The Pawn and The Puppet (The Pawn and The Puppet series Book 1)
The Pawn and The Puppet: Chapter 49

I excuse myself to the washroom and climb the stairwell that twists upward to a flat platform on the roof. I hold on to the rail and my dress so I can wind my way up to the top without tripping. I glance down at the crowd below, spot Aurick’s head, motioning with his hands and making the circle of men and women around him laugh.

He does not notice my absence, and I do not mind.

Reaching the top, I push a thick golden door open and am greeted by a gust of cool wind. The platform is surrounded by pinnacle turrets and parapet walks. But this secluded, elongated balcony is sprinkled with leaves from the nearby sycamore tree and decorated with small candle lanterns that surround the perimeter, twinkling in the night. On the edge of the walk, Dessin’s tall, broad figure, arms crossed, watching the sparkling city below.

“You’re not going to jump, are you?” I speak, knowing he is most likely already aware of my presence. I was hoping I’d replace him again when he stormed off after making Aurick practically piss himself in a ballroom full of people. But if not, at least I’d have this view, this peace, this soundless night before I return to a new life.

“Depends… Are you?” He turns to the side just enough for me to see his profile.

I nod in his direction and scoff. “Don’t tempt me.” I walk across the cement, my six-inch heels scraping as I drag my feet. As I come closer to stand by his side, I notice the full view of the city below us. The honey-glazed lights make the cobblestone streets shimmer, the cone-shaped rooftops, rugged masonry arches, and the Emerald wives starting their lady-doll regimens through their open windows—all in the homes of the wealthiest bureaucrats in the city.

“There are so many pretty lights down there…” I whisper. “And yet, there aren’t any in the sky.”

Dessin looks up at the black sky, empty of stars. “I know a place deep in the forest where you can see the stars as clearly as you can see those artificial lights.” He gives me a sidelong look. “We should visit there soon.”

I hold my breath, search his face for confirmation that I heard him right. I would love nothing more than to leave with you tonight.

“That sounds perfect right about now.”

Dessin nods and slides his hands in his pockets.

“Is that why you came tonight? For Aurick?” I can’t look at the city anymore. It’s a beautiful painting on the wall. A painting meant to cover mold and decay. I choose to fixate on him. The man who defies that society. Defies the asylum. Runs by his own rules.

“I needed him to know what would become of him if he ever laid a hand on you again.” He flexes his jaw and stares hard at the ground like he’s having an argument with someone in his head.

Another cold gust of wind rushes past us. Instinctively I fold my arms over my midsection and step into him to keep warm, my forehead hovering a solid inch from the center of his chest. His heavy gaze falls to me, sizing up the little distance that remains between us. And he sighs.

“The swelling has gone down.”

But it’s still sore. “Courtesy of a Survivah injection.”

“What a gentleman,” he seethes. “When are you packing your bags?”

I cough out a laugh. “What bags? He found me when I had nothing.”

He grimaces, waiting, giving me the silence to say what he hopes I won’t say.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I tell him.

I look down at my hands, weaving my fingers together. I can’t even tell him that I will endure this all for him. To stay at the asylum. To stay in the city. To live with a violent drunk. All to stay close to him.

He turns on his heels, heads for the door without another word.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” I ask as he reaches for the roof door. My tone gentle and pleading for understanding.

He sighs and looks down at his hand grazing the doorknob. “You look”—starry eyes lingering on my dress and back up to my face—“so perfect tonight.”

The door shuts behind him. I stand at the edge of the roof, my red dress flapping like a flag in the wind. And there’s an absence of warmth where Dessin once was.