Page 114 of A Silence So Divine

The good news is, I didn’t injure her enough to render her unconscious. The bad news is, my ability might not be as strong as they were hoping for.

Once I pull myself from Creed’s embrace, he helps me to stand, careful not to touch my injury. His arm stays around my waist for support as I take in what I’ve done.

Sylvie has blood coming from both nostrils, and a burst blood vessel in one of her eyes. Cecil appears completely unharmed, same as the Jasper incident. My chest deflates with relief.

What surprises me, though, is how far back Sylvie is from where the two of us were positioned on the ground. Laying on her back, it doesn’t look like she scurried away from me when I opened my mouth. It appears that shelandedthere.

Cecil peers back at us. This time when he approaches, he allows himself to touch me. With delicate fingers, he grips my forearm and inspects what was almost a broken bone.

“You’re alright?” His tone is gentle, but his eyes narrow in anger.

“She’s fine. Better than fine, I’d say,” Sylvie pipes up. With a pained groan, she pushes herself up onto her elbows. Face pinched in pain, she wipes dirtied hands on her white tank top.

The way she watches me is such a stark contrast to the pure malice she was speaking with just moments ago. She looks… awe struck. Impressed, even.

“Sorry about the sprain, but I can’t say I regret it. That new trick will come in handy.”

Cecil pauses, looking between the two of us. “Trick?” He questions, eyeing me head to toe. The question is aimed at me, but Sylvie is the one who answers.

“Seems your girl can do a lot more than deafen her opponents, CeCe. Aren’t you lucky?”

.

Forty Seven

Cecil

“What was it that you did differently?”

Eden sighs, looking at me pointedly. “I already told you. Nothing.”

We stand across from one another on the manor's overgrown grass, parallel to the long dirt driveway. The sun peaks over the edge of the horizon and the morning air is chilled. Creed is still asleep, Eden insisting that she not wake him. His training will begin sometime around midday. Little Prince needs his beauty sleep.

After Sylvie attempted to cripple Eden, I decided that we’d continue our training at the house. It wasn’t only for the safety of Creed and Eden. With all the selflessness I had to give, I was doing it for Sylvie’s benefit as well. Because if she ever laid a hand on Eden again, I’d have to go through with my promise of ending her life. That would have been a shame.

A week passed in a blink, and I seemed to be the only one on edge. Eden and Creed were chummy as usual, chasing each other around the house and conversing over dinner. There weremoments here and there where I would catch her watching him longingly, like she missed him with mere inches between them.

She’s yet to tell him of her mother’s journal entry. At this point, I don’t think she will. Though I think it’s horseshit, there’s a part of me that feels guilt for knowing something that he doesn’t. But it’s not up to me, so I try not to think about it.

“I’m not saying it was a conscious decision, but something had to have been different. How did youfeel?”

Eden looks at me with exasperation. “It felt like my wrist was going to break.” She motions down to her bound arm. Veda swore up and down that it was hardly a sprain, but I still insisted it be wrapped in bandages. Twice I’ve found Eden not wearing them, and twice I’ve demanded that she retrieve them and put them on.

When we first met, she was so frightened of me, she’d cower when I breathed in her direction. Now, she’s much more generous with her attitude.

Stepping close, I grip her chin between my thumb and forefinger. Looking down my nose at her, her chin juts up in defiance.

“You’re being difficult on purpose.” Her eyes flick past me, avoiding my stare. “Why?”

She attempts to push me away, but I lock my knees and stand firm. With limited space to reply, she brings one hand up to sign, “I’m not.”

Her front teeth worry her lip, and like a kitten to a string, my attention hones in on the action. Raising my thumb an inch, I catch the skin and tug it free from her mouth.

“Tell me how you felt,” I insist. She huffs indignantly, but she doesn’t try to pull away.

“Anger,” she responds. The word pries my attention from her words to her eyes. The morning sun glints off the silver, makingthem appear metallic. There’s a hesitation in the slight furrow of her brow.

“Anger? Just anger?”