brianna bracken had never been very good at swallowing her pride, even when her tongue begged her to. she walked beside lord garrick cargyll with her chin held high, her cloak drawn tightly around her shoulders to hide the ruined state of her gown beneath. the dried blood, the dirtâthe reminder of what had happened barely two hours agoâclung to her like a second skin. she could still see it when she closed her eyes, still smell the iron tang of it in her hair. and so she did not close her eyes. she kept them forward, instead, on the faint gleam of candlelight ahead and on garrickâs easy stride beside her.
âoh yeah, that's a solid way to put it huh. every house has its ghosts,â she said lightly, repeating after him and considering what ghosts her own house would have, though her eyes did not meet his, keeping them focused and in front of her. âthough some ghosts leave bigger burn marks than others, donât they? more family poltergeist than common ghostie.â it came out softer than intended, and she quickly masked it with a small scoff, shaking her head.
it was easier, in truth, to focus on him. on the sound of his voice, the deep timbre of it echoing through the empty hall; even if it were nothing but casual foolishness. "speaking of, that section of the keep we turned into that old infirmary wing? still has those noises in the night you heard, by the way." she had always insisted that the rapid increase in strange bumps in the night had been down to his presence, though she would not admit they had continued long since the end of the war. "still ain't no logical explanation for it, before you ask."
a quip or two, a teasing comment, some sort of chuckle or hardened laughter echoing across stone walls and the energetic, upbeat back and forth of their conversations. it was all something she could count on to ignore the dull ache at the very back of her head, or perhaps the slight pit of panic that sat at the very bottom of her stomach, or was it in her back where her corset was tied? some way to ignore the slight thud of her heart that came moments after she slipped herself from his arms - not thinking about why such a beat was happening.
she found herself listening more closely than she ever meant to, clinging to the rhythm of his words, the lilt and fluctuation of his arrogance, the warmth that always crept into his teasing, and the small comments that showed more than he possibly meant to come across. gods, he talked so much, she thoughtâbut it helped. it filled the silence. it drowned out the image of the back of the mans head, of what she had done. she tried to force a laugh, but it caught somewhere in her throat. perhaps because she still saw the fires every time she blinked. when he spoke of jaehaerys and the throne, she hummed faintly, the sound neither agreement nor denial. of course it mattered that jaehaerys sat the throne. but at what cost?
she wondered if garrick ever thought about that, about how many lives were crushed beneath that climb. how much betrayal for the side they had picked. she wanted to ask, but she didnât.
instead, she listened to him tease her about his damned white cloak, and for a brief, foolish moment, she laughed. âaye, no, you like to think that, donât you? i just said you look better than an old man would. donât go twistinâ my compliments now to give yerself something to smile over in yer pillow, big headed prat.â she elbowed him in response to his nudge, with slightly more force than his own - and in response she dodged her waist to the left, as if to dodge any returned movement he would give her. and for a brief moment, she realised they wouldn't be able to have these pointless, foolish conversations if he were dead in some ditch in the marches. so she asked about nightsong, and gotten defensive about it. anything to fill the air. anything but silence - but it felt as though her curiosity and concern was some childâs meddling. her brows furrowed, her lips parting before she could stop them.
âFor fuckâs sake, Brianna,â
âwell fuck me, forgive me for askin if i needa be scheduling another funeral in the calenderâ, she snapped and scoffed all in one, her tone equally as defensive as his own - laced with sharp humour that barely covered the sting. âseven forbid i worry if youâre to go and get yourself killed fightinâ for nightsong.â his expression didnât soften, and something inside her flaredâembarrassment, frustration, pride. she crossed her arms, cloak tightening around her chest like armour. had she overstepped? no she had not. she was not daft.
she merely asked if he would need to go to war for something that everyone knew was taken from them.
âshut up, stop going on at me, you smug arse. i know what you meant. i wasnât pryinâ, i was makinâ conversation, same as youâve been doinâ this whole bloody walk.â she laughed once, short and bitter - it did not sound funny. and then he said it; the thing she zoned in on. the thing she heard again and again. a lack of a clever mind? it was all she focused on, no other part of his sentence. âa lack of clever mind, yeah? whatâs that supposed to mean, anyway? that iâm stupid? daft? slow?" the words began to tumble from her mouth as she felt her chest begin to tighten, knowing she had stopped actually thinking about her words long ago. "well fuck off then, if i'm so fuckin dim. fuckin' arsehole, i'll lose my other shoe if i want to.â
at this point she all but assaults her chamber door to get it to open in her annoyance, her voice rising slightly as it opened loudly but creaky. âand tell you what..." she stood in the doorway, whipping her head around as she yanked her hand from his arm, instead both of her hands being on either side of her doorframe as she looked at him. "not everythingâs about you, may i add."
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