The Fading Dusk

by Melissa Giorgio

  For some reason, that made me even more determined to be the one who figured things out.

  I kept returning to Gerald’s notes. Something important was hidden in there, I just needed to find it. His abbreviations were driving me mad, and I wished I had a quill and some ink so I could jot down notes of my own. All day I expected Leonid to show up—I’d ask him for the ink—but it was Vernen who paid me a visit instead.

  Dressed in plain clothes spattered with mud, he greeted me warmly, asking me how I was holding up. I pointed to the pile of papers and made a face. “I’d be better if these notes weren’t so maddening!”

  Vernen laughed as he unlocked the door and joined me inside the cell. “Yes, well, Gerald was a bit eccentric. May I?” He picked up one of the papers, scanning it before groaning. “They’re even worse than I remember. Of course Leon finds no fault in these; he worshipped the ground Gerald walked on, you see.”

  “Is that why he’s so moody now?” I asked before I could stop myself. “Because Gerald was killed?”

  “No, he’s always been like that.” Vernen replaced the paper with a rueful shake of his head. “We’re not going to find anything of value in his vague notes.”

  “I don’t know about that…” I shuffled through the papers until I found the one I was looking for. “I missed it the first dozen times, but this afternoon I noticed a little diagram scrawled in the margin. It’s a chart; I think he was keeping track of someone—or something.”

  I pointed it out for Vernen, who peered at it curiously. It appeared to be nothing more than a scribble, something Gerald did to keep himself amused. But after studying it carefully, I’d noticed a sort of pattern to his abbreviations. Besides the abbreviations, there were numbers, as if he’d been recording—

  “Are these times?” Vernen asked.

  I couldn’t keep the excitement from my voice. “I think so too, yes!” I pointed to ‘Fr—’, which showed up a few times. “Doesn’t it seem like this stands for a person who entered this ‘ch’ place for two hours this day and then…” I moved my finger over. “Another two hours this day—”

  “Along with this possible person named ‘Wa—’.” Vernen scratched his head. “But even if they are people, how are we supposed to know who they are? It’s not like Gerald left us a translation key. That would be too easy!”

  “But what about the ‘ch’? It has to be important!”

  “It’s probably nothing, Irina. A child or a chime or a—”

  “A church!” I blurted out excitedly.

  Vernen’s blue eyes danced playfully. “What makes you think it’s a church? It could be a chimney sweeper’s home—”

  “Vernen!”

  He smiled, and I couldn’t help but smile back. But my heart was racing. I knew I was right about this. Of course a church would have visitors, and a lot of them at that. Gerald had been keeping watch, maybe from across the street, recording who went in and for how long. If a church was caught up in some sort of dark magic plot, no wonder he was investigating it!

  And I truly believed they would do anything to silence him, if they found out he knew more than he should.

  “It’s something,” Vernen admitted as he scanned the passage. “If it caught Gerald’s attention, then it had to have been important. He wouldn’t have wasted his time tracking their whereabouts if he didn’t truly believe something dark was afoot.” He frowned. “Unfortunately, searching for one particular church in all of Dusk will take time we don’t have. Leonid is worried Bant—I mean, the killer will strike again, and he absolutely does not want another dead body showing up.”

  I was thinking furiously, and a horrible thought occurred to me. “Vernen, wouldn’t… I mean…” I gritted my teeth in frustration, wondering why the words wouldn’t come. Sucking in a deep breath, I said, “If what the burly man said was true, wouldn’t you be looking for a church that was recently burglarized? Something that B-Bantheir s-sto—” My stomach cramped up and I fell to the bench with a startled gasp.

  Vernen was at my side in a flash. “Irina, what’s wrong?”

  It felt like there was a knife in my gut repeatedly stabbing me. “I don’t know. My stomach just started hurting,” I managed to say between gasps.

  “Do you want me to fetch Leon?”

  Yes. “No!” The thought of him seeing me like this was horrifying.

  Vernen put a comforting arm around me, letting me lean against his chest. “But maybe you need a doctor!”

  “No, no, it’s getting better,” I lied, massaging my stomach. “Just go and tell Leonid what we discovered. Maybe between the two of you, you can find that church.”

