Chapter 57 The Truth In Blood
The music continued inside while Elian continued to bleed out.
He had removed his shirt and ripped off the hem to tie his wrist with it. It didn’t entirely stop the bleeding, but it was better than pressing it with just his hand.
He was leaning his head on the table, watching the way his blood slowly stained the white cloth around his wrist, and he wondered: would it be better if he actually died?
Why should he go through all this at the hands of people who would never understand or hear him?
He shut his eyes as dizziness kicked in, his head pounding loudly from the blood loss.
The balcony door opened once again and Elian stiffened. He was too tired to lift his head, but if it was Rowena, then he had nothing else to say to her.
"Elian?" Lysandra called softly.
A soft sigh escaped Elian’s lips. He wasn’t all-trusting of Lysandra, but so far, she wasn’t trying to kill him... yet.
"Elian, oh my God, you’re bleeding." Lysandra hurried over to the table and placed down her glass of wine before placing her hand on Elian’s bare shoulder.
"Come, straighten up. I’ll help you," she said, her voice panicking.
Elian groaned as he sat upright, his vision blurring greatly for a while.
"Oh, Christ, you look so pale, Elian. Who did this to you?" she asked, trying to lift Elian to his feet.
Elian grunted, bracing his good hand on the table. "It’s alright, Lady Lysandra, I can help myself," he murmured, pushing himself up.
He didn’t want to burden a lady who already seemed to have a lot of load in her head. And he didn’t want to leave the balcony.
How could he leave like that? Shirtless and bleeding, he would only attract gossip and problems for the Duke and himself, so he’d just stay here until Rowena decided she’s had enough of music and wine.
"You’re bleeding, let me—"
"No, please..." Elian forced himself to step away from her.
However, as he did, he mistakenly passed his cut wrist over Lysandra’s wine on the table and he watched helplessly as his blood dropped into the already red liquid.
He gulped, glancing at Lysandra to check if she saw. Luckily, she didn’t seem to notice. Elian was contemplating if he should tell her or just leave it since she didn’t look like she was going to drink it anymore; she was now more concerned about his health than a drink.
Lysandra stepped close to Elian. "Then, if you will not let me help you, sit down while I go fetch the Duke—"
"No!" Elian gasped weakly, shaking his head. "No, please. I am fine, it’s not a deep cut. I will enter once the ball is over. Please..." he begged.
Lysandra muttered something under her breath and spun around, grabbing her drink off the table.
Elian’s eyes widened as he saw Lysandra taking the glass to her mouth. "Lady Lysan..." He froze as he watched her gulp the whole liquid down at once.
He swallowed hard, feeling disgusted at himself.
He made someone drink his blood. How unhygienic!
"Did you want to say something?" Lysandra asked, placing the glass down.
Elian could not bring himself to look into her eyes due to guilt, so he lowered his gaze, biting his lip.
"No... I just wanted to say thank you for your concern. But I really think you should return to the ball; it’s cold out here," he spoke quietly.
No response.
Elian frowned, slowly lifting his face; what he saw next almost paralyzed him.
Lysandra’s eyes were turned pitch black, like when he touched people’s hands and was about to compel the truth out of them.
Does that mean his blood was a truth serum?
He didn’t know he could do such a thing!
"Lysandra, are you okay?" he questioned slowly, moving closer to her.
Lysandra locked her darkened eyes on him. "Tell me, what do you need me to do?" she spoke in an eerily calm tone.
Elian froze.
No, his blood not only compelled truth from people, it hypnotized them for manipulation.
"I..." Elian’s throat felt dry. He was both scared and genuinely impressed, but more scared.
He could find out exactly why Lucien looked so scared; he could uncover years’ worth of secrets with just one question. Yet, something else interested him.
He got closer, standing right in front of Lysandra. "Why do you look so sad, Lysandra?" he asked softly.
He needed to know her story—why she suddenly disappeared, why she looked like a shell of what used to be a bright young lady.
"He raped me," Lysandra said in a static voice.
Elian stilled, blinking slowly.
