The Master and The Marionette (The Pawn and The Puppet series Book 2)
The Master and The Marionette: Chapter 22

My greatest fear is coming to pass.

They finally sniffed it out. The one room I have dreaded going into above all others. The first treatment I witnessed when I was interviewed at the Emerald Lake Asylum.

“Lock them in,” Belinda calls to the orderlies, ushering me to the large tub filled with cold water. “Our dearest Father is going to lead this one.”

The simulated drowning. It now has two contraptions on either side of the tub. Dessin is already barred down by one of them. Metal clamps are molded around his head and neck, along with his upper body that is positioned over the cold water.

They’re going to make us fight for oxygen at the same time.

I lock eyes with Dessin. And it’s in one look that tells me he knows how terrified I am. We’ve had many conversations about this while traveling together. About how watching Chekiss drown and gag and convulse in the water was traumatic for me, and worse for him. About how more patients have died this way than any other treatment in the asylum.

I gulp as they lower me to the other side of him. My legs turning to jelly as my knees hit the floor. An icy finger with a long snaggy nail grates down my spine, filling my stomach with alarm and heaps of bile.

I spoke to him, my lips forming the words to Dessin. He nods once.

But what I don’t get to say is that it was useless. He’s being monitored like a hawk. I’ll never get anything out of him while we’re here. I need Dessin’s counsel, his brains, his abilities to replace the loophole.

Instead, my forehead and neck are attached to a large metal shackle of sorts, like an iron noose, a steel hand forcing me to face the small pool of water, clenching my waist to keep me still while my body goes into a rage of panic of epic contractions and spasms.

All for oxygen.

How terribly cruel.

“I’m told that the two of you have a certain fondness for one another. This concerned me. But it also opened my eyes to your ailments. The devil is using sexual attraction as a way to lure you both into his grasp.” The priest walks around the tub so he can look between the two of us simultaneously. “But I won’t let that happen. I will be your sword to combat him. God is stronger, God is more powerful. And so, I know exactly how to rid him from latching on to your souls.”

Dessin sighs next to me, which is code for I’d rather be drowned than have to listen to him.

My lips twitch, but I wouldn’t dare crack a smile and make this worse for us.

The priest kneels at the head of the tub. “I have blessed this water. And this baptism will not only cleanse the devil but abolish your feelings toward one another.”

Dessin nods in front of me. “Effective.”

Smart-ass.

“Now, I want you to think of the moment you first met. The moment you shook hands, or at least acknowledged each other’s existence.”

I’m flooded with the memory of walking down the hall to the thirteenth room, standing behind Dessin while Suseas told me not to say a word. Shaking his hand. The way he looked at me like he’d been expecting me.

You certainly took your time getting here, hmm?

It’s like being shoved off a cliff. Like staying aboard a sinking ship. The metal contraptions begin lowering us to the water, making a creaky whining sound because it’s rusted and overused. I can’t help but let the panic set in, let it grip me by the throat. It digs its ugly claws into my chest, chokes the bravery from my lungs.

I’m not going to make it. I’ll drown.

“Stay calm,” Dessin whispers before our heads, necks, and shoulders are dunked into the frigid water.

He’s right, of course. I’ve seen this done so many times. Chekiss always remained calm, saved his energy. If I try to fight it, I’ll only increase my need for more oxygen.

But god, it’s so cold. The icy tub sweeps my hair away from my face in a soft, golden web across the water. Dessin might even be able to feel it tickle his cheeks.

Stay calm.

I do as he says. I close my eyes, keep my breath locked tightly in my chest, and pretend to sleep. Pretend I’m taking a dip in the lagoon. Pretend I’m alone in my bathtub. And it’s quiet. Peaceful, even. The sound of death waiting in the shadows to snatch my life from my grasp.

And suddenly, it’s not so silent anymore.

Through the walls of my new cage, there’s the stomping of feet throughout the asylum, vibrating the floor supporting my knees. There’s the chanting of the priest, humming the Lord’s Prayer over us. And finally, there’s the sound of my upper body rattling the iron claw holding me underwater. My heart thrashes around against my ribs, throwing its fists against my lungs as if it wants out, it needs to escape my body draining of oxygen.

