Secrets We Keep: Chapter Five

It's my tree, Credence thought.

She was running through the purple woods, manic anticipation spurring her wild search.

The Queen is here.

The sound of footsteps stopped her. She turned just in time to see John step from behind a thick, red trunk.

"Having a nice run?" he asked with a tinge of bitterness in his voice. He planted his cane on the ground with purposeful severity.

"You could have joined me," Credence bit back. "Unless something hinders you?"

John shot her a hateful glare. "It's time to eat."

"I have to find something first."

"It can wait."

Credence groaned. "It's nowhere near dinner yet."

"My master has deemed it time."

"Couldn't I miss it just this once? I don't mind going without food—"

"He gave you one rule, Credence, and it will be followed."

John pulled a length of rope from his pocket.

"You look like a cornered doe ready to run," he said. "What'll it be? I could use a good chase."

"You'll be easy to evade with only one good leg."

John took a domineering step towards her and his eyes flashed with savage anger.

"Go on then," he whispered. "Run. I'll tell him you fell from a tree when he asks about whatever I break on you."

She frowned and offered her wrists.

***

Now Credence was comfortable eating at her leisure. She hadn't noticed how hungry she was until she saw the food—

Time passed so quickly, she thought as she chewed.

She wanted to get it over with as soon as possible, so she could return to looking for the Queen.

The food was no less delicious for their third dinner.

It's the only thing I could get used to in this place, she mused to herself.

When the Collector joined her he appeared restless, and shifted in his chair while taking tentative bites of food. His finger tapped against the table.

"I must apologize," he said abruptly, bringing Credence out of her gluttonous reverie.

She raised an eyebrow at him.

"For what?"

"My appearance at the lake."

"Oh." She was keen to forget the encounter. "I'd rather not discuss it."

"And I'd rather make amends." There was an edge to his tone that bordered on hostility. In a move that seemed entirely out of character, the Collector ran his hand through his hair and blew an exasperated puff of air that ended in a low, annoyed grumble.

Had the incident at the lake upset him?

"It was ungentlemanly for me to appear when you were..."

"Bathing?" Credence finished for him.

"Yes. And even more improper that I idled. I should have left the instant I knew you...you were..."

"I was naked."

The Collector blushed. If he hadn't been a monster wrapped in flesh, Credence may have found the sight charming. She scoffed and turned back to her food.

"Ma always said, 'A body is just a body'."

That's a lie, her mind hissed, but Credence pushed the thought away.

"It's as natural as the sun and moon."

Though neither exists here, the thought bit back.

"Yes, Galeia was always careless when it came to propriety." A flash of menace flickered in his eyes. "And virtue."

For a moment he seemed lost in a memory.

Credence cleared her throat and reminded him, "I am not Galeia."

He met her stare. "I know. That is why I wish to apologize."

Credence sat back, intrigued. "Go on then. You haven't said the words yet."

The Collector cleared his throat. "I should not have acted in such a grotesque manner. I am sorry."

What strange honor, Credence thought. He thinks so little of killing but everything of this.

"I will never come to you outside of dinner again," the Collector continued. "Unless you call my name out loud." He gave a mischievous smile. "No matter how loudly your mind screams for my presence."

Credence winced.

Time to strike.

"Your apology is not accepted."

His eyes grew wide and his shoulders tensed. Credence was sure he would leap across the table, but after a few seconds his body slumped in defeat. His manner was so unlike the powerful villain she knew him to be. He looked like the shell of a man, beaten and worn down.

But there was no room in Credence's heart for compassion.

Murderer.

She couldn't deny, however, that she held a slight fascination for him, and the abrupt change in his demeanor. Her stomach was not roaring in hunger as it had been at the start of their last dinner, and because of it, she had patience. A true attempt at Ma's rules for enemies could be made. She could test the limits of his supposed grace.

She might gain another victory at the end of their meal.

Or perhaps, her mind nagged, you just want to know more about him.

Credence frowned.

"Where is the tree with your collection," she asked, wanting to clear her mind from its train of thought. "I've been looking for it."

"I could lead you to it." His voice was tinged with hope.

"No," Credence quickly answered.