  I could tell Vernen didn’t believe me, that he planned on sticking around until I was fully recovered, so I gave him a forced smile and shooed him from the cell. Before he turned to leave, he sternly said, “If you feel worse, promise me you’ll call for a guard. Promise me, Irina.”

  “I will. Now go, Vernen!”

  The moment he left the room, I collapsed onto the bench, folding myself up into a tight ball as I silently cried through the pain.

  FOUR DAYS SLIPPED BY IN a hazy, pain-filled blur as I huddled on my bench, barely moving. When I let my mind wander, focusing on anything but the mission I’d inadvertently sent Leonid and Vernen on, the pain subsided. But if I made the mistake of thinking about Bantheir stealing from a church, my body was struck with crippling pain that made my vision blur as I gasped for breath.

  Was this my punishment for even daring to think he might be guilty? I gritted my teeth against the pain, repeating my belief in his innocence over and over again, pleading with Bantheir to forgive me at the same time.

  The pain faded, replaced by eerie, vivid dreams. I ran through Dusk, chasing after Bantheir’s shadow, but I could never catch up. Each time the dream ended the same way. I would turn the corner, only to see Leonid stab Bantheir through the chest, killing him instantly. I screamed for Leonid to stop, but he never listened.

  I always jolted awake at that point, choking back a mouthful of blood-curdling screams. On the fourth night, the dream caught a hold of me and I woke screaming Bantheir’s name, the noise echoing off the walls and rousing the other two prisoners. I bolted upright, my body drenched with sweat and my heart practically bursting from my chest. A weak light filtered in from the closed windows, letting me know dawn was approaching.

  Leonid, flanked by two other soldiers, rushed into the room, their weapons drawn. He went straight to my cell, practically ripping off the door after he unlocked it. “Lark, what is it?”

  For a moment, the only thing I could see was Leonid’s sword sliding smoothly into Bantheir’s chest. Shuddering, I squeezed my eyes shut. “N-Nothing.” Feeling like a fool but not knowing exactly why, I threw my body back down on the bed and turned to face the wall. “Just a nightmare.”

  “Is that all? The next time you have a bad dream, can you do me a favor and try not to make the entire prison think you’re getting murdered?”

  I glared at him over my shoulder. “I’ll try that, thanks.” Covering my face with the blanket, I snapped, “Now go away and leave me alone.”

  I heard him mutter something about an “infuriating woman” under his breath before he yanked the blanket away from my head. I started to protest, but my words trailed off when he put his lips close to my ear and whispered, “We found the church.” His warm breath tickled against the side of my neck and I shivered despite myself.

  His closeness affected me so much that it took me a moment to process his words. When they did, I shot straight up in bed, narrowly missing smacking my head against Leonid’s chin. He scowled so hard, a little crease appeared between his eyebrows.

  “Tell me,” I begged.

  He raised an eyebrow. “I thought you wanted me to leave you alone so you could go back to sleep?”

  I threw my blanket at his face.

  I sat in Leonid’s quarters, watching him move around at an unusually slow pace as I waited for him to start speak
ing. For the first time since we had met, he wasn’t dressed in his uniform, but instead wore plain, nondescript clothing. His loose white shirt hung over a baggy pair of brown trousers, and both the pants and his black boots were spattered with mud, while his shirt had a dark-colored stain on the collar. I stared at it, wondering if it was blood.

  It was odd, seeing Leonid so unkempt. Even his hair was wild, as if he’d repeatedly raked his hands through it in frustration. Day-old dark stubble dotted his cheeks, making him appear older than eighteen. His eyes were rimmed with red, and he stifled a yawn as he collapsed in his chair. Noticing my stare, he lifted his eyebrows questioningly.

  “You look exhausted,” I said.

  “The same could be said about you. Have you slept at all since I last saw you?”

  I looked away, staring at the floor. “Not really.”

  “What were you dreaming about?” His voice was soft, concerned, but it did nothing to dash away the memory of him killing Bantheir.

  “It doesn’t matter,” I said shortly. “Can we talk about the church, please?”