That was never the reply he expected.
He stared at her calm face, not knowing what to say or do.
"I’m sorry," he murmured, trying his best not to put a face to the abuser, because if he did, there was only one face that came to his mind and he did not want to believe it.
"He raped me, and he killed her," Lysandra whispered, tears falling from her pitch-dark eyes.
Killed her?
Killed who?
Who was this abuser and killer?
With no other words to speak, Elian stepped forward and hugged the crying woman. "It’s alright, Lysandra. You’re safe now," he whispered.
He had a huge frown on his face, his heart suddenly beating in anger for the whole lot of injustice going on in that kingdom.
This was exactly why he hated his abilities. Learning someone’s past only made his life more dark; it added only sorrow and a heavy heart to him. He wished he had never asked her any of those questions.
"Lysandra, can you snap out of it? I need you to hear your own voice inside your head," he whispered into her ear.
Lysandra groaned softly. "Dizzy..." she murmured, shutting her eyes tightly.
Suddenly, the door burst open and a strong hand yanked Elian away from Lysandra, flinging him toward the balustrade so hard that he almost fell over it.
Elian managed to steady himself, but not without pushing down a flower pot which shattered the instant it touched the ground.
"Are you alright? Did he touch you?" Lucien’s worried voice rang out desperately.
Elian’s ears were ringing, his head buzzing with strange voices inside, and he knew this was no effect of blood loss, but it had everything to do with the discovery of his new ability.
Getting pushed by Lucien only amplified his pain. He couldn’t even straighten up to explain himself. From Lucien’s question, his thoughts were confirmed that, in fact, Lucien does know a lot about Lysandra’s history; if not, why would he panic so much when he saw her with a man?
What were they?
Lovers?
No, that should have been illegal back then; judging by their looks, Lysandra was at least eight or seven years older than Lucien.
Lysandra suddenly inhaled loudly, squinting her eyes for a moment before glancing around her environment.
"Oh, Lucien, thank the heavens you’re here. Help him, he’s—"
"I saw him holding you, Lysandra. You don’t tolerate the incident. Come, let me take you inside—"
"Whatever are you talking about, Lucien?" Lysandra broke away from Lucien’s hold and hurried over to Elian, who was barely supporting himself over the balustrade.
Lucien stood, confused.
He was certain of what he’d seen, but why then was Lysandra acting weird? Was she trying to protect Elian, or worse... was she genuinely interested in Elian?
Somehow, the latter thought stabbed right through his chest.
"Elian, come now, let’s get you inside," she said suddenly, putting Elian’s arm over her shoulder.
However, the moment Elian took a step forward, his knees gave out and he fell toward the floor.
But Lucien was quick to catch him, and the moment he felt Elian’s cold body in his arms, he realized something was wrong, and that was when he let his eyes truly look at Elian.
His eyes locked onto the blood-soaked cloth around Elian’s wrist. An undiluted rage enveloped him; his eyes slowly darkened as the need to spill someone else’s blood took over him.
He lifted the unconscious Elian in his arms, his dark eyes finding Lysandra. "You did this to him?" His voice was low but darker than a storm.
Lysandra shook her head. "I did not, Lucien..." Her voice carried a heavy meaning as she stared at Lucien.
"Ask your brother to fetch Garrick immediately," he ordered.
As Lucien turned to leave, Lysandra could feel the brewing anger with each step the Duke took, and from the way she had observed Lucien hold Elian, she suspected that Elian might mean more than just an attendant to Lucien.
In Elian’s chamber, Lucien had retreated to the shadows as Garrick tended to Elian’s slit wrist.
He had been ignorant.
He had been careless.
He had been unconscious of Elian.
That was why this happened. He had let his monsters push him far away from Elian, once again exposing him to dangers he could not protect him from.
He had withdrawn; he had looked away.
He had let another man take what was his under his wing.
He had failed himself once again, but this time, he failed Elian, too.
Whoever did this, he would make sure they paid for it, and he meant it with his blood and every precious drop of blood that had dripped out of Elian’s body.