Marked for Murder

fifteen: separate us from the love

"What do you think we should do next?"

My head snaps up at that. We. We. He referred to us as we. He is asking for my guidance. My thoughts? After all I could do to his reputation, I should be the last person he needs to speak to.

I see the pain in his eyes, but I also see hope. Love. For me.

He must read my mind because he starts picking on the threads of my blanket, his eyes quickly hiding away from my unnerving gaze. "I know," he staggers, "I know. I know what I must do. But you're my daughter, Cynthia." He looks up again, steeling his shoulders.

He must have really put in a lot of thought into this because he reaches out for my hand. I readily clasp his trembling fingers, my tears flowing with carefree abandon. "What I must do and what is best for you may not always be the same. And at that point, I will always choose what's best for you."

I see my mother wipe a lone tear from her chin and Charles gripping his fists, out of the corner of my eye. "Dad, I," I fumble over my words. What do I think? What do I want? I don't have answers. I don't know what to do.

"I have no idea. I have no clue what to do. I just want this to be a bad dream."

I grip my father's hand tighter, feeling the Mark of Success push against the Mark of Love on my palm. That jolts me to my senses. I had been so focussed on the bad, I hadn't cared to think about the good.

Despite all of my careful locking away of hope, I felt a little of it flutter in my chest again. I looked at Macaria for the first time since she'd entered my room again. She saw the expectant look on my face and immediately averted her eyes.

But I had to give it a try.

"Can't we -- Can we not pretend? I bear the Mark of Love," I say, raising my palm to support myself. "Can we not pretend like it's the only Mark I have?"

"No," Macaria says, still not meeting my eyes. "The Council will hold a trial. You will be placed under Themis' oath and it will be binding. If you lie so blatantly, the oath will burn your tongue, one small portion at a time."

I look at my father for confirmation and he nods slowly. "Darius," he whispers and I wince. That's how the tortured Amelia's father, I realise. Every word he uttered to protect his son, took away a little of his own speech.

I bite my lower lip, drawing blood, relishing in the pain. If I am tried by the Council, they will kill me. I would be locked away, tortured and punished by the Keepers. If I hide and my family helps me, their days would be numbered, just like Darius'.

I instantly know what I have to do. I couldn't risk my family at any cost and refuse to die, either. I make up my mind to do the only logical thing that comes to my mind.

"I know what I have to do," I say into the silence and my parents look at me, puzzled. Charles fights to keep himself from breaking down; I can see the pain in his eyes. He knows what I am about to suggest.

"You cannot know what I need to do. If I tell you and do it, the Council will bind you under Themis' oath and you will suffer needlessly. I must do this on my own."

"Absolutely not," my mother says and I look at her. "You will do nothing of that sort, Cynthia! Where will you go? What will you do? I would rather suffer with you than watch you suffer all alone, knowing I could have stopped it all!"

She finally breaks, letting her emotions flow. My mother rubs at her cheeks furiously, discordant and furious. "I am not letting you leave us."

I get up from my bed, the crashing sadness in my heart now subdues to a dull ache. I take my mother's hands in mine and gently rub my palm on hers. "I'll come back to you. I promise, Mom, but I need to do this on my own."

"I'll be with her, too," Macaria says and I glare at her.

"You will do no such thing," I snap, tired of her unreasonable explanations and decisions. "You just met me a few weeks ago. I cannot take you when I myself do not know where my destination is."

"But I do," Macaria mumbles indistinctly but I catch on.

That stuns me and my hand drops from my mother's grasp. "What do you mean?"

Macaria looks at me again, her eyes shining and bright. "I cannot tell you. You'll just have to listen to me."

Irritation unfurls in my chest and I stomp over to where she stands beside my father. I ball my fists and say through gritted teeth, "You cannot act all mysterious when we talk about my decisions. You cannot ask me to trust you when I have no idea who you are! I don't know anything about you! Why should I listen to you?"

Her eyes glisten again and I feel no remorse. I do not trust her. She knows something, she knows something about me and yet, she chooses to hide it from me. How can I trust someone like that?

"Very well, then. I shall not ask you to trust me," she says, her voice trembling. Her voice sounds like I have wounded her terribly but I have no idea why. She knows she is a stranger to me, too, just as I am to her.

My thoughts are cut off when the next words she says shakes me to my very being. "But if you want your family to live, to not crash and burn because you chose wrong, you will have to listen to me, trust or not."

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