A House Filled With Night
The Son of a Monster

Dawn washed the tattered battlefield with soft pinks and oranges. Lord Cargan’s army had long since departed, but they left behind the bodies of those who had not been so fortunate. Their pallid faces sunk into the earth, sagged to one side, or stretched toward the growing rays of sunlight, as if trying to feel its warmth one last time.

Runa’s mouth twisted bitterly. The stench of blood was strong. She stood just outside the gates of the House along with Sylvain, Casimir, and Fiske, his arm hanging limply into a sling. The gate behind them opened, and the remaining brothers came out with shovels, bandanas, sheets of rolled canvas, and thick leather gloves.

“We’ll take them there,” Sylvain said, pointing at a hill just beyond the dell.

No one spoke much after this, quietly tying the bandanas around their noses and mouths and pulling up the gloves. Runa moved to follow the brothers, but Casimir caught her arm and held her back, shaking his head. “We made this mess. We’ll clean it up ourselves.”

As Torin and Casimir began transporting the bodies, the others climbed the hill and began digging a large trench. Fiske stood by, blank-faced and motionless. Runa grabbed a shovel and started digging before anyone could stop her. No one protested.

The day dragged on with all the relentlessness of a sleepless night. It was a silent day, an excruciating day, one filled with nothing but hard labor and the putrid smell of sweat and death. By all the bodies were sleeping beneath the earth, the sun’s glow had returned to the same warm colors of dawn; this time, of dusk.

The ugly job finished, Fiske plucked a flower from the ground with his good hand and dropped it onto the fresh dirt of the grave. They all stood by in silence, remembering what had happened the day before, lost in their thoughts.

“There are dead bodies at the House again,” Sylvain said quietly. “I haven’t missed those days.”

He glanced at Runa, her head bowed, arms wound around her torso. He put a hand on her shoulder and gently pulled her away from the grave.

“Come on. It’s time to leave.”

The others turned and followed suit.

As they trudged down the hill, Runa felt compelled to look back once more. As she did, she caught sight of a hill just beside the one where the soldiers’ bodies had been put to rest. It was mostly concealed by forest, but between the trunks and branches, there seemed to be a sort of clearing. Black forms stood solidly between the swaying trees. Runa strained to see what they were, then stopped and stared. They were tombstones.

She felt a chill slither up her body. There were five of them.

—

For days after the attack on the House, Torin was about as tangible as a ghost. Neither Runa nor his brothers saw much of him. He seemed to be spending a lot of time with Niko somewhere; they would disappear in the morning and appear at the end of the day, too tired to do anything but grab something to eat and go to bed.

Whenever Runa happened to run into him, it was always the same thing: he would turn very red in the face, look away, mutter something unintelligibly, and hurry off. On a rare occasion, she might turn to find him watching her at a distance, only to quickly look away and leave as soon as he was noticed.

Little by little, they worked on the House together, trying to restore it to some semblance of normality—as normal as such a place could be, anyway. When they finally sat down together for a meal once again, it was as if a collective sigh went up from the table.

Sylvain smiled. “Ah, this is nice.”

“It feels like we’ve been cleaning up that mess for ages,” Fiske said. “I’m not going to pick up a broom for another month, at least.”

“Where have you and Torin been all this time, Niko?” asked Casimir.

“Just working on things outside. Torin asked me to distract him.”

Torin’s spoon fell out of his mouth. Sylvain eyed him, but remained silent.

“From what?” Casimir pressed.

“I don’t know. He didn’t say.”

“You okay, Torin? Something troubling you?”

“Fine,” Torin said quietly, not even bothering to fake a smile.

Casimir waved it off. “He’s probably still bitter that I left him with Runa in the black room.”

Torin just kept on eating. His silence, his neutral expression—it made Runa even more uncomfortable than when he glanced at her anxiously, blushed, or stuttered. It was as if he was just cold and blank, like a stone.

“Well, you’re alive, aren’t you?” Fiske piped up. “And so are we.”

“Yes.”

“I don’t see what you’re so grumpy about,” Casimir snorted. “I’m sure Runa is a much better companion than I am.”

“Oh,” said Fiske, grinning slyly. “Did something happen between you? Is that why you’re acting so weird? Are you embarrassed?”

