Chapter Thirty-Five

The Wronged

Every muscle in Lena's back was rigid. She stood in the throne room, spine straight, hands hidden beneath her cloak. Across the marble floor, a chair creaked. From the corner of her eye, she glimpsed Marcus shifting in his seat.

His eyes were glued to her, as they had been all morning.

Quickly, she averted her gaze.

Someone spoke.

Lena flinched.

The guards beside her turned their heads. They sensed the small movement, and their eyes darted to her in an instant. Lena kept her chin up despite their predatory gazes passing over her, and returned their stares, seeking weakness.

There was nothing to zero in on. They were perfect beyond the point of being recognisable as human. These people - with their crisp ironed shirts, and their fearless gazes, and the way they stood there shoulder-to-shoulder - were as far from human as possible. It was as if someone had carefully arranged a little row of porcelain dolls, selecting the angles of limbs and the inclines of heads after hours of deliberation.

She looked away.

What did she look like then, standing there among them? Like a doll that had been dropped, the fingers of one hand splintering off. Like-

"You have a visitor, Lena."

Her head snapped up. The doors on the other side of the room opened, and his scent flooded the room in an instant: rain, dust, the woods.

Like a cat, Alistair slinked inside. He remained by the door, even as it closed. His eyes slid over the room, flickering between different people. His face was stern, his mouth a straight line, his glare hard and threatening. A mask. He was much more frightened than he wanted anyone to realise.

"Al?"

He didn't speak.

He was an apparition, then.

Some ghost her mind had conjured. She needed him, and so here he was. But that did not mean he was real. Nothing good was real anymore. He would crumble to dust like the rest of them.

Still, she longed to cross the room. To sprint to him, and wrap her arms around him, and cry about just how terrible everything had become and just how happy she was to see him.

She didn't.

She turned to Aro, terrified he would confirm her fears. Any of them: that he wasn't really there, or she couldn't speak to him, or that - if he were real - he thought now was a perfect opportunity to showcase her gift.

Aro simply smiled. "It's alright. You may spend the day with him."

Lena knew it was not an act of kindness. Aro did not believe in such things.

Sitting on the edge of her bed, Lena watched as Alistair pawed through her belongings. He peered into her closet, and ran his fingertips over her clothes. His hand passed over a multitude of black ensembles, then the colourful gowns Aro had offered her as a bribe.

"Do they only permit costumes and funeral attire?" He looked back at her with a mischievous smirk.

Of course, what else would there be? All Lena attended were parties and executions.

She didn't say that. She kept quiet and offered him the ghost of a smile, but it was enough for him. He hadn't seen her in months. He ate it right up.

He continued to her dressing table, opened the drawer, and frowned at the tangled mess of jewellery. "Who gave you all this?"

Lena thought she heard a twinge of jealousy pull at his words. Then, in another moment, she told herself she was mistaken. It was just his accent, unfamiliar after so long apart.

"Aro," she said.

He hummed, and picked up one of the necklaces. A string of large colourful jewels dangled from his pinched thumb and forefinger.

"Do you like this?"

"Why?"

"You aren't wearing mine. I thought maybe it wasn't to your taste."

A pain spread through her chest. Lena bit her lip and buried her left hand deeper in the pocket of her cloak. She held the other one out to him.

He came over and took it. Kissed her knuckles.

"I missed you," she said.

He sat beside her and pulled her into his chest. Held her there, his arms around her. He kissed the top of her head, sighed, breath stirring her hair.

"I wish you would forget it," he said after a moment.

She pulled away from him. It was too late for that now.

"Lena, please."

"I can't go."

"Do you have any idea how much it upsets me to know that you're here, alone with them?"

"I'm sorry."

"You have no clue how worried I was," he said. "I followed you halfway across the world, uncertain if I was tracking you or a body."

He drew a steadying breath, and looked away from her.

"Al."

He looked back at her with glassy eyes. He reached for her hands. Tugged her left hand out from her cloak. Frowned when he touched her fingers, when he held her hand. His gaze dipped, and his expression darkened. He stared at the glossy nubs, the place her last two fingers should have attached.

The skin burnt.

"What did they do to you?" he breathed.

He glanced at her face. Dropped her good hand to cradle the other. Ran his fingertips lightly over the scar tissue.

"I got two back." She laughed breathlessly, but it was unconvincing. Empty. Pained.

"You should have never come here." He lifted her hand to his mouth. "I never should have let you."

She held his cheek with her good hand, stubble prickling her palm.

His eyes darted between hers.

He looked broken.

"It's not your fault," she told him.

He turned his head, kissed her palm. "Gather your things." He rushed to his feet. "We're leaving."

She stared at him, motionless.

"I won't have you here, Lena. I can't accept it."