"I'll have the wolf lead you to it then," came the dejected reply .

"Thank you," she said out of habit and immediately regretted it. She didn't want to give him an inch of gratitude. She didn't want to do anything that would alleviate his gloom.

"You're welcome."

He couldn't have the last word. He'd gotten it at the lake with his disappearing trick. She wouldn't let him have anything, not even the end of a conversation.

"Where do you go when you are not here?" she asked. "Do you stay inside this castle?"

"I walk the woods."

"Terrorizing its inhabitants?" She nodded towards the bottom of his chair. "They shudder to hear your approach."

"I cannot help the loathsome noise that announces my arrival."

"The entire wood is thankful for the bells. As am I."

She expected scorn, but the Collector remained stoic.

"They can fear me. It only matters that they remain loyal to my rule."

"It's true then. You've taken the Queen's throne."

"I was always meant to."

"I doubt you're what she intended as her successor."

"Why not? All I want is for my kingdom to prosper."

"By locking your subjects in cages?"

"Tell me to stop and I will."

"Stop."

"Done."

"It can't be that easy."

"Of course it is."

Credence didn't believe him.

And he still got the last word.

"Where were you when I was in the towns?" she pressed.

"Creating this world for you."

"I often wondered if you had influence there. It was every bit as vile as your company."

"That wretched place belongs to humans," he spat. "I don't meddle in the affairs of those beneath me."

"Don't? Or can't?" He shot her a stern look and she added, "I'm human."

He shook his head. "You're more than that and you know it."

Credence was running out of arguments to begin. She needed to get to the tree, to the Queen, but there remained a desperate need to best her foe.

"How long have I been here?"

"How long does it feel?"

"I don't know. How could I possibly tell?"

"Do not concern yourself with it. Time flows differently for beings like us."

"Beings like us?"

"Whom time will never mark with its passage."

"It will mark me."

He scowled but did not argue. "How long would you guess you've been here?"

"It feels like days. Maybe more. Maybe a lifetime."

"You've a long life ahead of you yet."

"You can't really expect me to wander your empty world for the rest of it."

"That's not my expectation at all—or my hope. But it all rests on you."

"On my agreement to marry you." The Collector didn't answer. "Are you suggesting that if I did agree, I wouldn't be forced to remain here?"

"You would be free to go where you please."

"I would only have the illusion of freedom, and you could take it back at will."

"Our bond would not work that way."

"But the promise Ma made—"

"That promise allows certain advantages, but it can be broken or manipulated. It has weaknesses. I keep you here because under that promise there's still a risk of losing you. If you set one foot outside of my kingdom, I could not bring you back."

"That's why John came for me in the towns?"

"My power dwindles beyond the woods. I could not take the loss of you. Not again. But if we married, you could walk the forest and the world around it. No place would be out of your reach, for no one could tell my queen where she cannot go. Not even me."

"What if I married you and left the woods? What if I never returned?"

He smiled. "Such a parting cannot be endured for long, even by the strongest resolve. You could seek your solitude, but eventually you would return to me. You would be unable to help it."

"I'm well acquainted with pain."

"This is not like a body's wound. It's an agony of the soul."

"Would you feel it too?"

"Yes. And I would call you home, to remind you of my love."

"It's as I said then. I'd be forced back. Marriage just means a bigger prison."

"As big as the world," he said gently, as if such an admission should soothe her. "And only because you choose to see it that way."

His words unnerved her. Marriage. Freedom. I would call you home to remind you of my love.

That suggestion made her feel a little too warm in the face, and his stare, full of confusing danger and pity, made her heart skip.

There was something else in his eyes. Desire. Longing.

She could stand his fury, but his adoration? She hadn't the first clue how to handle such things.

Under that sort of attention, she was nothing.

She was only a girl from the woods, and he was the king who ruled them.

She felt so small in his presence.

She wasn't afraid of him. It was something else, something more complex.

Unworthy?

"I don't want to marry you."

"Is that because you know me...or because you don't?"

Credence struggled to stifle the sob growing in her chest. When she spoke, her voice cracked.

"Please, if you have any mercy, let me go. I'm just a child."

"No, Credence. You're not a child. Not anymore."

