Aloisia drew in a sharp breath. He didn’t realise, didn’t see what she did. Or, at least, he did not wish to see it.
Brighde lay limp in his arms, her vacant gaze fixed on the ceiling. He cupped her cheek, moving her to face him. “Stay with me.”
Aloisia choked back a sob and sank to her knees before him. She seized his wrist and his head snapped up, noticing her for the first time. His charcoal eyes flickered between her and Tristan. He drew Brighde closer, as if to protect her from them.
“What happened?” she asked.
“She needs a physician.” Fynn’s voice broke, as if part of him knew it would do no good.
“I don’t think—”
“Get the physician,” he snapped, his attention turning back to Brighde.
“Fynn, listen—”
“She needs help, Lis. Now! Wake him from his bed if you have to.”
Aloisia retreated, unable to reach him. She glanced up at Tristan, still lingering at her shoulder. While Fynn wouldn’t listen to her, he might listen to him.
Please, she mouthed.
They had a pact, Aloisia and Tristan. If the other asked something of them, and uttered ‘please’ in this way, they could not refuse. That was the rule.
“By the Divines,” Tristan uttered, running a hand down his face as he moved to crouch beside Fynn. He grasped his arm, much as Aloisia had, and Fynn barely reacted. “Fynn, can you look at me?”
For a moment, Aloisia thought he wouldn’t – couldn’t – turn away from Brighde. The moment dragged on until finally his eyes flitted upwards. Tristan gripped his shoulder, as if bracing him, and held his gaze.
“Can you tell me what happened?”
“She needs help, Tris. She needs a physician. Please, get one.”
“I don’t think a physician can help her now, brother.”
“Don’t say that.” The words ripped out of him in a cry, his attention returning to Brighde as if seeing her anew. Horror crept across his features.
Tristan closed her lids. “I’m so sorry.”
Fynn’s head hung low, his black locks shielding his face. His shoulders shook in a silent weep, and he held Brighde to him, his fingers tangled in the gentle curl of her hair.
It had always been said the dead looked as if they were only sleeping. Seeing Brighde now, Aloisia discovered it was the furthest thing from the truth. A lie told to comfort children. Even with her eyes closed, there was a terrible absence in Brighde which separated this from sleep. The reality of the situation clawed its way through her alcohol addled mind.
Aloisia glanced frantically to Tristan. “What do we do? We need to tell someone. The Watch? Klaus? Or the guards?”
He nodded. “Yes, we need to report this.” He leant close, lowering his voice. “However, it would be best if we establish at least an idea of what happened first. Then we have something substantial to tell. And conclusions won’t be jumped to.”
“What are you saying?” White hot panic flooded through her. “Fynn would never—”
“I know. But what would anyone think to walk in here?”
She turned back to Fynn, fear prickling like spikes beneath her skin. “What did you see?” When he still didn’t react, she shoved his shoulder and forced him to acknowledge her. “What did you see?”
“I don’t know.” Fynn shook his head. “It happened too fast.”
Aloisia pondered the blue light, the pressing darkness, the spectres stalking the street. Had he seen any of it?
“You must remember something,” she said. “Please, at least try.”
He paused for a long moment, long enough she thought he wouldn’t answer. “I was in the bedroom. There was a flash of light, a strange blueish colour, so I looked outside.”
