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CHAPTER 30

Blake Moreno Bowmen

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Blake tried reasoning with her, but Amber had already made her mind up. In one month, she would dine with Xavier while the rest of them used the distraction to sneak in, rescue Matthew, and make the North submit. It was a terrible plan.

Just before dawn, most of the E24 gang had a place to sleep, and the guns were secured. Everyone was already upstairs trying to get shut-eye while Blake finished up with Enz in the living room.

"Things aren't looking good," the man said. He lit a cigarette and sat without a shirt, crude words inked across his body.

"How long do we have?" Blake asked, shifting a bit back. He kept himself propped with an elbow, his nose resting on his sleeve.

"Your uncle's keeping things afloat. With your current reserves, business could continue till the end of the year. But if you can't fix things by January, your customers will start to wander."

"Ha. Dominic's keeping things afloat?" Blake asked. "Where do you think my customers will go if the West falls? He keeps one foot in Grandmother's cartel."

"Then you better clear things here in Tygerwel quickly," Enz warned. He got up, tendrils of smoke trailing behind. "People will only stay loyal to your brother's memory for so long."

The man left up the stairs, and Blake sunk further into his seat. He breathed in slowly, his sleeve still pressed to his mouth. Time was something he never seemed to have. With Xavier's invite, they were at a standstill once again until November. It was a narrow gap, but if things could get resolved then... He could still make it.

The next day, everyone kept busy. Calvin ensured Enz's men were fed while Jack assigned odd jobs and patrols for them. The East had their own business that they sorted, and Amber took care of Lynch and Enrique's nursing.

It was raining all day, and by night, Blake was in his room, downing pain pills. He took his shirt off and examined his bicep. The wound had turned to a scar, pink and fresh, but whenever it got too cold, his arm spasmed with repeated stabs of ice.

Throwing on a thick sweater, he walked over to his bed when his phone lit up.

Snob pimp
Let's meet in your office.
22:30

The cyng groaned but dragged himself downstairs all the same. He stepped into the office where Rhodes stared at the fish again. Does he want to feed them? He stopped himself from nearly offering and went to sit by the desk.

"Got something to say? Or do you just miss me?"

Rhodes' reflection in the tank flashed a short-lived smile. They were both flushed in its blue glow.

"Goldie accepted Xavier's invite, but we know what it means."

Blake picked up a pen from the desk and rolled it around his fingers, twirling it like he would his knife.

"He tried killing her at the ball," he said. "And I know from experience how annoyingly persistent he is in what he wants."

"She's going to that dinner to die," Rhodes confirmed. Blake gripped the pen hard. "Although, seeing as you held a knife to her just yesterday, you're probably willing to let—"

"Do not assume what I'm willing to do," he snapped.

The Eastern cyng turned away from the tank. He stood with his hands in his pant pockets and an arched eyebrow.

"You know how to take and indulge," Blake went on, his gaze as painfully frigid as his new scar. "You have yet to learn loss."

"I will not be guilted by still having those I love."

"Guilt?" He nearly laughed. "Yes, true guilt is something you can't possibly understand yet. It is as heavy as a corpse, and it'll drag you down into depths you never knew you had."

Rhodes made a mocking sound as his head rolled back.

"You should've gone into theatre."

"My performance could hardly compare to your boxing bouts."

His rival's eyes darkened, and his neck stiffened. It was now Blake's turn to show mock amusement.

"This is why I don't worry about the bet. You roll your eyes at a person's troubles, dramatic as they may be. You could never understand Amber's nightmares like I do."

"What good does it do wallowing in each other's nightmares? I might not understand it, but I could help her forget. Yes, I still have my family, Bowmen, but did you ever stop to think that maybe that's something she might need? What could you possibly give her? A reminder of her own loss?"

Blake stood from the chair, hands on his glass desk. His lungs tightened, and he bit down on his tongue. What was he going to say? What could he say? By the time he realised he had nothing to argue with, he could taste blood. As if a string was snipped, he lowered back into his seat and stared at his hands, cold and blue.

For a good minute, the only sound was the rain outside and the dull whir from the tank.

"I'm surprised, though," Rhodes teased, walking over. The scrape of a chair neared, and he sat across from him by the desk. "That's the first time I heard you talk about her like you actually care. Death threats and all, you still want her."

His forehead scrunched.

"I don't want her," he said. "I just need her."

"You're not as good a liar as you think." Rhodes reached for the decanter on the desk and two tumblers. "What's your poison?" he asked, removing the crystal stopper and taking a whiff.

"Rum."

"Whew. Awful stuff."

He poured them each a drink and pushed a glass over to Blake before raising his own and waiting. The cyng could not be bothered with a disapproving comment before taking the tumbler and clinking them together. They downed their drinks and brought them clanking down on the desk as one. Rhodes' crooked nose crinkled before he wiped the wince from his face and sat back.

"So, how do we stop Goldie from getting herself killed?"

"A valid question."

"If she runs her mouth off with the devil even once, it's over."

"I'm just hoping she doesn't try slapping him."