His reply shocked her into silence. There was no lie in his voice. Fear crept up her spine.

She cast her eyes down to her hands. They looked young and smooth.

But they were not a child's hands.

That unsettling feeling rose again, the same one she had when she sat in Ma's chair.

When did it happen? she thought mournfully. When did I grow up?

Or was this a trick to make her believe she'd left childhood?

When she found her voice again, she despaired to hear the difference in it, a somewhat deeper cadence she'd never recognized was there before.

It was not the voice that belonged to the Credence who left home.

"How could I possibly love you? You've taken everything from me. You've taken my freedom—"

"What were you doing with it? Jumping from one danger to the next. I didn't take away your freedom. I gave you safety."

"You've taken my dreams."

"I am your dream." He tapped his finger against his temple. "I've always been privy to them. I remember the emptiness you felt at home. Your desire to leave, to see the world. To find a husband who would love you—"

"You killed Ma."

The Collector stared at her for a long moment. He blinked, and Credence thought she spied a glimmer of wetness in his eyes. His gaze lowered to the table.

"Your mother was not who you think she was. She saw to it that my life was painted in misery."

"And that justifies what you did?" He had no answer. "All you do is destroy. If I push you enough, anger you, you'll destroy me too."

"No. I would never hurt you."

"You already have."

He raised his head, and now Credence could clearly see the tears in his eyes.

"I love you," he said with a slight rasp. "I've loved you since—"

He stopped, letting the sentence die in the air. His tone was so intense that Credence almost believed he meant it.

But in his voice was a suggestion, a hint that he was being pulled against his will.

By obligation.

This wasn't love, it was mutual forcing. He held no true affection for Credence. He was bound by a promise.

He loved her no more than a tree loved its leaves, simply connected through circumstance.

That realization stung her pride more than she cared to admit.

She stood from her chair. She was done with manners and courtesy.

Violence. Screaming. Lilith's tools for handling her anger, they were the better alternative, for it was only through fury that Credence had ever found victory.

Against the Collector. Against the Headmaster at school. Against John, and all of the other threats that slithered into her path and meant her harm. Every last one of them expected her to cower. To demur. To accept that they were stronger.

Unable to control herself, Credence took her cup and threw it across the room, then swept the dishes before her onto the ground.

She wanted to scream, to attack the Collector and rip the tear-filled eyes from his head.

He remained as still as the stones that raised his castle's walls, watching Credence wage war against dinner.

"You've taken my life away," she said at last, "and I'll spend the rest of it trying to destroy you."

The Collector studied her face, searching for a lie.

"If you wish to fight, Credence, you'd better make sure you are truly ready for it."

"I'm ready now," Credence snarled, and felt a blow to her dignity when he answered with a chuckle. "Stand and fight me! When I best you I will leave this world, and if you're still alive you will never so much as think my name again!"

To her surprise, he nodded. "I accept your terms. And if I win?"

The rage that emboldened her waned. She hadn't given any thought to losing. He leaned back in his chair and folded his hands on top of his lap.

"If I am the victor, you'll agree to our marriage. Right here, once the fight is concluded. Do you accept my terms?"

Credence's body, tensed for a fight, deflated slightly.

The Collector stood from his chair.

"Shall we begin?"

Her mind flashed with an image of the horror from the woods. He would transform into it, she had no doubt. She wouldn't be fighting the Collector as he was now, but would have to face the hideous creature that still lingered in the corners of her nightmares.

He may never don his human face again, just to spite her.

The fire inside of her fizzled.

When it became apparent that Credence would not give her answer, the Collector clucked his tongue.

"The offer stands," he said. "We will fight when you are ready."

He moved from the table, a gesture Credence mistook as a signal he was going to engage her in battle after all—

But he turned his back and ascended the staircase to the balcony, leaving without another word.

The door to the hall opened and John was waiting, none the wiser for what had just transpired.

Credence stared at the Collector's empty chair.

When she turned to leave, John opened his mouth to remark on her obvious distress, but she stomped past him, desperate to quit the abysmal castle as quickly as possible.

They may not have fought with fists or magic, but there had been a battle all the same—

And Credence lost.

The Collector had the last word.