"I won't go," she said.

"In spite of everything, you want to stay? Have you lost your mind? You've been here for months. What do you have to show for it, other than your missing fingers and an abundance of gifts from a man you claim you despise?"

He paused, tilted his head.

"You changed your mind about him."

"What?"

"You love him, don't you?"

"No."

"You do!"

He ran his hands through his hair. Pulled the strands. Shook his head. His face screwed up, twisted - his eyes, his nose. He bit out a word Lena did not know.

Slowly, she stood. "Al," she called. "Al, you know that's not true."

He spun to look at her. His face was back - the one Lena liked, the calm one. But there was something beneath it, something animalistic and anxious pulling at the corners of his eyes.

"It isn't?" He took a step towards her, bent at the waist. "Then what is it?"

"What's what?"

"What keeps you here if not that man?"

She blinked. "My fingers."

He stared at her. Peered up at her face from below, still hunched over. His back was arched like a cat's, shoulders rounded. He looked like she had kicked him in the gut.

"I don't believe you," he mumbled.

Lena frowned. "What?"

He straightened up, flung his arms out in front of him. His body rocked with the force of the motion. "I don't believe you!"

"Then don't," Lena said, "but it is the truth. I hate that man."

"You are obsessed with him."

She shook her head, taking a step towards him. She reached for him, and set her palms gently on his cheeks, closing the gap between them.

"Not him. You," she whispered. A shaky breath. "I love you."

He sighed. Pressed his forehead against hers, and closed his eyes. Lena's hands drifted to his chest. The two of them stood there like that for a moment, quietly.

Then, "So where is it?"

"Where is what?"

"The necklace," he said.

Lena swallowed.

Her hesitation was enough for Alistair to dart away from her. The moment of calm had evaporated. The monster was back - the ancient ghost that haunted Alistair's bones - and he was staring at her with a coldness that hurt far more than any physical attack.

"Did you misplace it? Sell it to buy your plane ticket here?" He threw his head back and made an irritated noise. "Clearly, none of this meant as much to you as it did to me."

"Al-"

She moved towards him again, but he took a large step away.

"I can't be here right now," he said.

"Alistair."

He ignored her. Already, he was at the door. He turned the doorknob, hesitated. Looked back at her.

Lena didn't think she would ever forget that expression. It would be burnt into her mind for the rest of her life. Devastated.

He said nothing. Shook his head, like he thought better of speaking, and slipped outside.

Lena dropped her head into her hands. It wasn't supposed to be like that. This moment was not supposed to happen like that.

Alistair wanted her to choose between him and justice. She couldn't. She didn't want to. But that in itself was a choice, wasn't it? To him, at least. To him, if she wasn't choosing him then she was choosing Aro.

She shook her head violently.

If only they were somewhere else. If they spoke far away from the castle, she could have told him everything. How close she was to her goals. How sorry she was that it had cost her so much. How she planned to get her fingers back. How she was going to kill Aro.

How she was going to win.

Her chest ached.

It wasn't difficult to find Alistair. Lena traced his scent back to a tiny inn some blocks away. It seemed he had kept the habit of finding shelter after she left. She didn't know how to feel about that. Distracted herself from it by telling herself he would be proud of her tracking abilities - as if their skills were comparable.

The room itself was small and sparsely decorated. There was a bed, a dresser, and a mirror. No lamps. No chairs. The carpet was worn through in some places. The place reeked.

She sat on the edge of the bed, and waited.

Alistair returned to his room after a few minutes, his hair wet. He smelt like soap, but the woodsy scent remained, clinging to his clothes and embedded in his pores after so many lifetimes spent wandering through the wilderness.

He barely glanced at her, unfazed by her presence. She supposed he could sense her. Was always tracking her.

Her chest swelled.

Like pebbles, his eyes skimmed across the room. He frowned, looked at her. "Where are your things?"

His voice was level. There was not a shred of his previous paranoia now in his tone, as if what happened at the castle hadn't happened at all. They would not speak of it. They never did.

He believed her presence here meant she had chosen him. His fears were unrooted, unreasonable now.

Momentarily.

"I'm not going," Lena said.

"Am I not enough?" Though he tried to control his voice, it was clear that he was hurt. His eyes were dark and rippled with frustration, the skin around them pinched.

Lena stood and reached for him. She wanted to hold him, to convince him it wasn't true. "What? Al, no-"

He held his hands up, preventing her from getting any closer. "I don't-" He sniffed. He wouldn't look at her. "I don't want you to touch me."

Her arms dropped to her sides. She stared at him, unsure what to say.

He nodded slightly, as if to assure himself that he was alright. He lifted his head then, stared at her, but his gaze was all wrong. The softness she expected was absent. He looked at her as he did when they were strangers. Cold. Harsh.