They shared a short, breathy laugh.

Blake leaned on the desk, propping himself up lazily with a hand stroking his cheek as the memory played out. The alcohol warmed him enough for his arm to stop aching.

"What a mess this'll be," he thought out loud.

"You're not so bad after all, Bowmen." Rhodes poured another glass. "For a druggie, I haven't actually seen you do any drugs."

"For a pimp, you're rather celibate."

He chuckled. "I'll have to take back some things I said about you and your group. I may have been offensive without—"

"Don't get sentimental on me now, Rhodes."

"Yeah, it felt weird for me too."

The boys talked for what felt like hours. When the rum ran dry, Rhodes called it a night and said they would smooth out the details of Amber's survival later. He staggered out of the office, and Blake laughed at the lightweight. Not in the mood for his cold room, the cyng got up and walked to the other side of the house, his fingers itching with a pleasant buzz.

He pushed open the double doors and treaded into the music room. Soaked in night, the deep blue from the window was his only guide to the lonely piano. Rain thrummed a patter upon the glass panes, a placid-paced tempo accompanied by the slow slog of his steps. He flopped onto the stool with his hands resting on the ivory, dusty and dull. The shadowy grid of the window frame stretched over him like a cage.

Blake meant to brush the dust off the keys but found his fingers slipping into a melody instead. His left hand first, weighed down by his bracelet, the notes poured like thick velvet, heavy and soft. Although he preferred Chopin, this piece by Liszt held true to its name. Consolation No. 3. It was a lonely tune, the velvet turning into curtains that gave way to an empty stage.

His other hand joined, the one with its neat scar across his palm. The notes walked off his fingers like a lone actor stepping onto the stage, each step echoing empty and unsure. A story was woven into the ivory. A story he wished to tell his brother, his father, and even his mother. A story he likely could never put to words.

For the most part, he stayed away from the broken key. The song edged him towards it several times, and his fingers trembled when he got too close. There was no climax to the story he played. No triumph and no fall. It was simply a melody bearing its heart with no clue what lay inside. When it felt like the notes would monologue the night away, they stumbled over to that cursed side of the piano.

His finger sunk into the dull thunk of the key just as he expected, and the piece demanded he do it over and over. Even as the tune could not make sense anymore, he had to play as it was written. When his eyes stung, he closed them tightly. His hand was shaking too much to continue, but he was so close to the end...

Just as it felt too cruel, the score finally ceased its torment upon him. The notes staggered back to the centre of the stage, dragging itself over where it could die as it had entered. Utterly alone.

A soft applause rose.

Blake turned with his heart lodged in his throat, but the sight of the blonde girl leaning against the door had it sink back in place. He returned to the piano, staring down at the taunting keys.

"Was I too loud?"

"No," Amber answered. "You were rather quiet."

Steps neared, and Blake shifted over when the girl sat beside him. She wore sleeping shorts and a sweater tugged off her shoulder. Her hair was silvery in the night, spilling down her back.

"Mind if I listen?" she asked.

"When you so rarely do?"

"Shut up. I'm just too stubborn for my own good."

"Amén." A smirk plucked at his lip. He still had a warm buzz inside him. "Couldn't sleep?"

"I barely do these days."

She stared at the keys like they had something to say.

"Want to play something?" Blake asked.

Amber leaned away from the piano with a snort.

"Last time I tried, I literally broke it."

"It was already broken."

"It knew what was coming."

A toothy smile made its way to the cyng. He slid closer to the girl and offered his hand.

"Let me show you."

Amber hesitated, her eyes on his palm. Her forehead furrowed too slight for it to be a frown. She reached out and traced her finger over his burn mark, drawing a slow, tingling circle before placing her hand in his. It was dark, but not dark enough to hide the calluses and scars marred on her skin. Without commenting on it, he laid her hand on the keys and lined his fingers up with hers. His were much longer, and he pulled back to get them even.

"Press down where I do," he instructed.

And with the softest touch, he pressed onto her pinkie like it was a promise. The note sang without complaint. He followed up with the pointer finger, then the ring, the thumb. It was the tune he played just a moment ago. Yet something about it felt less lonely.

She was sensitive to his touch, pressing down harder than needed.

"Make them whisper to us," he breathed.

Slowly, she got the hang of it, her fingers kissing the keys like innocent lovers would. When the note was too far away, he reached for it himself before guiding her again. Curtains once again rose in the melody, and Blake leaned over to wrap an arm around Amber. He took her other hand and let them play those unsure notes.

They were close enough to breathe the same air, their heartbeats nearly louder than the piano.

"It's still intact," she said, smiling.

"You're doing great." He whispered into her ear without meaning to and felt her hands go stiff again.

Coaxing her to relax, he played her fingers gently, the notes under her fumbling but getting there. The further they progressed, the more natural it became; until Blake had no need to think about it anymore. He played, unafraid of the broken key this time and could search for himself in the rambling of the score.

Would there ever come a time when he could stop losing things that mattered? Or would cruel fate keep taking until he had nothing left to give? Was he nearing the end of his torment or just getting started? In moments where he was supposed to have joy, all he could think of was how it could get taken away so easily.

