THE LION ISN'T SACRED WHEN NOT SLEEPING NEAR THE LAMB
Brecken always felt the weight of history when in this room. It was as if the members of the Order past sat with them or stood peering over their shoulders, silently judging the merit of every spoken word. In such times, he did not envy Cian's position, though he suspected Cian did not feel the same way about the room, or about the Order, or about much of anything. Cian remained cool and unreadable as a statue of a man, and yet possessed only the supple elasticity of the living - of an apex predator at ease in its surroundings. And yet, he had called them together with no glad news.
Sickness — Brecken knew of the whispers. Nothing shifted in his face at the news stated plain, but somewhere in his chest, his heart accelerated just a touch. Was it fear? Excitement? Or pure stimulation, his body chafing at the need to sit still when it could be under sunlight straining against whatever objective Brecken made up for it on a given day? He had never been very good at reading himself. He certainly wasn't very good at reading the others, though he tilted his head toward the sound of each voice speaking in turn, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied their faces. What were they thinking? How much did they already know? How much did Cian know, sitting there in his throne, depthless as the sea? Sometimes Brecken wished he were more clever in the way of politic, but now he just wished a sickness was a thing he could fight with his hands. What good was he, sitting here on his ass, thinking about it?
What good would he be out in the city?
There were things he wanted to know, but he held his silence. The answer to Gideon's question intrigued him the most. It would determine much about how he perceived the news. Afterward, when Brecken understood if the new plague was a direct threat, he would have more time to think about strangling it. Or — otherwise. He did not think such a thing could arise by accident, not with the ever-watchful eyes of the gods peering over their shoulders. So, what had changed? And where did that leave him?
Sickness — Brecken knew of the whispers. Nothing shifted in his face at the news stated plain, but somewhere in his chest, his heart accelerated just a touch. Was it fear? Excitement? Or pure stimulation, his body chafing at the need to sit still when it could be under sunlight straining against whatever objective Brecken made up for it on a given day? He had never been very good at reading himself. He certainly wasn't very good at reading the others, though he tilted his head toward the sound of each voice speaking in turn, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied their faces. What were they thinking? How much did they already know? How much did Cian know, sitting there in his throne, depthless as the sea? Sometimes Brecken wished he were more clever in the way of politic, but now he just wished a sickness was a thing he could fight with his hands. What good was he, sitting here on his ass, thinking about it?
What good would he be out in the city?
There were things he wanted to know, but he held his silence. The answer to Gideon's question intrigued him the most. It would determine much about how he perceived the news. Afterward, when Brecken understood if the new plague was a direct threat, he would have more time to think about strangling it. Or — otherwise. He did not think such a thing could arise by accident, not with the ever-watchful eyes of the gods peering over their shoulders. So, what had changed? And where did that leave him?
IT IS EVIL WHEN IT EATS UNLESS IT'S FEEDING FROM THE DAMNED.
