The Master and The Marionette (The Pawn and The Puppet series Book 2)

“Good morning.” A deep, scratchy voice rumbles in my ear.

I stir against a warm body, arms acting as my blanket. I breathe in the scent of cedar, soap, and Dessin’s skin. A hum buzzes in my throat, pleased that I’ve slept in his arms again.

“Looks like they left us in here all night,” Dessin muses, running a hand through my hair.

“This place is actually the worst,” I grumble against his arm. They left us to hang like meat in a butcher’s shop.

He snorts. “That it is.” His lips brush against my cheek, tickling like the wings of a butterfly. My eyes flutter open, searching for his face.

“I’m sorry you had to watch that.” I swallow down the lump in my throat. The memory of him yanking at the chains connecting him to the wall like a wild animal.

His jaw twitched. “They injected you with viruses for the priest?”

“Mmm.”

He thinks on this. “After the first lashing, I was sure I wouldn’t be able to hold back. I was going to ruin it all. But I knew you’d already paid the price for being here from the priest. Whether it was some type of exorcism or fever injection. Either way, your suffering would all be for nothing…”

“Meridei’s not letting me see Judas. I need to find a way to get his attention.”

“Have you seen Ruth?”

“No.” I drop my head against his shoulder. “Maybe they’re not letting her see me. Maybe they’ve made my room restricted like yours.”

“That’s likely.”

“Then how do I get a hold of him? I want to get this over with.”

“Hm.” He plays with my hair absentmindedly. “You could play on the priest’s beliefs the next time you see him.”

Play on his beliefs? How would that help? But it hits me, knocking into my chest like a swinging door. “Tell him God told me to find Judas.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“That’s—so manipulative.” I smile up at him. “Have I told you lately how brilliant you are?”

“I don’t think you’ve ever said as much.”

“Not true.”

“If you have, it was said as an insult.” His mouth tugs upward, revealing a dimple in his cheek.

“Yeah, that checks out.” We both chuckle, his chest rumbling against my back. “Dessin… who’s the other alter? The one that fronts when you’re about to be tortured.”

He stills, hand pausing in my hair. “Foxem,” he responds. “He split when I started treatments in the asylum. He’s a little younger than me. Twenty, I think. A true masochist. Finds pleasure in his own pain and torture.”

I bite my lip. I gathered as much.

“That’s why it’s harder for me to watch you go through all of this. My mind can split and defend itself for any reason, any new trauma. Yours can’t.”

“Are there any other alters I should know about?”

He sighs. “There’s—a lot of them.”

“How many’s a lot?”

“I’m not entirely sure. I haven’t met all of them. There are eight of us that have had to front regularly over the years. Kane, myself, Foxem, Syfer, Kalidus, Dai, Aquarus.” He pauses, looking down at me in annoyance. “And you’ve met Greystone.”

“Why did each split? Other than you, Kane, Foxem, and my buddy Greystone.” I smile.

“Syfer is a mute alter. He split when Demechnef trained me to be able to withstand torture without spilling secrets to an enemy interrogator.” Dessin readjusts his grip around my arms. “Kalidus is a fictional alter, the idea of him taken from a story Kane read as a child. A god of storms. A powerful character that was raised among humans, degraded and belittled until he was discovered to be a god. He was split when we were trained to withstand emotional abuse and belittlement. An alter that wouldn’t be affected by their humiliating words. Because he knows he’s a god, cocky and powerful.”

I suck in a sharp breath. To think, his poor mind had to bend over backward to adjust to the vile life he was raised in.

“Aquarus is also a fictional alter. A god of the sea. He was split during the simulated drowning treatment. A god that couldn’t drown. Could breathe underwater.”

Dessin clenches his fists and looks away from me like his next words are difficult to even think about.

“Dai… is an animal alter. Short for DaiSzek. He was split when Demechnef would make me do unspeakable things. Rip a human to shreds. Tear them apart with my bare teeth. He split to be able to attack without a rational thought. A mind that only knows violence and chaos and animalistic fury. To be able to obey their requests so I wouldn’t be disgusted with myself.” He takes a deep breath. “The rest of us stay far away from the front when he’s had to surface.”