  He studied me before giving a slow nod. “Fine. Using Gerald’s extremely vague chart, Vernen and I trekked across Way, visiting churches in the lesser populated neighborhoods.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I highly doubt a well-founded and reputable church would employ people like the ones who paid you a visit that night.” He paused to yawn widely, reminding me of a stray cat I used to feed whenever I had an extra scrap of food I could spare. “Just as I was beginning to think your hunch was completely wrong, Vernen found someone who said he saw a man who fit the description of one of the attackers.”

  I leaned forward in my seat.

  “We followed his directions to the lovely Church of Essence.” Leonid nodded at me. “Ever hear of it?”

  “No. Should I have?”

  He smirked. “Not unless you make a habit of frequenting shady-looking buildings in rundown sections of Dusk. Even the drunks and beggars avoid the church. What does that tell you?”

  I made a face. “That I wouldn’t go near it even if you paid me to.”

  “Too bad, Lark,” he said, “because that’s exactly where you’re going today.”

  Visions of dancing in the sunshine and feeling the wind against my cheeks began playing in my mind. Freedom! I would get to leave the prison!

  “You’re not going alone,” Leonid said, misinterpreting my fantasies. “Someone needs to make sure you don’t vanish, after all.”

  “I wouldn’t—”

  “Lark, how stupid do you think I am?”

  “I wouldn’t!” I shouted, startling us both. “Where do you think I’d go?! It’s not like I have a home to return to!” And I certainly wasn’t returning to the slums to starve to death in the streets. “Don’t you know I want to find out the truth just as much as you do?”

  Leonid’s gaze softened. “My apologizes. I haven’t slept in two days, so you have to forgive me. I didn’t mean it like that.” He ran a hand through his hair, causing some of the strands to stick straight up. “I know you won’t run off. I trust you, remember? I meant that I’ll be there for protection. I’m not about to send you into that church alone, not after I saw how they treated you.” He squeezed his hands into fists, his dark eyes flashing with barely concealed rage.

  “Oh.” My cheeks flushed with embarrassment when I realized I’d been the one to misinterpret him. I shouldn’t have yelled. “But how do you expect to protect me when you can’t even keep your eyes open?”

  He scowled. “I’ll be fine after I rest for a few minutes.”

  “A few minutes? You look like you need half a day’s worth of rest!”

  “Lark, I am fine!” He glared at me. “We’re going to the church today. This can’t wait. Someone else might die and we cannot let that happen! I know you’re scared, which is natural, but it’ll be fine.”

  I held up a hand. “Who said anything about being scared?”

  “With your constant protests, I can only assume—”

  “Look, I just don’t want you falling asleep on me,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest. “You’d probably blame me for it, too.”

  “I would not!” Leonid snapped his mouth shut. “Why am I arguing about this with you?”

  I beamed. “Because it’s fun.”

  He muttered a string of curses under his breath. “You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?”

  “Maybe.” It was amazing that I could joke when, only moments earlier, I was being jolted awake by a gruesome nightmare. As exasperating as Leonid was, he always somehow managed to calm me down. I looked at him through my eyelashes, marveling at the constant changes our relationship seemed to undergo.

  He caught me staring and cursed some more. Behind me, the door opened and I heard someone chuckle. I turned to see Vernen watching the two of us with amusement in his blue eyes. He too was dressed in plain clothes, but unlike Leonid, his were clean and he looked wide-awake. “What’s the matter, Leon?”

  “She’s driving me to drink,” Leonid complained, eyeing a glass decanter resting amongst thick, dusty-looking tomes on his bookshelf. The intricately carved crystal was half-filled with a light amber-colored liquid, and a pair of small drinking glasses sat balanced atop one of the nearby books.

  “No, no, no, if you start drinking, then we’ll never get out of here.” Vernen winked at me. “Once he starts drinking, he’s impossible.”

  “She’s impossible,” Leonid retorted, pointing at me.

  Vernen’s eyes sparkled. “Don’t be rude, Leon.” He leaned over to whisper in my ear. “He’s an absolute brat when he doesn’t get enough sleep. Come on, let’s leave him to his sweet dreams and see about getting you a bath.”

