Tenebrae had known, right away, right when he first heard about Cleric Wreath's betrayal, that something was wrong.
Not with the way Solomon currently felt, or why he'd reacted in certain ways. That was all perfectly understandable, if disappointing. No, what Tenebrae couldn't figure out was why Solomon had decided to do any of this in the first place. The only reason Tenebrae could think of that might possibly work was simply... impossible. No other word for it. The relationship between Solomon and Skulduggery Pleasant was much too fractured over the years for the Skeleton Detective to confide in him.
It was intriguing.
Before Solomon, Tenebrae had never trusted Necromancers who spent most of their time outside the Temple. He himself was Temple-born, as were most of those currently living here. He'd been worried, in particular, about a Cleric in the position of outside liaison, someone who knew all of the Temple's deepest secrets. But while he still didn't trust Solomon as such, Tenebrae had long since accepted that he could trust Solomon's faith. Necromancy, after all, was all-consuming, regardless of where you were. And fear, fear of death, fear of punishment, could almost always be replied upon.
Until now, apparently.
Any other low-level Necromancer, and Tenebrae might have let them go. It happened occasionally; someone young and eager wanting to explore the outside world. Tenebrae didn't begrudge them that. Sometimes they succeeded, sometimes they came crawling back. It was the way of the world. Solomon Wreath, however... no more allegiance to the Temple meant no more reason to keep its secrets. And Tenebrae couldn't have that.
It took the man a few hours to wake up, and Tenebrae was alerted when he had. The High Priest took a few extra minutes to finish up in his office, then went down to the dungeons by himself. Solomon would come back to them, and he would come back to them properly. That meant, first and foremost, Tenebrae knowing what had caused Solomon to stray in the first place. After that, it meant Solomon choosing to come back. Tenebrae had confidence in that part; that part would be simple.
They didn't even need to chain him up. Tenebrae had ordered them not to. Waste of materials. There was no way Solomon would even have the strength to stand, he knew - let alone try to escape. One locked door when Wreath was alone would be more than enough.
Tenebrae stood silently in the room for a moment, arms folded, observing.
"It hurts, doesn't it?" he asked eventually, with a kind of detached curiosity. Genuine though the curiosity was, the question was really only a bit of small talk. "Or, well. Not pain, precisely. More like an overbearing weight, or so I've been told. Like something's trying to claw its way out of you."
He didn't smile. It wasn't a sensation he wanted anyone to go through, least of all someone he should be able to trust. "You know what that something is. It's easily repairable. We could repair it in the next hour, if that's what you want."
no subject
Not with the way Solomon currently felt, or why he'd reacted in certain ways. That was all perfectly understandable, if disappointing. No, what Tenebrae couldn't figure out was why Solomon had decided to do any of this in the first place. The only reason Tenebrae could think of that might possibly work was simply... impossible. No other word for it. The relationship between Solomon and Skulduggery Pleasant was much too fractured over the years for the Skeleton Detective to confide in him.
It was intriguing.
Before Solomon, Tenebrae had never trusted Necromancers who spent most of their time outside the Temple. He himself was Temple-born, as were most of those currently living here. He'd been worried, in particular, about a Cleric in the position of outside liaison, someone who knew all of the Temple's deepest secrets. But while he still didn't trust Solomon as such, Tenebrae had long since accepted that he could trust Solomon's faith. Necromancy, after all, was all-consuming, regardless of where you were. And fear, fear of death, fear of punishment, could almost always be replied upon.
Until now, apparently.
Any other low-level Necromancer, and Tenebrae might have let them go. It happened occasionally; someone young and eager wanting to explore the outside world. Tenebrae didn't begrudge them that. Sometimes they succeeded, sometimes they came crawling back. It was the way of the world. Solomon Wreath, however... no more allegiance to the Temple meant no more reason to keep its secrets. And Tenebrae couldn't have that.
It took the man a few hours to wake up, and Tenebrae was alerted when he had. The High Priest took a few extra minutes to finish up in his office, then went down to the dungeons by himself. Solomon would come back to them, and he would come back to them properly. That meant, first and foremost, Tenebrae knowing what had caused Solomon to stray in the first place. After that, it meant Solomon choosing to come back. Tenebrae had confidence in that part; that part would be simple.
They didn't even need to chain him up. Tenebrae had ordered them not to. Waste of materials. There was no way Solomon would even have the strength to stand, he knew - let alone try to escape. One locked door when Wreath was alone would be more than enough.
Tenebrae stood silently in the room for a moment, arms folded, observing.
"It hurts, doesn't it?" he asked eventually, with a kind of detached curiosity. Genuine though the curiosity was, the question was really only a bit of small talk. "Or, well. Not pain, precisely. More like an overbearing weight, or so I've been told. Like something's trying to claw its way out of you."
He didn't smile. It wasn't a sensation he wanted anyone to go through, least of all someone he should be able to trust. "You know what that something is. It's easily repairable. We could repair it in the next hour, if that's what you want."