left eye is electric blue and lower down his face than his right. "It can't be anything good if Casillis is late." The twist of his lips is almost mocking. This is what they call Valentine. Not a Don. Not Head Sentinel. Casillis. They reduce him to the name Eden knows he hates the most. "I couldn't help but notice you leaving his quarters a few hours ago, Tudor."

Eden continues tapping away on the tabletop. There's a map of the city laid atop of it. His middle finger finds a steady rhythm over the district of Dinastía. "I'm his substitute. Part of my job is to be there for him to confide in. He can't keep all of his duties to himself." He shrugs. "He's probably trying to placate the blue bloods again. I wouldn't worry so much about it."

"You find you way to his quarters often, though," taunts Auditor, whose skin is darker than the rest of them. "So often, in fact, that there must be so much to discuss between the two of you."

A chorus of laughter rises from the table. Eden's pounding Dinastía hard enough for his finger to hurt.

"We're friends," states Eden once the laughter dies down.

"Is that what you call yourselves?" Ramos spits.

"Would you like me to regale you with the definition of friend?" Eden smiles. "Pardon me, Ramos, but I wasn't aware you didn't understand Edeiran. I'd love to teach you if you'd only take your head out of your arse to hear me."

Ramos bangs his fists on the table, right over Cruce. "Don't try to school me on my language, you Wilshorian dog. Wasn't it Casillis that taught you to speak our tongue, after all? Did he feed you vocabulary along with something else? Hymns of murder? Ways to curry royalty's favour? His-"

"He fed me a pistol," Eden tells the table. "I could shoot you with it if you don't shut up."

"I'm terrified," mocks Ramos. "We all know you're ever so talented with your hands."