The Return | Cricky

Chapter VI: Deep Water

Somehow, I managed to scrounge up some somewhat modest clothing for Shelley. Over the years, this castle's dungeons had seen plenty of young women come and go. Usually their clothing was disregarded with their corpse, but it appeared a few nicer items had been salvaged just for occasions like these.

Shelley didn't ask where the cotton nightgown I gave her came from. If she did, I would've lied. A sweet girl like her deserves better, and I say that in more than one sense. She sat at the edge of the bed, brushing out her damp hair. Nothing but the light of candles to illuminate her young face. "I don't know a whole lot about their mom, but she's a major general for the Scouts Coalition, so it's not like she's a nobody. There's probably a lot of people that would have a reason to go after her."

I looked over to Ricky questioningly and he explained, "The Scouts Coalition is, well, a coalition of trained soldiers from the different tribes that make up the untamed lands. Their main responsibility is dealing with outside threats."

"Non-fae?"

He hesitated to agree, replying "Primarily." By his tone, I think he meant to say "unfortunately."

"Chris, where exactly are you from again?" Shelley asked curiously.

"Uh... You haven't heard of it. Trust me. It's a world away." Literally. Anyways. "Is it public knowledge that she had children with a demon lord?"

"I don't think so." She replied, "I always got the impression that she didn't like people to know she had kids to begin with. I guess I can understand why now. But you'd have to be pretty brave to mess with her. She's scarier than Aziza and Rosanna combined, though I guess you haven't had a chance to meet Ro properly yet."

"I wouldn't exactly describe her as gentle." Ricky deadpanned. Voice of experience, I take it. He continued, "Whether this has to do with their mother or Ville, or both, I think Chris is right; There's a reason the attacker didn't hurt you."

Shelley's face scrunched as she thought. She liked to talk with her hands, which in this case meant swinging her brush about. "Maybe, but it doesn't make sense. Sparing people is like, the exact opposite of how Blackwell operates."

I heard Ricky's breath catch in his throat. He didn't want to break in front of her, but I knew that look in his eyes all too well. I'd only ever see it when he spoke about his time as a enslaved servant. "Did you just say Blackwell?"

"Oh, I'm so sorry. I thought you knew. That's who took Sajan's life. My dad went and saw Manson when he went to... get the body. He said Manson said he didn't care if my dad killed him, if it meant things were even."

"Sounds about right." Ricky muttered, "He doesn't care about anyone. Not even his own men."

Blackwell. I hadn't heard the name before, however I could make plenty of assumptions based on what I've heard so far. I knew in complete certainty, he'd caused my love a great deal of pain in the past. He can have the spot right under Manson on my shitlist.

"It's getting late." I told Shelley, "Get some sleep. I promise, as long as you're under our roof, you're safe. Thank you for all your help."

I couldn't let Ricky stay in that room any longer. He was forcing his walls up, something he hasn't had to do in a very long time, and I could see it wearing on him fast. We walked through the halls in silence, his exterior remaining unbroken until we'd reached the safety of our own bedroom. His head fell into my chest. No tears flowed, but I could feel the weight on his soul. I held him close, allowed my scent to calm him, slowed my breathes until his rhythm matched mine.

Once he was ready to talk, he explained that Bardeau Blackwell had long been a general in Manson's army. He led a small team in charge of discovering new prospects to conquer. Raping and pillaging along the way, just because he could. When you work for the God of Hate, I suppose your job really is that simple; Spread despair. As to why Ricky despised him, it harkened back to what Ville had said about him. The man reveled in the torment of his victims. More than once, Ricky had been subjected to Blackwell's sickness. And like he said, Manson didn't care. He didn't care for his servants lives, he doesn't care for his most loyal soldiers. As long as the world is filled with enough depravity and rage to fuel his power, he doesn't care.