"If you want me to understand, you need to tell me everything," he said. "Not just the parts you want."

Here it was again: a test. One Lena had never passed. Telling the truth. Confessing everything. Cracking open a window, and letting him peer in at the deepest and darkest parts of herself. Different this time though. She could see it in his face, the sure edges of looming consequences.

Alistair was ready to turn and leave, and never look for her again.

She gulped.

She wanted to tell him the truth - she knew better than to live in the company of ghosts - but where should she start? It felt like a whole lifetime had passed while they were apart.

Her head was heavy when she nodded. "Okay."

He didn't smile like he might have before. He offered no gentle reassurance.

"Where's Alice?"

She flinched.

She had hoped for an easier question.

"Lena," he said. "Where's Alice?"

"Dead."

His brow furrowed. His eyes flickered over her face, dark, hawkish. Searching for some sign of deceit, or maybe guilt.

"Aro-" She cleared her throat-" Aro killed her instead of me."

"Instead of you?"

She hesitated.

Alistair would think differently of her, wouldn't he? While he embraced her wild tendencies, even he had his limits. He was friends with the Cullens. He wouldn't see it as she did, wouldn't think it was some necessary act of survival. She chose to come here, knowing Aro would see her intentions, hoping he would twist the narrative in her favour.

She was guilty, even if she hadn't been the one to snap Alice's neck.

"If you don't wish to speak with me, that's fine," he said, "but don't waste my time."

Alistair turned towards the door.

"He was going to kill me," she said quickly. "Aro. For treason."

He paused. Looked back at her. Said nothing.

"We switched places, like we did in Forks when he took her instead of me."

He narrowed his eyes. "And she agreed to this?"

Lena pressed her lips together. "Not exactly."

He muttered something that didn't sound like English. It took him a moment before he could meet her gaze again.

"And your fingers?" His eyes didn't match his tone. Hard, when the other was soft.

"Aro wanted to remind me that I belong to him."

A muscle in his jaw fluttered.

She had worded her answer poorly. Alistair was upset. She wanted to touch him, to tell him it was fine - it was fine. He wouldn't appreciate it. He liked sorting through his thoughts by himself.

She saw them, churning, spinning around. His eyes sharpened, his gaze grew calculating. He was measuring, analysing, processing in a way Lena could not understand.

He exhaled, and his focus returned to her face. There was a dejected look in his eyes, and a desperation somewhere beyond that. Whatever conclusion he reached, he did not like.

"I wish I had taught you when to quit."

"I'm so close," Lena whispered.

He shook his head. "You're not. Can't you see that?"

"I am, Al," she said. "I am so, so close."

He took a large stride towards her. No longer was he the frightened beast. She had claimed that title for herself. He moved slowly, spoke gently.

"You are too angry with him to be indoctrinated," he said, "so he is trying to trap you instead. It is the closest he can get to possessing you."

Lena shook her head. He was wrong. So, so wrong. He always saw things a certain way. The worst way. Couldn't he see how close she was? How hard she was working? Her hands were closing in around Aro's throat with each passing day. All she had to do was get Marcus out of the picture. Everything else would fall into place. Chelsea would step up. The guard would rise up against their captors. Lena would have her blood, her vengeance.

She would have her life back. Not the same life, but a tolerable one.

How could she walk away now? She was getting close. There was a chance. One of Aro's most valued guards was executed because of her efforts. That meant something. It had to.

Lena's chest ached at Alistair's lack of faith. He couldn't see her. Didn't understand that she was bursting with talent, determination, and an anger that continued to propel her forwards.

She was clawing her way towards success.

"What has to happen for you to realise the truth and give up?" he asked. "What do they have to take from you? Already, they have robbed you of your fingers. Is it an arm, or a leg? Or do you require a stronger message-"

"Why can't you trust me just this once?"

"Because if I do, you will die."

"That's not true."

"Lena," he said, "please, listen to me-"

"I can do it. I-"

"Don't you understand? Everyday I fear your death!" His voice cracked. "More than even you, it seems."

Lena was silent.

Alistair sighed. His expression softened. He moved towards her, and took her ruined hand. His fingertips ghosted over the scar tissue.

"You could live without them, if you had to," he said.

She followed his gaze to her hand. His thumb rubbed over the glossy skin.

"It would… not be pleasant," he said. "It itches when a body part is gone for too long. Burns sometimes." His eyes lifted to her face. "But you would live, Lena. You would live, and you would not be suffering here alone."

Her breath stuttered in her chest. Alistair's eyes welled with tears. Unable to meet his gaze, Lena turned her head away from him.

"You want them back. I understand. But this might be your last chance to walk away."