Torin stiffened. Fiske chuckled. “Oh, he looks uncomfortable now. What, did you actually do something? Our sweet Torin?”

Torin stood up abruptly, chair squealing against the floor, and walked out of the room. The door slammed behind him.

Everyone fell silent.

Slowly, Runa pushed away from the table. For a moment, she looked around at the faces of the Sons of Midnight, all watching her quietly. She couldn’t stand to give them the explanation they must want. She wasn’t sure if she knew how to explain it herself. So she left.

Down the hall she ran, following her instinct and the distant hint of footsteps. Within moments, she found herself in passageways she had never seen before. He was trying to lose himself in the House, and it was helping him.

“Torin?”

She heard a noise somewhere behind her. She turned; three exits she didn’t recognize lined the wall. Another sound—this time to her right.

“Torin?”

She turned and ran the other way, opening doors at random and walking through them. These opened into more rooms: rooms upon rooms and doors upon doors, until she wasn’t sure where the hallway was or where the room just before had been, or where the room she entered might lead. Why is it so dark here? This might be the most confusing part of the House she had ever explored. Torin could be anywhere.

She peeked into the next doorway. The room appeared completely empty, except for a lonely window that looked out onto the shaded gardens. There were no doors on any of the walls. At last, it seemed, she had come upon a dead end.

“Torin?” she called weakly, almost hopelessly, “Tor—oh!”

He pulled her into the room by the arm. His hands landed flat against the wall on either side of her, back bent, head bowed between hunched shoulders. The hair on the top of his head tickled her ear, and his breath warmed her shoulder.

“Runa…” he sighed, shaking his head. “Why do you keep on following me?”

“I was worried. You left so suddenly.”

“No, I mean always.” He lifted his head a little, looking up at her through disheveled hair. “Every time I do something frightening, or reckless, or dangerous, why do you always come looking for me? Don’t you know any better?”

“I told you before. I’m going to stay with you.”

“Before…” he mumbled, turning away.

“Do you—not remember?”

He pulled himself up to look at her full in the face. They were unbearably close.

“Not remember?” he scoffed, smiled bitterly. “Yes, I remember. Of course, I remember. How can I not remember? I’ve done nothing for days except to try and keep it off of my mind, but all I think of, every waking moment of every cursed day, is each memory of your voice, your eyes, your…”

His eyes trailed downward. Her heart was pounding like mad.

“But I can’t, Runa. I…I can’t.” His eyes dragged themselves back up to meet hers. “You don’t understand. What I did yesterday—I never should’ve done that. Just when I finally began to feel at ease next to you. Just when I thought you’d be fine if you stayed. No, I got too greedy.” His eyes lingered over her face. “I wasn’t going to let this happen. I wasn’t going to allow myself these thoughts. You made that too difficult. No, you weren’t trying. But you didn’t have to. What on earth am I going to do now?”

He hung his head again.

Runa swallowed and breathed in and out a few times before finally managing to ask shakily, “What—what if I might feel the same?”

She heard Torin breathe in sharply. He looked up slowly, eyes dark.

“Don’t say things like that.”

“I don’t understand—”

“You don’t know what kind of man I am.”

“What kind of man are you, then?”

“A monster, the son of my wretched father.”

“Please, Torin. Don’t say things like that.”

He inched closer, if that were at all possible. “But what if it’s true? Do you know, even right now, how tempted I am to act like my father? To take whatever I want, whenever I want? I’m terrified of myself.”

She struggled to get any words out. “But, I—”

“What? What then? Will you end up like—like my mother? Like all those women who died? All those women he killed?”

Her eyes grew large. What was he talking about?

“What if I’m like him?” His voice was shaking with emotion. She could see the tears beading on his eyelids. “What happens if I do that to—to you, Runa? I-I—I can’t do that to you. I’ll never let that happen. I’d rather die. I’d rather die.”

He pulled back to wipe the tears away with his forearm.

“No, Runa, I won’t let that happen. I’ll never leave you. But I’ll never be with you, either.”

__________________

~ A/N ~

Oh, the *tension.* How is everyone’s day going? Good? I’m having a nice summer myself, thank you.

__________________

~ COMMENT OF THE WEEK ~

Sᴇarch the FindNovel.net website on G𝘰𝘰gle to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.