And just as I think I’m about to cross the line from silent suffering to full-on hysteria, the contraptions lift us from the water. Water streams down my face in a downpour from my hair. I gasp, controlled and deep. I know I can’t start panting uncontrollably this early on. I have to replace the old air with new oxygen effectively.

But just as I peer under my wet lashes over to Dessin, I know immediately it’s no longer him. But a new alter designed to take this on.

Calm, wise eyes like an ocean’s horizon. He doesn’t even open his mouth to breathe. He takes slow, shallow breaths in through his nose.

Aquarus. The god of sea. An alter that split to withstand the simulated drowning.

While the priest chants, I smile up at him. “I’m Skylenna,” I whisper.

I know, he mouths, “Aquarus.”

“Look at him, child!” the priest shouts at me in a fit of passion. “Think about your attraction to this man. Visualize it. Feel it.”

And we’re being lowered again. This is some kind of trained response conditioning. Every time I think about Dessin or another alter, he wants me to associate that feeling with drowning. I wince underwater.

Someone needs to inform this priest that he isn’t saving our souls before we get sentenced to hell.

We’re already in it.

We go through another five rounds of this until I’m heaving, seizing, and blubbering like a dying woman. Because I am. My lungs are going up in toxic flames, my chest is taking a brass-knuckle beating, and my eyes are practically bulging from their sockets.

I’m hanging over the tub with strings of saliva hanging from my mouth. And yet, Aquarus is mildly panting. I’m sad and also jealous that he’s been through enough in his life to be able to have this many defense mechanisms in his arsenal.

I’m seeing spots in my vision, and the room sways like a boat in a storm. Oh god, please don’t let me be sick in this tub. Please, please don’t let me vomit in the water we both have to get dunked into.

Surprisingly, despite the internal flogging I’m suffering through, I haven’t cried. I’ve been too busy struggling for oxygen, thrashing, screaming, begging.

The creaking noise of the contraptions flip on again and I let out a guttural moan, watching the water come closer and closer.

“No,” Aquarus utters across from me. “Stop.”

His contraption isn’t lowering anymore. They’re going to make him watch me drown alone now. These evil, vile, insidious human beings.

“I feel nothing for her! Your treatment has worked, Father!” Aquarus’s voice is booming, tumbling across the echoey walls of this treatment room, complete with a hint of a northerner accent.

“Is that so?”

The tip of my nose touches the water first.

“Yes! But I don’t want to watch you kill someone,” Aquarus argues.

“She isn’t going to die.”

My face is submerged next.

“Oh no? Her lips have turned blue and her eyes have sunken in. Signs that her brain is not getting enough oxygen. You drown her for another round and you’ll be carrying her out in a body bag.”

The sounds are muffled and distorted as I’m lowered the rest of the way into the tub. This time, I don’t have enough air to stay calm. I wasn’t able to take enough breaths this time around. I sobbed, panted, and choked but I couldn’t take any deep breaths. And now I’m certain this time will drown me.

Scarlett, I miss you every day.

I imagine her kneeling next to me, rubbing my back as she watches me die.

I’m sorry I couldn’t save you. I’m sorry you had to relive your trauma by working in this hellhole. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you during your last moments on this earth.

My lungs are outraged. My throat is shredded to blood and acid. And my body goes ballistic, flopping, bucking, kicking, lurching like a bull being hunted.

I release the only air left in my chest to scream underwater. I have nothing left to spare.

Yet my body is reeling upward, like a fish caught on a hook. And I’m crying now. Hissing, shrieking, and wailing like a newborn baby.

I don’t even hear what they’re saying around me. I can’t make out sounds or letters or emotion behind their statements. All there is, is the strangulated sounds of my agony. The raw, battered burning of my throat. And the bruising of my knees and legs from kicking and knocking against the tub.

It’s all so terrible, so frightening. And Chekiss had to do this every goddamned day.

