He rose too, silently, as if something important had shifted between them.
‘Melinoe.’
‘We ought to resume training,’ Mal said, refusing to meet his gaze as she turned instead towards the witch. Allegra gave a silent nod, rose to her feet, and cast Thanatos one last lingering glance. ‘Wait for me outside, Allegra,’ Mal added quickly, her voice sharp with unspoken urgency. She needed the witch gone. Allegra slipped from the hall without another word.
‘Do not encourage her,’ Mal warned, her tone edged with iron.
‘Why ever not?’ Thanatos replied, dark eyes alight with mischief. ‘There’s precious little amusement here after nightfall. She’ll be staying for a while, and I…’ he shrugged, ‘am in need of company.’
A bitter thought wormed its way into Mal’s mind. Had Allegra already shared his bed? Was that why she wore the black dress?
‘Do whatever you please,’ she said, her jaw tight with restraint. ‘Just ensure it doesn’t interfere with my training.’
He chuckled, the sound low and sinful. ‘Are you jealous, Melinoe?’
‘Of what, precisely?’
‘The witch,’ he said, stepping nearer. ‘For the privilege of sharing a night with me.’
Amusement tugged at the corner of Mal’s mouth. ‘And why in the name of all things sacred would I be jealous of that, Thanatos? I can think of few fates more appalling.’
‘Liar,’ he murmured, moving closer still. His fingers ghosted against hers. ‘I saw it in your eyes the way you wanted to rip her apart when I turned my attention to her.’
Mal snorted. ‘I see you’re more delusional than I’d previously assumed.’
Thanatos’ tongue swept across his lower lip as he gave a slow, knowing nod and drew back. ‘Very well then. I’m free toamuse myself with her, without your interference?’
‘I am married, Thanatos,’ she said, brushing past him. But he seized her arm, halting her in place. ‘And I could not care less what you do.’
Pain crossed his features, so fleeting she almost doubted it had been there at all. Her gaze dropped to the long, pale fingers curled tightly around her wrist, anchoring her in place. Slowly, deliberately, he released her. But then he leaned in, his mouth brushing the space just beside her ear.
She waited for a whisper, a word, anything.
But none came.
He lingered, the air between them trembling with unsaid things, as though tempted to graze her skin with the softest of kisses. Yet he thought better of it. He withdrew at last, silence clinging to the shape of him.
‘Have fun tonight,’ she said as she turned away.
‘I will,’ he replied, his voice low, unreadable.
Mal didn’t look back. She walked on, her spine rigid, shoulders drawn taut as bowstrings. She ignored the way her breath caught sharply in her throat as though, impossibly, she cared.
As though, against her better judgement, some fragile part of her heart had splintered at the thought of his hands on someone else.
What lies beneath the phoenixian city has always been veiled in secrecy. Whispers thread their way through the years; rumours, tales, fragments of horror murmured in shadowed corners. Over time, one truth has become known: phoenixians conduct experiments below. Not merely to create new beasts or arcane marvels, but to heal, to cure.
I once heard a tale that they saved an entire village—men, women, and children—through such methods. A cure had been found for a disease that had been slowly devouring lives. But what is not often spoken of, what is conveniently omitted from the tale, is the price.
They took prisoners, those deemed unworthy by law and fate, and deliberately infected them. They seeded the disease into their veins, watched it bloom, so that others might be spared. In the name of salvation, they dissected suffering.
And so it begs the question: Is it just, to sacrifice the few, those society has already condemned, to save the many?
Once, without hesitation, I would have said no. That no soul, no matter their sins, deserved such a fate.
But now… Now I’m not so certain anymore.
Tabitha Wysteria