  THEY HAD A TUB IN THE PRISON.

  A real, brass tub, complete with clawed feet on the bottom. It was also filled to the brim with steaming hot water, soap suds so thick it concealed my skin completely. I reclined in the tub, leaning my head against the rim, and groaned happily. “I’m never coming out of here.”

  Vernen, on the other side of the door, laughed. “You might want to reconsider that. Leon has no qualms about rushing in there and yanking you out, soap suds and all.”

  I gasped. “He wouldn’t!”

  “No, Irina, he really would. Patience is definitely not one of Leon’s virtues.”

  Disappointed, I dunked my head under the water, thoroughly soaking my curls. Fine. I’d stay until my skin wrinkled like a raisin, and then I’d get out. Surely that would be enough time for Leonid? The man was sleeping, anyway. He’d been dead on his feet and I was certain just a few minutes of rest wouldn’t be enough to revive him, no matter what he claimed otherwise.

  When the water started to cool, I reluctantly pulled myself out, wincing at the black grime floating in the water. Had I really been that dirty? Wrapping myself in a towel, I combed out the knots in my hair with my fingers. After tying the curls back with a piece of ribbon, I patted my skin dry with the towel and dressed in a hurry. Along with the ribbon, someone had laid out a long, wool skirt and blouse for me, complete with a barely-worn pair of boots. Everything fit, but before I had time to wonder how they knew my size, Vernen knocked.

  “Are you decent, Irina?”

  “Yes.” I smoothed down my clothes. The shirt was white with tiny incandescent buttons on the front and on the sleeves. The skirt was a deep red, almost maroon-colored, clinching at the waist with a thin, brown belt, and flaring out at my ankles. Standing there, clean and dressed in decent clothes, I could almost pretend I was no longer a prisoner.

  Almost.

  Vernen opened the door and whistled when he saw me. Blushing, I looked away, tucking a stray curl that had managed to escape the ribbon behind my ear. “You should wear your hair down,” he said. “To show off your curls.”

  “She’s not showing off her curls because she’s going to be wearing this on top of them,” Leonid said, walking into the room carrying what appeared
to be a dead animal. He was looking at Vernen as he spoke, all signs of his earlier fatigue gone. I was a little annoyed; he couldn’t have possibly slept more than thirty minutes. How was he so well-rested? He’d also managed to change out of his stained clothes, shave, and comb his hair. The pristine captain had returned, although he was dressed in nondescript black trousers and a white shirt. “As Bantheir’s assistant, she’s well known in Dusk. They’ll take one look at her hair and recognize her, and our plans will be foiled before we can even carry them out.” He turned to me, shaking the dead animal in my direction. “You’re going to be wearing…” Leonid trailed off, eyes widening as he stared at me in wonder.

  I squirmed, blushing even harder as I dropped my gaze to my feet. The floor was wet, and I traced little patterns in the puddles with my foot.

  “Huh. Who knew a girl actually existed under all that dirt?” Leonid mused to himself after a few moments of awkward silence.

  “Leon,” Vernen said in a warning tone. “How about you say something nice instead of being a jerk?”

  Leonid’s cheeks reddened slightly. Now it was my turn to stare in amazement. Leonid blushing? Who knew that was even possible? “I’m not being a jerk! I’m just… surprised.” He stepped forward and shoved the dead animal into my arms. I lurched backward, stifling a scream.

  Then I actually looked at the bundle in my arms and realized it wasn’t a dead animal at all. “You want me to wear a wig?”

  “Yes. Weren’t you listening to me?” Leonid asked, directing his question to a spot over my shoulder. “You hair… It’s pretty memorable.” Much to my surprise—and probably Vernen’s, as well—Leonid leaned forward and captured a strand between his fingers. As he twirled the hair, I momentarily forgot how to breathe. “The color is like a fiery sunset… Completely unexpected…”

  His thoughtless words brought me back to my senses. I pulled away, feeling a surge of anger. “You’re right. Who expected a girl from the slums to have such prettily-colored hair?” I asked with as much sarcasm as I could manage.