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

•capítulo diecinueve // chapter nineteen•

"Oh, my son," the monster in the cell coos, "you always find a way to return to me."

Val sets his lantern down in front of the bars of the cell. He stares inside, greeted with the sickeningly familiar sight of his own father sitting on the floor. His coarse black beard is tangled by time, his black hair matted and long. His black eyes track every small movement that Val makes, and the shadows in his cell don't scurry away at the light from the lantern.

"I want to ask you some questions," Val informs him, reaching into his pocket for his handkerchief. He realizes his pocket is empty the moment his fingers brush nothing but air; he tossed his handkerchief to the girl in his room without a thought last night.

Arturo notices his hesitation. "I saw you fall into the Dividir," he murmurs. "It was cold, wasn't it?"

Val breathes in through his mouth. "It was."

"She almost died," Arturo continues, setting his elbow on his knee, leaning onto it with a devious smirk. "Was that your first kiss?"

His lips tingle at the memory of it. "Of course not. It was-"

"Yes, yes. I see it now." His eyes briefly go unfocused. "It was with that Borja girl nine years ago. Your birthday." When his eyes focus again, his smirk grows. "It doesn't count when you're a child, Valentine."

Val looks away. "I forgot what it felt like," he admits. "It wasn't a real kiss, anyway. I was trying to save her life."

"Why did you do it?" asks Arturo.

He shakes his head. "I don't know. I felt..." He clenches his fists. "Seeing her lying there, motionless, made my chest ache. It was like I was losing something I would never have again."

"There are others you can touch. People like me. People like you."

"But there are so few of us that are disconnected from the weave," Val says. "Do you even know what it's like to resign yourself away from human contact? To become a hermit in the skin and bones of your own body? Sometimes I... I feel like I can't even breathe, and that's the closest to feeling anything I ever get. There might not even be anyone else like me on this continent. If I could despair, I would. But I can't even do that." He draws away, chest heaving. "I can't even hate you anymore. There's barely anything in me that can."

Arturo's smirk slides away. "Valentine," he begins. "What do you want to know from me?"

Val collects himself, reining in his breathing until it's placid once more. He lets his hands relax. He swallows down what feels like bile at the back of his throat.

"What is she, really? My maestro spoke of people like her, once, but I'm not sure I truly understood."

To his surprise, his father answers him. "She's a Weaver. Her powers are some of the most ancient in this world. You've seen how the weave becomes tangible for her. Everything could bow for her if she wished it."

"But not me?"

"No. People with the Sight- you, me, and others like us- won't move to her. We're not part of the weave any longer. We walk uninhibited of it. She pulls strings, but we don't have much for her to control."

So that's why he tensed up when she touched that vestigial part of him connecting to the weave. She found no purchase on him. "Then why doesn't she just weave the whole world into submission?"

"Your substitute saw her bleeding. So have you. It's because she's human."

Val's lips part in understanding. "Then what's her aim? Why would she want to be queen?"