Brought Down

22. Morning

Garrett

When Julian comes out of the bathroom, his face looks almost normal, although his eyes are still puffy. He joins me in the kitchen and slips into the chair he occupied before. He folds his hands on his lap and just sits there, looking at the table.

"Crackers and canned chicken?" I say.

He nods without raising his eyes.

I put two plates on the table, then take my place opposite him on the second stool. He picks a cracker, takes a bite and chews slowly. I grab my fork and get busy with my own breakfast. For a while, we just eat in silence. I sense him glancing at me a couple of times, but I ignore it. I'm not sure what to say. I'm still rattled by what he's told me.

Also, I hate it when people cry. I never know how to make them stop.

"So," he says after a while, his voice a bit hoarse. "You have a nice little story to tell your friends, huh?" He gathers little chunks of chicken with his fork, avoiding my eyes.

"If you don't want me to tell anyone, you can just ask."

He pauses and looks up. "I don't want you to tell anyone."

"Then I won't." I shrug. "There was no strategic information, anyway. Just a few more facts proving that Lord Maynard is a jerk, and we knew that much already."

He chuckles, his gaze softening a little. "Thank you."

"Welcome," I say, and the silence resumes, although if feels less awkward now.

"I want to ask you a couple of things," I say, "but if it could set you off again, you don't have to answer."

He smiles and reaches for his cup with water. "Can't we just pretend that I didn't cry?"

"I can, if you promise to not do it again."

"Made you feel uncomfortable?"

It made me feel like hugging him, which made me feel uncomfortable.

"Kind of."

"All right," he says. "Trust me, it was a very rare occasion. You said you had a question?"

"Yeah." I push my empty plate away. "You haven't quite finished the story, so I'm curious. You've said before that you shot at the gas tank that exploded at turned Burnface into, well, the burned face that we all know and love. What was that about?"

A shadow passes on Julian's face, but he gathers himself quickly. He brings his cup to his lips, then looks at me over its rim.

"We had a quarrel," he says. "I wanted to do what others did. Most royal children were starting as pilots and then rising in the chain of command, and I was... not even sure what I was. A whole category in myself, I guess. I hated my life. I was meant to be a general, not a general's wife."

"You once boasted your wives lead a privileged and easy life."

"Yes, and I hated it!" He glares at me. "Happy now?"

"Did you hate Burnface?"

He pauses. "He's a sadist, you know. If you only knew what kind of experiments he initiated and sponsored..." He cuts himself short and shoots me a quick glance. "Never mind. The thing is, he wasn't like that with me. It was strange. He actually treated me well—if locking me at home and forbidding me to do anything of value could be considered a good treatment."

"So, there was some love, after all?"

"No!" He glares at me. "Not on my side, for sure. I was forced into that whole situation. I hated it. And him being nice to me, I hated most of all. He made me ... he made me feel good sometimes, and I didn't want to feel good about anything in that whole arrangement."

The "made me feel good" part raised a few questions, but I let it slide. "So, you had a fight and you tried to shoot him?"

"I wasn't really trying to shoot him. I aimed above his head. I just got really mad and wanted to show how serious I was. I didn't realize that gas tank was there."

"Surely his love dissipated after that."

He shrugs and puts his cup on the table. "I only talked to him once after that. He said that I could get my wish. I could leave and become a pilot if I wanted to. There were talks of putting me on trial for a murder attempt, but he talked them out of it, presented the whole thing as an accident. He just let me go."

"Sounds pretty generous."

He looks at me with a half-smile. "You don't get it, do you? He didn't want me jailed or executed because it was too simple for his taste and could have spoiled his alliance with my father. No, he preferred to wait for the day when I would no longer be protected."

"And then what?"

"He told me that on our last meeting. His face was still covered with bandages, he looked like an Egyptian mummy, but his eyes were visible, and they we deadly. He said that I was free to go, but we would remain married. And since a good wife should share her husband's troubles, one day, he would give me a face to match his own."

I stare at him. He looks down, tracing the rim of his cup with his fingers.

"So that's why you're so scared of him?" I say. "Because he will hurt you, and make you ugly?"

"Isn't that a good  enough reason?"

"I don't know - I mean, to avoid that, you tried to escape, risking your life. Surely life is worth more than a pretty face?"

"Maybe for you it is so." He shrugs. "I have been nothing but a pretty face for years now. If he gets me, I will not be even that. I will be just... nothing."

I stare at him, not sure what to say. He lets go of the cup and finally meets my eyes. For a moment, we just look at each other.

Then, we both jump at a loud knock on the door. The knock repeats itself, and then whoever is there just keeps hammering on the door until I reach it and open it.

"Get out of the way," Kevin snaps, and two armed men make their way past me into the apartment, pushing me aside.

"What's going on?"

They just ignore me. One of them drags Julian out of the kitchen, another points a gun at him preventively.

"Stay out of it," Kevin says to me. "The captive is to be exchanged."

"Wait, but we can't --"

"We have specific instructions from Rykar to not discuss it with you." He gestures with his gun, not quite pointing it at me, but kind of reminding me that he has it.

"But --" I take a step, but he blocks my way.

"Don't," he says. "Take it up with Rykar if you want to, but orders are orders."

I only get a glimpse of Julian's wide-eyed, shocked expression before they drag him out of the room.

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