Suddenly, I’m being released from the clamps around my shoulders, unhooked from the deadly contraption, and dropped onto the cold tile floor to sob in a wet, pathetic bundle of my own exhausted despair.

And I wasn’t aware before, but the smells of my own saliva, sweat, and now—vomit—are assaulting my nostrils. Because, yes, I’m doubling over, lurching up the rest of my lunch. But thank God for not letting me hurl in the water Aquarus and I both had to swim in.

A pair of hands, warm and calloused, are grasping my shoulders, helping me off the tiled floor, pulling me away from the mess I’ve made.

And when I look up, make out the furious glint in his dark-mahogany eyes through my tears, I know it’s no longer Aquarus. It’s Dessin. And he’s unfurling those wings of murderous rage, plotting the deaths of everyone’s soul in this room apart from mine.

“Hands off of her!” An orderly charges Dessin.

But Dessin puts up a single finger, pointing at the young orderly as if it were a poisonous weapon. As if no one would ever cross that finger.

“Another step and I’ll carve your liver out and feed it to the priest.” There is no questioning this threat. No second-guessing his meaning. The room falls silent, obedient, morbidly watchful.

“I’m carrying Skylenna to her room. If you want to follow me to ensure I don’t make a break for it, by all means. But if she’s touched, harmed, or interrupted while she’s recovering—I’ll know.”

A thousand chills coat my pruney body. This entire experience must have been devastating to watch for him. And I know he must have been watching, if not from behind Aquarus’s eyes.

I’m lifted off the ground, still dripping cold water between the two of us. My head falls to Dessin’s wet chest. And I begin to weep again. Mostly out of relief, gratitude, and fondness for the man that would burn down the world for me.

Before he lays me down in bed, he looks away as his hands peel off my wet patient’s gown, flinging it to the bathtub in my small washroom. As I stand shivering, he wraps me up in a bedsheet, patting me down like a child who’s just taken a bath.

He looks over his shoulder to an orderly. “Bring her a thick blanket. Not one of these pitiful little sheets, but something warm. She’ll get hypothermia if not taken care of properly.”

The orderly stands in the doorway, stunned that Dessin even had the nerve to order him around. But Dessin senses his hesitation, growling under his breath before he whirls on the man.

“Do you want to risk pissing me off at a time like this? You think I can’t get out of here? You think your wife Beverley won’t be the first one I hunt down when I do?” He’s in the man’s face, itching to hurt someone. A human ticking time bomb before he loses it completely.

The orderly doesn’t take another moment to consider Dessin’s warning. He’s running down the hallway, his chubby frame jiggling as he searches for what Dessin is requesting.

He turns back to me, cradling my face before he presses his lips to my forehead.

More tears slip from my eyes, but I hold in the audible sob that wants to escape.

“Lie down,” he commands. “I’ll be back tonight.”

“But—what about the guards outside your door?”

“Fuck the guards.”

I shake my head, feeling sleep fight to yank my eyes closed.

“You can’t ruin the plan,” I utter.

But it’s no use. He’s gone, already back in his room.

~

“You look like a wet cat, baby.”

His voice sinks to the bottom of my stomach like an anchor, guiding me back to reality. I’m not sure how long I’ve been sleeping, but I don’t know if I’ve ever been more comfortable in my whole life. I’m cocooned in several layers of thick blankets, warm, cozy.

But I’m still in the asylum.

I was nearly drowned. Multiple times.

My eyes snap open, then blink as if my eyeballs have dried up, sticky and thick against my lids. And Dessin is on his knees at my side, stroking my hair, lost in thought.

“A wet cat?” I grumble, rolling to face him. “You have such a way with women.”

He smirks. “How’re you feeling?”

“Like a wet cat.”

A laugh, rough and deep in his chest. But he pinches his brows together, narrowing his eyes on my face. “I told you I didn’t want to do this.”

“But I’m doing it. I survived.”

His jaw clenches and he’s beautiful like this. The left side of his face glimmering in the dim light of the candle sconce. His large hand combing through my hair.