“Oh, Dessin…” I choke out. “I’m so sorry.”

He lifts his hand to stop me from speaking, looks to the door.

“Let’s get you back to your post.” And he’s scooping me in his arms, rising and walking me back to the chains hanging from the ceiling. I groan.

“Why?”

“They’re to think we’ve been here all night.”

He kisses the inside of my wrists before latching the shackles back on and reeling the lever on the wall to tow me off the floor, dangling like a sad puppet.

And before I know it, he’s back to his wall, maneuvering his hands in a way to click his brass restraints shut, only a half a second before the door opens.

Damn, he’s good.

I let my head hang, chin to chest, as if I’ve been sleeping uncomfortably like this all night. And the air shifts, the energy of sadistic delight.

“Sleep well, sunshine?” Meridei. Her stupid, snaky voice.

I lift my head, blinking slowly as if she has just woken me from a dead sleep.

“Are you ready to crawl back to your nice, cushiony bed now, little pet?”

I imagine Dessin using an axe to chop away at her arm. But it isn’t a clean break. He’ll have to wail at it, a jagged, butchered job. My eyes flick over to where he’s hanging. White knuckles. Staring at Meridei like he’s thinking the same thing.

I nod.

“Good.” An orderly lowers me to the ground, not gently. My knees hit the ground first with a loud thud. My welted skin drags against the tile as I crawl, following her to the exit. I’m wincing at the friction, rubbing against my blisters.

And I can’t look at Dessin as I leave. I refuse. This is awful enough without seeing him look at me like Meridei’s bitch.

~

The old, wrinkly priest visits me while I eat my lunch.

A cold chicken leg, three pieces of broccoli, and murky tap water. It’s hard not to miss the Stormsage Keep. Their hot feast, nonjudgmental eyes, and the woman that helped me while I cried over mashed potatoes. Asena.

I’d love to live the way they do. Not caring what I ate in public. Not letting anyone tell me what my waist size should be. It must be heaven for women.

“How is being back in God’s light treating you, child?” The priest takes a seat in the conformist’s chair, clutching his Bible to his chest.

I smile at him weakly, then let my eyes fall away.

“Something on your mind?”

I shake my head. “No, Father.” But I make a show of pursing my lips and keeping my eyes closed as I take in a deep breath.

“God tells me you have something to share with me,” he insists. Oh, does he now?

But I sigh anyway. “It’s probably nothing.”

“Nonsense.”

Showtime. Make it convincing. Be the meek, shy, fragile little girl this priest clearly expects all women to be.

“I had a dream last night. A dream of a burning bush and a booming voice that surrounded me. But I—I don’t know what to make of it.” I twist my hands in my lap, avoiding his eyes as if what I’m confessing is slightly embarrassing.

“A burning bush, you say?” He leans forward in his seat, adjusting his bifocals to get a better look at me. “Well, what did the booming voice tell you, child?”

“It said to find a man in the asylum… that he has chosen this man to rid the evil lurking in my mind. He can rid the evil lurking in all of the patients’ minds.” I huff out a short laugh. “I know, it’s so silly, isn’t it?”

But the priest is nearly speechless.

“What was the name?”

“Pardon, Father?”

“The name, child! What name did He give you?!” The priest is on his feet now, clutching my arms like he might lose his footing if he lets go.

On the inside, I smile, wide with my teeth.

“Judas,” I say. “I’m supposed to find Judas.”

The priest processes the information, blinking rapidly as if trying to figure out where he’s heard the name. I give him a moment to put it together. Three, two, one…

“Judas! He is on the council!” He claps his hands together. There it is. “You must never ignore a message from God, child. He knew I would visit you today. He knew I would be able to find this man for you!”

I’d feel terrible for puppeteering a priest if it weren’t for my skin burning like I’ve been dipped in a cauldron full of hot oil. I was raised believing in God. It was something my father and I shared before he changed. So, this isn’t exactly making me feel like a saint. But it’s necessary. I know that. Not to mention, there are people in this world that use God’s word to attack, to judge, to hurt people.

