Bard: Chapter 27

Liam listened as Trista told them of her atrocities, and they were atrocities.

She’d unmasked, setting her pin on the table in front of them before folding her shaking hands on her lap and beginning the long, terrible account of her life before she’d met them.

He listened, but he watched Laura, searching for each little expression, each small reaction. The things Trista had done to people–cutting them, burning them, drowning them, locking them in the dark, killing them, dragging them back from any hope of escape–were all too familiar. At least he would know then, how Laura might look at him if he told her the same things. How she might shudder, and turn away.

Laura wasn’t shuddering though, or turning away. She listened quietly, occasionally raising an eyebrow or asking a question.

Trista glanced up at her every so often, briefly, before turning her gaze back to the table. Her voice trembled with every word. She looked terrified, the way she had the day they’d met, after her hood had come down and Laura had started throwing daggers at her.

“What’s the point of it all?” Laura asked as Trista fell silent, her voice was neutral, but Trista flinched nonetheless. “Or do demons just like torturing people for fun?”

“Some do,” Trista said quietly, “but…it’s also–it’s also how we feed.”

“Feed?” Liam asked.

“You know I can–I can sense things,” Trista explained. “The point of that is…finding food. I soak it up, and it–it nourishes me. When I hurt people, it fed me and–me and my mother.”

“You still do that?” Laura asked.

“I can’t stop. It just happens, like breathing or blinking,” Trista said. Her eyes widened and she quickly added. “I don’t hurt people any more.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s wrong,” Trista said, looking up at Laura. “Before…I didn’t–I didn’t know it was–it was wrong, but I do now, so I stopped.”

“What changed?” Laura asked, narrowing her eyes.

“There was–there was a man, with a violin,” Trista told them. Her shoulders fell just a bit. “My siblings brought him for mother, and I was–and I was supposed to hurt him–and I–I did. I made him play until his fingers bled and he–and he begged to stop. Even so, the music was so beautiful. It was the first really beautiful thing in that house…” She looked up at them furtively. “I killed him, eventually. The violin was still there though, and I tried to make the other humans play it for me, but they couldn’t. I hadn’t–I mean I hadn’t realized that…”

She fell silent, worrying her lip as if she were unsure of how to go on, or whether or not to go on at all.

“Ah,” Laura said, nodding slowly. “You hadn’t considered the lives of your meat.”

Trista cringed, hanging her head and wrinkling her brow.

“Yes,” she said quietly.

“We don’t, do we?” Laura mused. “Someone brings you a cow, and you carve it up for them.”

“Laura,” Liam interjected. Trista looked ready to burst into tears.

“What? It is what it is,” she replied. Noting Trista’s pained expression, she leaned in closer. “I don’t mean it to hurt you. I worked for a butcher for eight years. If I found out any of the livestock I’d carved up led full and complex lives, with families and hobbies and what-have-you, I’d be wrecked too. But you didn’t know, did you?”

“I’m sorry,” Trista said, her voice cracking as she wept. “I’m so sorry.”

She dissolved into tears, and Laura moved her chair closer so she could embrace her. Trista only cried harder, and Laura patted her back. Liam stayed where he was, with his arms crossed over his chest and his heart pounding.

Laura had reacted better than he’d ever imagined she might, but there was a big difference between Trista’s story and his own. He had known the evil of what he was doing. Whatever other excuses he might try to make–and there were many–he had understood the people he’d hurt were people, and Laura would know it.

“I-I’ll leave, if-if y-you want me to,” Trista stuttered out between her sobs. She pulled back from Laura, looking between the two of them woefully. “No–no one w-will bother you if I’m gone.”

“Enough of that,” Laura said, giving her a gentle shake. “I don’t want you to leave.”

Trista sniffled, wiping at her eyes and taking several, shuddering breaths.

“And not only you.” Laura’s gaze fell on Liam, and his heart leapt into his throat. He could see it in her eyes. Somehow, she knew.

“What?” Liam asked as neutrally as he could.

“You’ve been watching me like a hawk this entire time,” she said slowly, her voice just barely crackling. “And I think I finally understand what it is you’ve been hiding.”

Liam tensed, bracing himself against the edge of the table.

“Laura–”

“Am I wrong?” she asked quickly.

Her voice shook, and he couldn’t tell if it was fear or grief or anger, but any of them would be terrible. Liam looked down at the table, steeling himself, swallowing the lump that had formed in his throat. He met her eyes, fighting to keep his voice level.

“No,” he said. “You’re not wrong.”

Laura squeezed her eyes shut, tears falling over her face. It took everything he had not to run away.

“Laura–”

“What did you think?” she demanded angrily, her eyes flying open. Liam cringed at her voice, at her tears. “That I would leave you in a ditch and run for anything you did after father gave you to that monster? Liam, you were seven.”

“I wasn’t seven the whole time,” he replied grimly.

“So what?” she snapped, pushing back her chair with screech and jumping to her feet. “Don’t pretend you had any kind of choice.”

“There’s always a choice,” Liam stated.

“A real choice!” Laura shouted. “Not the kind of choice where you do the horrible thing or get tossed into a fighting pit until you die!”

“It was still a choice.”

“Shut up!” Laura darted around the table and punched him in the shoulder, not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to push him back. She paused, bit her lip, then reached down to cup his face in her hands, holding his gaze. Her eyes were red, and teary. He could feel her hands trembling.

Liam couldn’t stand to meet her eyes, but he did. She deserved that.

“When all the choices are terrible, what you do is survive,” she said fervently. “I’m glad you survived. I love you, Liam, and I never could have–”

Grabbing her by the shoulders, Liam pulled her against him, hugging her close and pressing his face against her shoulder. He hid his face and sobbed. Relief flooded through him like cold water, and it felt like uncoiling, like an old, hard knot finally being loosened.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly.

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for,” he said, but Laura shook her head.

“No,” she said. “I’m sorry you’ve been carrying this by yourself. I’m sorry you felt like you had to hide it. I’m sorry–” her breath hitched “–I’m sorry I couldn’t stop him.”

Liam hugged her closer. He didn’t need to ask who she meant, and he knew it wasn’t Vultan.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he murmured. “You were only nine.”

Laura sniffled, and pulled back far enough to look at him. Liam’s nose burned, and his throat caught.

“I love you too,” he said, his voice weak and strained. Laura smiled, still weeping, and kissed him on the forehead. Then, she turned to where Trista still sat, watching them both with a soft expression.

“Get over here,” Laura said, and she reached across to pull Trista in with them.