“The trick with the priest worked. He brought Judas to me,” I say quietly.

“What happened?”

“Suseas accompanied him, so he couldn’t speak forthrightly. It was a waste of time. And he’s being watched because they suspect he had involvement with our escape when they found his key was missing.” I rub my eyes and grunt. “I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to get an honest word out of him.”

We would have to stay there for months…. And I’m not prepared to do that. Not after today.

“Did he say anything?”

“Well, yes, but—”

Dessin stops stroking his fingers through my hair. “Tell me exactly what he said. As accurately as you can recall.”

I take a moment. Sigh. Stretch my legs under the blankets.

“Umm, he spoke about his skeleton key going missing. About the investigation because we decided to steal it to make our escape.” I shrug. “That’s pretty much it.”

But Dessin isn’t convinced. “How did he leave? I need you to try harder. Recite his words back to me.”

“There isn’t anything signifi—” But there is, kind of, isn’t there? I watch how he turned to leave and close my eyes. But before he vanished, he said, “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.”

Dessin looks away, thinking, breathing, reciting the words in his mind over and over again until—he’s on his feet, staring down at me like I should understand his sudden excitement. I’m groaning, propping myself up on my elbows to match his energy.

“What?”

“Follow the drums of life and unsheathe your pride.” Dessin recites the words. Begins pacing the length of my room. “That’s not right. It’s supposed to be—follow the drums of death and unsheathe your honor.”

“I don’t understand!” He needs to do a better job of voicing his train of thought and explanations out loud.

“It’s a quote from a war back in Alkadon, approximately four hundred years ago. One of the greatest devastations in history. They fought their sister country and won. But they lost a third of their population and suffered famine, plagues, and a corrupt economy soon after.”

I stare blankly at him, still not getting it.

“Judas quoted it back to you knowing I would catch the incorrect words. But why?”

I shrug again. “You’re on your own. I’m lost.”

“Wait…” He stops pacing. “He said six months? You’re sure?”

I nod.

His chin lifts in understanding, eyes wide in daunting black saucers. “It’s a warning. In six months, there will be another great war. Possibly just as devastating.”

“But how could he know that?”

Dessin is silent for a long moment. “We need more information. Do you think you can get him back to your room?”

I roll my neck, whimpering at the thought of keeping this act up. Performing for sadists like a little wooden puppet on a stage in a carnival for the criminally insane.

“Yes.”

“I won’t force you. We can leave on your word.” He pauses, pursing his lips, a wave of murderous irritation taking hold of him. “Or mine if I have to watch you go through that again.”

“I can do it.” I smile weakly, reaching my hand out to run my fingers across his jawline. He looks like he’s about to keep talking, going on about Judas and maybe another plan, until his eyes fall to my hand. A momentary distraction like my touch scrambled his brain, made him lose his train of thought entirely.

He snatches my hand in the air, examines it like a foreign entity he has just discovered.

“You’re so cold, Skylenna.” And he kisses my fingers, one by one, then my knuckles, my palm, my wrist. As I hum my approval, he seems to snap out of the tender trance he was in, locking eyes with me. But I don’t get any warning at all.

None.

He’s quicker than a strike of lightning as he swoops down, claiming my mouth with his own, stunning me with his hot, wet tongue sliding past my lips until I can taste him, I can feel his breath skimming the roof of my mouth. And I’m in his cloud of cedar and sandalwood aroma, a sharp breath to take in as much of that sweet, rugged scent as possible.

Urgent heat swarms between my legs. That tongue, wicked and invasive, makes my body tremble in hunger. It remembers his mouth licking my center. It remembers the way he threw my legs over his shoulders. It craves him like a new drug I’ve only gotten a small taste of.

“Skylenna.” He breaks our kiss, gasping. “I shouldn’t be doing this.”

I make something of a needy moaning sound.

“You’ve been through hell today. I can’t—”

“Can you take me to your room? I don’t want to be here. Not in this room. In this bed.”

I want to be in his bed.

I want to be in the thirteenth room.