"I won't go. Not until after."

"After what, your execution?" He released his hold on her. "A day will come when you'll realise you should have let go of your past, and it will be too late by then."

Lena clenched her jaw.

He sighed. Took her face in his hands, and tilted her head up. The pads of his thumbs brushed over her cheeks.

"Would it really be so awful to leave with me?"

No, of course not. Lena wanted exactly that. They both wished for the same thing.

But Lena could not love him as he deserved when there was a part of her heart that was pitch black, and full of hatred. A part of her that hungered for violence.

Alistair let out a sad laugh, a quick short breath. "I see."

He moved to pull away, but Lena set her hands over his to keep them on her cheeks. With her eyes, she willed him to say something more. To do something. Lean forwards and kiss her, maybe. Convince them both that nothing had changed. They were okay. They would always be okay.

She couldn't do this herself.

The resigned look in his eyes upset her.

She was afraid.

She could tolerate her fingers being torn from her body: ligaments snapping like rubber bands, muscles separating, bones crunching. She could tolerate physical torture. But not this.

She did not want to feel her soul tear in two.

"I'm not yours," he said. "Not when you keep choosing to be his."

Swiftly, he backed away, as if being in her presence was the most unenjoyable experience he ever had. The sensation of his hands on her face lingered.

"I don't belong to Aro. I'm my own person," Lena said. "I've become a powerful woman, Alistair. I'm a member of the most elite coven in the world."

"What you've become, woman, is little more than a pet," he said. "He tells you to bite, and you bite. He tells you to heel, and you heel. I saw the way you looked for his approval when I arrived."

He was wrong. He had to be wrong. She was acting. Didn't he see that she was only pretending?

"I don't know you," he said, eyes glistening. "You have forgotten yourself."

He turned to the door.

"Al-"

"Don't follow me this time," he said, and then fled.

Aro was in her room again.

She returned to the castle to find him sitting at her dressing table, legs crossed and fingers interlaced over his knee. A thick square of folded charcoal fabric was set on his lap, upon which a familiar wooden box rested.

"I'm so glad you made the right decision."

Lena frowned, unsure what he meant.

"You chose us over Alistair, yes?" He leaned to the side, peering behind her. "It doesn't seem as though you have returned with him."

"I am alone," she said.

"Well then." He smiled, and straightened up in his seat. "I suppose I'll overlook your clear violation of the rules this time, but be sure to seek approval for trips outside of the castle in future."

"Yes, Master Aro."

Aro's eyes skimmed over her, glowing. His smile softened into a gentle curve, the soft lines of a mouse's mouth. "The mate bond is one of the most powerful bonds among our kind. I am amazed by your commitment."

Lena said nothing.

"Here." He opened the box set on his lap, and held it out to her. "Choose one."

She crossed the room, and looked at the box's contents. Aro shook the container when she hesitated, and her fingers rolled around and knocked against each other.

She pinched her ring finger, and reattached it to her hand. She tested the digit, flexing her fingers and curling her hand into a fist. When she opened her hand again, the phantom twinkle of a ring mocked her for a second, before disappearing.

Was it worth it?

In another life, she would not be here. She would be married. She would have met Alistair under different circumstances. They would have fallen in love without all of this mess. He could have turned her. Not killed her, not left her to die out in the wheat fields. He could have stayed by her bedside, stroking her hair, telling her everything would be alright.

Aro snapped the lid shut, sealing her pinkie away in its crypt once more. Her palm itched. A heaviness lurked in her chest.

"Thank you, Master Aro."

He set the box aside, and picked up the fabric bundle on his lap. He held it out to her.

Lena frowned. She would have preferred to receive her last finger, but she knew better than to refuse a gift from him. She took it, unfolded it carefully. A velvet cloak, nearly black. She held it out in front of her by the shoulders and stared at it.

How far she had come from her blood-soaked farmwear.

She looked at him.

"Try it on," he said.

She removed her light grey cloak and laid it on her bed. Pushed her arms through the sleeves of her new garment. She looked past Aro, and stared at herself in the mirror.

The hem flared out at about mid-calf, a generous amount of fabric swelling around her legs. The excess fabric irritated her, but it was the neckline that horrified her. It had been cut to accentuate the purple scar at her throat. His brand.

Lena swallowed.

Aro rifled through her drawer and retrieved a brooch from its depths. With it, he fastened her cloak closed over her chest. Then, he stepped aside, and allowed her to see her reflection once more.

The symbol of the Volturi glared back at her, engraved on the silver pin. The letter V, with swirling lines surrounding it. She still didn't know for certain if they were snakes or vines.

"I was right. Darker colours suit you much better," he said. "Welcome to the permanent guard."

Lena smiled emptily.

thank u for reading x