Without knowing when it happened, the song had ended, and Blake still had his hands on Amber's. He pulled away.

"I do that too sometimes," she said.

"Do what?"

"Go blank. Lose myself in my thoughts."

He shook his head, staring at his hands. They were empty but weighed heavy with all he carried.

"I don't lose myself, Cariño. I'm already lost."

"The lost don't play music like that."

He looked up, and their eyes met. It was like looking in a mirror, and he shivered at the thought. Amber was not like him. Not yet.

"I've crossed the line. I've got blood on my hands. Blood that'll never wash off. You can't tell me I'm not damned for hell."

"Damned, but not lost." Her smile looked like it pained her. "You can still redeem yourself. Everyone likes a comeback story."

"How I wish that was true." He tore his eyes away and traced the ivory. "But once you step foot in this life, there's no turning back. There's a staircase in front of you, but it leads down so far you can't see the bottom. All you can do is move forward. And with each step you take, you make your slow descent. There's no redeeming. By the time you have enough sense to look back, you can't even see the light in which you started."

"I hope to prove you wrong one day."

"I hope so too."

The silence hung heavy over them. Far from uncomfortable, however. It was the heaviness of a thick duvet in winter.

"Look at us," Amber mused after a while. "Getting along."

"We have our moments."

"When you're not tempted to kill me."

It was a joke, but Blake turned to her with shadowed eyes.

"Before it eats me whole, I must once again apologise. I should not have held a knife to you. And I was... rather rude this last while. As a cyng, you must understand where I'm coming from, but as just Blake, I feel wrecked over it. I'm sorry."

Amber thinned her lips before she let out a sigh.

"Actually, I'm the one that should apologise this time," she said. "I wounded you. That night, when you stopped me from making a grave mistake." She poked at his arm. "I never thanked you. I'm still... I guess I still don't understand why you did it."

His fingers trailed over the keys again, sinking into a one-handed tune from his childhood.

"I was born into this life, but my hands weren't always stained. I walked down those stairs carefully, one at a time. My brother could hold my hand back then, make sure I didn't stray too far." His breath was shaky. "When... When I became cyng, the first year, I nearly never left the house. I had so much I needed to learn. I thought it was hell, but hell was the year that followed. The year when I almost never went back to the house. At the ascendance of a new cyng, people forget the laws they vowed to. The fifth Law of Blood in particular."

"What's the fifth law?"

"The fifth is for loyalty..." he hummed with the tune of the lullaby he played. "Loyalty is to a bloodline, not a person, and it can only be pledged by spilled blood. It means that even if they swore to the West for my brother's sake, they've given their lives to the bloodline. They must follow me even if they wish not to. And it's up to me to remind them. My elders gave me a knife and told me to make an example of anyone who forgot their pledge."

The memory danced in the notes he played.

"The first... I remember my first the most vividly of all. I feel the warmth of his blood on my fingers. He was my age and his mother watched. Cursed me to hell. She... she was my second."

He faltered over the keys as faintly as the crack in his voice.

"By the end of that year... I looked back on the path I took, and I was already so far gone. Completely lost." Another false note. "That's why..." The ivory blurred together. "That's why I stopped you back then. I don't want you to step foot down here. I don't want you to end up where I am."

Before he could butcher the melody any further, arms wrapped around him. They were warm like the first rays of a morning sun.

"To be honest, Blake, that's been a fear of mine," she spoke into his shoulder. "I see it. Those stairs. I'm hovering over the edge, and all it'll take is one push for me to tumble down. I'm scared of falling, of changing... And worst of all, I'm scared of enjoying it."

Blake hugged her back, his head pressed to her hair.

The smell of paint was barely there anymore.

"I'll catch you, Cariño," he promised.

The tension left her body, and her hold loosened.

"Thank you."

It was a meaningless promise. If he caught her, it meant he failed. She would be down there with him. Rhodes was right. There was nothing he could give her. Nothing but a soft landing into the abyss.

By the time they pulled apart, both had heavy eyelids. Amber stifled a yawn and rubbed at her eyes.

"I should try to get some sleep," she said.

He nodded. Although he wanted nothing more than for her to stay. Nothing good came to those too close to him.

"Goodnight, Cariño."

She got up from the stool and brushed his hair back with a smile he hoped she showed no one else.

"Goodnight, Bleak Boy," she said and left.

Blake stayed sitting for who knew how long. The buzz from his rum with Rhodes earlier had long since faded, and the warmth that remained was from golden rays of light.

He only moved when his phone pinged.

Unknown
Would you pledge yourself to Amber Marigold?
00:13

Putting the device away, he got up with a look he never wore before. It was the upturned lips of a boy who gained something; and the frightening knowledge that he could lose it all.

He stared up at the ceiling, his face blank once more.

Yes, he thought. He would be more than willing to pledge his life to Amber Marigold. He would pledge everything he had to that girl if it could save him the pain of losing her.

Please prove me wrong, he hoped.

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