“Oh!” He claps again, throwing his hands above his head. “Our Lord works in mysterious ways. I’ll find him at once!”

I can practically hear Dessin starting a slow, dramatic clap in the next room.

As the priest leaves, I take a bite of my cold, chewy chicken and take a bow.

~

Dessin and I learn to communicate through knocks on the wall.

It starts while I wait for Judas to finally come and see me. I’m bored, and in searing pain from the whipping. My head falls back against the wall with a deep thump, and sure, it hurts. But wouldn’t it be lovely if I knocked myself out on accident? Fell to my pillow and slept until my welts healed?

But I flinch as the wall booms back at me, like a dog barking on the other side of the fence. I stiffen, eyes widening at the coincidental replication of vibration and sound.

No, it can’t be…

I ball my hand into a fist, hovering over the wall, considering how dumb this will make me look if I’m wrong. But I do it anyway. My knuckles bang against the stone twice, quick and hard.

And I wait. Anticipation eating away at my insides, crawling up my spine, and moistening my palms. This is so silly, and not worth the excitement, but look where I am. I’m sitting on a series of welts, locked away like an animal, waiting for a man that may or may not be able to help us based on prophecy.

Two knocks, thick and distinct.

I squeal, turning around to face the wall like a child opening a new present.

Dessin! I drum on the wall with both of my hands, so he knows how happy this just made me. He’s here, we’re sharing a wall, we’re a breath away from each other.

I am not alone.

And my door opens.

I fall back down on my bed like I’ve been caught stealing. My eyes land on the tall, skinny man with pointed shoulders, charcoal black hair and white streaks on the sides. The face of a studious librarian.

And he stands there, staring at me. A subtle look of caution flashing across his gaze. His Adam’s apple bobs as he closes the door, but not before Suseas slips in behind him.

My lips part. No. Why is she here? I didn’t ask for her. I need to speak with Judas alone! How is he supposed to confess anything to me when she’s breathing down his neck?

Suseas plants herself in the conformist’s chair, scowling at me as if I kicked her cat.

“Miss Ambrose, do you even comprehend how foolish you’ve made me look?” She whips her curly hair over one shoulder, pinching her smoker’s lips in a seething grimace.

Judas clears his throat. “Suseas—”

“I couldn’t even bring myself to come see you when you first arrived. That’s how sick to my stomach your betrayal has made me. Why must you be so selfish?”

I really did not miss this woman.

“May I speak with her alone?” Judas cuts in.

“After the investigation? Impossible.”

“Investigation?” I ask.

Judas leans against the door, looking exceptionally older and exhausted. “My skeleton key was missing when the two of you escaped.”

I hide my surprise. Judas slipped me a key to sneak Dessin out of the asylum that one night when we went to see the stars. They caught him.

“Of course, I couldn’t have known that you or Patient Thirteen would steal it from my possession. But they had to do an investigation nevertheless.” His voice is wise, yet quiet. He slicks back his hair with one hand.

So that’s why he hasn’t come to visit me yet. He’s being watched.

“I’m so sorry, Judas. I should never have done that.” I cover for him without a second thought.

He nods, finally meeting my eyes with a silent thank you.

“Am I not to receive an apology? I gave you this opportunity. I took you under my wing as if you were my own daughter,” Suseas blusters, making a fool of herself with this performance.

“You’re right, Suseas. I am so ashamed and remorseful for everything I’ve put you through.”

“The punishment does fit the crime, I suppose.” She looks down at her wristwatch. “Now, in fact. I do believe Belinda has you and Patient Thirteen scheduled for another dual treatment.”

She’s walking toward the door, and they’re going to leave me. But he can’t! I have to—

“In six months, you may finally understand the gravity of your actions. Maybe then you’ll follow the drums of life and unsheathe your pride,” Judas says without looking away, then he nods once and shuts the door behind him.