The Inquisitor's words echo through my head: "They're the purgers of Seers."
I feel my body step back as if it's readying me to fall. My hands anchor to the table without me issuing a command. Something in my chest weighs heavily, pulling toward the floor slowly as the phrase, Purger of Seers, is repeated.
If those beings like Ikaris, the Dauntless, hunted my people, then why didn't Ikaris kill me when he had the chance? He had a blade to my neck when he knew what I was. Ikaris could've easily plunged the tip of his sword through my jugular. Yet, despite the Inquisitor's words, he didn't kill the only Seer seen in the last 150 years.
Instead of finishing me off, Ikaris saved me for reasons I don't know. It's all confusing.
"What's wrong, my boy?" the Inquisitor asks, looking at me with a curious stare. He doesn't know that I've met a Dauntless, and he won't understand my surprise.
"My fatigue is finally hitting me," I lie. It feels like a lump in my throat, but I have to say those words. I lack information on the Inquisition's relationship with the Dauntless. I remember Ikaris worried about tracking their attention.
"I understand," the Inquisitor says, snapping his finger once. "Arthur, enter, young man."
My gaze turns to the opening door as Arthur walks in. His slight grin was the first thing I noticed. Arthur's eyes never looked higher than mine or the Inquisitor's, only lower, despite him being taller than I.
Arthur doesn't look at the broken window or the large indents in the wood that the Somata made. Can he see them as well? If an Inquisitor can see Somata, then their Acolyte should be able to as well? Unless he's being purposely ignorant, ignoring the signs of Somata. Either that, or Arthur genuinely lacks the sight.
"Yes, my Inquisitor?"
"Please take Cole to one of the guest rooms on this floor. He'll stay with us until we depart Bruis."
"I shall, my Inquisitor."
Arthur moves further into the room, toward the table, as I seat myself. My hands quickly fly over the utensils, shifting them around. My mind recalls how that card dealer cheated with mirrors, signals, and hand trickery.
But that thought leaves me sweating from my temples, my legs growing heavy. I'm only tired, yet as I reflect on the day's events, I'm surprised I haven't yet collapsed. Perhaps it'll come soon.
"Cole, my boy," The Inquisitor says, moving his hand on my nape. "The Saints have blessed you. Your injuries are inconsequential compared to their mercy."
An aura around the Inquisitor, shining brightly. But the light begins to shift, surrounding his body, toward the arm that is on my nape. I feel his touch turn cold and frosty. It feels neutral. The chill runs down my spine, spreading through, concentrating around my wounds. I wince from the cold as it forces my skin to stitch itself, light pouring into my wounds. I try not to scream, but searing pain envelopes me.
The light has no hospitality as it fixes my wound. There's only force, an authority telling my body to heal. The light stabs and pulls at my skin, it melds any fractures in my bones. The swelling on my throat is pushed away, hammered out. My entire esophagus feels crushed.
Once that foreign force finishes, swarms together and pierces out from my nape, returning to the Inquisitor.
The pain lingers, however, my wounds are healed. The heaviness is gone, but exhaustion is still within me, only doubled by the cold and harsh light.
"Are you feeling better, Cole?" Arthur asks.
I glance towards Arthur, who stops beside me with that smile, the same one he's been holding since we met in the courtyard. I reply, but anguish rushes up my throat before words can. I simply nod.
"Isn't that great, my boy!" The Inquisitor pats my back as he helps me up from my chair. He faces Arthur as the Inquisitor carefully pulls me to the door.
"Now, Arthur, make sure he makes it to his room with grace. Mr. Sear here is quite tired from today's events."
Arthur steps beside, acknowledging the Inquisitor. He moves forward, guiding me to my room.
As we exited the room, Arthur was the one who opened and closed the door before returning to my side, only two steps behind me.
I don't like it, Arthur standing behind me, for some reason that dread from before lingers over him.
"How was your meal with the Inquisitor?" Arthur asks.
"It was fine."
"Really?"
"Yes," I tell him.
Before we get further down the hallway, Arthur stops suddenly. "Is something wrong?" I ask him.
He shakes his head. "No, nothing wrong. It's just that I always wondered something."
Arthur's eyes survey me, inspecting me for an unknown reason.
"I've always wondered what a Seer looks like," Arthur continues. "I've always thought they would have special features, perhaps a tail of some sort, or even monstrous eyes. Yet, you look human, so average it almost makes me disappointed. Black hair and black eyes, a thin frame, I almost wish you were still a myth. Then, I wouldn't have been so disillusioned."
"I apologize for being born in such a way," I reply.
We continue walking, but our conversation continues.
"I don't mean to offend you, it's just that the Inquisition teaches Alcoyte that Seers were nomadic hunters, they were fast and strong-willed. I do not see any of that within you."
"I'm unsure what you're trying to do, Arthur. If your goal is to get under my skin, then be quiet. From your master's words, I am a guest of his. I do not feel like I am moving to my room with grace."
The Inquisitor is not my master. He's my teacher. I have no master."
Arthur moves in front of me, takes out a key, and opens the nearest door. He doesn't have a grin this time.
As Arthur hands me the key to the door, he gives me a slight bow. His grin returns.
"I do apologize, Mr. Sear. Sometimes I forget my place, as I'm only an Alcoyte and should adhere to my teacher's words. Do forgive me. I bid you good night."
He then walks off as I enter my room. It's dark and cramped. But the bed is nicer than what I'm used to. There's also a thin window, a tiny closet, and a short dresser.
They want me to be with them when they leave Bruis. I don't like it. I don't trust them. Their smiles are like a mask of flesh.
From my sleeve, I pull out a silver knife from the dinner. I hope they didn't see me take this. It's not hard for a boy who grew up in a brothel to take unimportant things. People tend to focus only on the things they care about.
No one needs a knife once dinner is over.