Solomon was on the verge of saying just that, exactly that, but something uncharacteristically unyielding in Ghastly's soul enabled him to keep his mouth shut. For the moment. "Skulduggery said it was inevitable."
He'd admitted it. If it was an admission. Solomon remembered that much of their hazy conversation. He also knew how much he sounded like he was parroting an elder, and hated it. He hated that some part of him still clung to Skulduggery's words and actions for vindication. That he could be chided and actually feel defensive.
That he could stand there, in a room of men, and feel so utterly alone.
"They were good shields!" Vex protested. "They were my best shields!"
"Nothing in particular, no," Shudder said evenly. "At least, nothing that's worth talking about at this point in time."
Shudder was still angry, but it was a cold anger, turned oddly inward. Even now, his regard for the others kept his soul lighter than Solomon would have expected. Ravel's storm had eased, and strains of something light, like a soothing breeze, resonated between him and Ghastly. Dexter's banner rippled, more slowly and constantly, with the sharp little tics of a ragged wind.
"Oh, good. Let's go back to talking about your fashion sense, then."
They came together, their individual storms easing, while Solomon's chest was tight with emotions he didn't know how to express, let alone understand. They were brothers. They were comrades. They helped each other in ways they didn't need to express.
It had been a long time since Solomon felt alone. And he had never felt so alone as now. He didn't even know how to find someone to help him up. Even if he did know someone, he had no way of getting there without help from one of these men, and that thought was nearly unconscionable. Because they had each other. They didn't care about him. They had no reason to.
He'd given them no reason to.
"Live, Kian. Live now you have something worth living."
But what, he wondered numbly, did he have that was worth living for?
It was a question he'd never stopped to wonder. All his life, the point had simply been to live. He'd never stopped to wonder why. Now he could, and he didn't have an answer. What good was being elected Elder? What good was breaking with the Temple, freeing himself of a magic that had been killing him, when he had nothing left afterward?
Without much surprise through the haze of numbness Solomon found himself walking toward the door. Or at least, as near to the door as he could divine. His foot struck a chair; he stepped away and kept moving, stumbling a little without a cane, but not trying to feel for the furniture. All his anger was gone; it felt as if it had all drained out of him, and left a hole in its wake.
There was one problem. Ghastly was in the way. Solomon stopped before he could run into the man and said, "Move."
no subject
He'd admitted it. If it was an admission. Solomon remembered that much of their hazy conversation. He also knew how much he sounded like he was parroting an elder, and hated it. He hated that some part of him still clung to Skulduggery's words and actions for vindication. That he could be chided and actually feel defensive.
That he could stand there, in a room of men, and feel so utterly alone.
"They were good shields!" Vex protested. "They were my best shields!"
"Nothing in particular, no," Shudder said evenly. "At least, nothing that's worth talking about at this point in time."
Shudder was still angry, but it was a cold anger, turned oddly inward. Even now, his regard for the others kept his soul lighter than Solomon would have expected. Ravel's storm had eased, and strains of something light, like a soothing breeze, resonated between him and Ghastly. Dexter's banner rippled, more slowly and constantly, with the sharp little tics of a ragged wind.
"Oh, good. Let's go back to talking about your fashion sense, then."
They came together, their individual storms easing, while Solomon's chest was tight with emotions he didn't know how to express, let alone understand. They were brothers. They were comrades. They helped each other in ways they didn't need to express.
It had been a long time since Solomon felt alone. And he had never felt so alone as now. He didn't even know how to find someone to help him up. Even if he did know someone, he had no way of getting there without help from one of these men, and that thought was nearly unconscionable. Because they had each other. They didn't care about him. They had no reason to.
He'd given them no reason to.
"Live, Kian. Live now you have something worth living."
But what, he wondered numbly, did he have that was worth living for?
It was a question he'd never stopped to wonder. All his life, the point had simply been to live. He'd never stopped to wonder why. Now he could, and he didn't have an answer. What good was being elected Elder? What good was breaking with the Temple, freeing himself of a magic that had been killing him, when he had nothing left afterward?
Without much surprise through the haze of numbness Solomon found himself walking toward the door. Or at least, as near to the door as he could divine. His foot struck a chair; he stepped away and kept moving, stumbling a little without a cane, but not trying to feel for the furniture. All his anger was gone; it felt as if it had all drained out of him, and left a hole in its wake.
There was one problem. Ghastly was in the way. Solomon stopped before he could run into the man and said, "Move."
His voice came out defeated.