The Savior's Throne

Chapter Nine

Minutes pass and he still hasn't responded. Sweat starts to bead at the edge of my hairline, "What happened to time being of the essence?" The words stumble from my lips, rushed and mumbled.

Desmond's mouth finally opens and out comes his answer, "Fine, you will know everything."

"Good." I say. "What can I do?" Desmond shakes his head back and forth, "nothing, right now. I'll send you a schedule tomorrow and you will start then." I nod and lace my hands together in front of me. Everyone stares at me as if I'm supposed to do something, but I don't know what. I rock gently back on my heels, "Can I go now?" Tulsa laughs and I blush.

"Yes, you may go," Desmond says.

I head for the door and Arlo follows. Somehow, he gets to the door first and opens it for me. "Such a gentleman," I mock. Arlo doesn't laugh, "just go."

We walk through the stone hallways together and my mind swirls. I'm starting to get dizzy with all this information and pause in the middle of the tunnel we are walking through. Unaccustomed to my odd behavior, Arlo asks, "You okay?"

"Mostly, but I cannot believe of all days to wage a war, they choose my birthday."

"It has nothing to do with you." My head snaps to Arlo, I hate being lied to.

"Are you joking?" I ask. "You guys just so happened to decide to attack the Northern Society-where I grew up-on the day I was born? Don't lie to me, I am no fool. This has everything to do with me."

He shrugs as if it doesn't matter, "So it might have a little to do with you, but does it really matter?"

"Yes, it matters." How does he not see it? "This will be the first war in centuries and it happens to start on my birthday? Is that not what the Gods prophesized?"

"No, the Gods foresaw an ungifted child come into possession of evil. You are many things Salvare, but you are not evil."

"How do you know?" I ask quietly. All my life I thought I was destined to be evil. I tried to be a good person, but what if I can't escape who I'm supposed to become? "You don't even know me," I tell him.

He tilts his head slightly, "You're not a hard girl to figure out." I scoff at that.

"Seriously, you couldn't hide your emotions even if your life depended on it." He sounds so confident, but there's no way he knows me.

"Just because you know how I feel, that doesn't mean you know me." A small smile plays at the edges of his lips. I wonder what he looks like when he really smiles, would it soften the hard edges of his face?

"Please," he says, "when people stare at you for too long, you blush and fidget around. That tells me you hate being the center of attention-which shows you're not vain. When we went to the East, your eyes were sad, but empathetic. It was as if you understood their pain. Every time you see Winslow, your face lights up with hope. And when he smiles at you, you get this shocked expression on your face, like you can't believe someone likes you. I know it doesn't seem like it, but I always pay attention."

"Why do you pay such close attention?" I ask, trying not to be creeped out.

"Because...life is in the details," he says. My lips part, his words taking away the creepiness factor. He watches the world around him to understand it.

I replay his words in my mind and a sudden thought strikes me, "You know, just because someone likes the spotlight doesn't mean they're vain." I change to a mocking tone to lighten the mood.