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Reverie Synedoche had seen the other face of Skulduggery Pleasant; not the façade he wore, it was another side of him with a slowly burning rage that picked at him, that held his long-dead bones upright with malice, spite and anger. He was a soul that found life in death, refusing to die. There was a quiet irascibility about him that bubbled beneath the veneer of humour, sarcasm and wit. She would catch glimpses of him when he held Valkyrie Cain in his arms, tenderly and tightly while she would lay unconscious against his skeletal frame, injured. Sometimes dying. Valkyrie seemed almost as impervious to death as the great skeleton detective himself, coming back from the brink between life and death more times than Synedoche cared to count. There was a side to him that rarely was seen to most others, a feral anger and fear that came out when Valkyrie was hurt and even without eyes to stare into, Synedoche felt the burning hatred for those who caused Valkyrie any type of pain or suffering; a desire to tear apart those who harmed her with the greatest misery he could inflict. And concurrently, without hesitation he would die again for her— not the kind of death he lived in now, he would completely fade from existence for her.
Skulduggery had found her, suspended by shackles binding her magic, wrapped unbearably tight around her wrists, she had sunk towards the ground but without enough give from the chains and her arms, her knees hovered above the dirt of the ground. Her back was pressed against a cold wall; the cell she was held in cold, damp and the threatening whistle of a gale breezed through the draughty building. Her wrists bled where the metal of the chains sunk into her flesh, an uncomfortably warm and half dried trickle. She sagged, unconscious and unmoving. A dim light casting a shadow over her frame. He saw how her chest heaved unnaturally as gravity pulled her down against the chains that fixed her in place. He hurried over to her, without hesitation. Had it been a trap, he would have walked willingly into it for her. He felt a pain—not a physical pain, an anguish, as he strode towards her. A culpability for her predicament and pain.
Just hours earlier, her mind enveloped in pain—agony—her body racked with the freezing, frigid air, as the thoughts had begun to slip away from her mind, instead replaced only with the buzz of pain and suffering, she had considered how unsettling the warmth of her own blood against her cold body felt. It made her all the more aware of her strength leaving her with every drop of blood that pooled just beneath her knees. She had tried to dull the shivers that coursed through her body, trying to ease the additional pulling as she strained against her bindings.
“Valkyrie.” Her name was soft as he spoke, the word gentle, kind and concerned. There was a slight undertone to it, a quietness, the sound that had he had veins, hot blood would pound ferociously.
He’d sunk quickly to his knees as he found her, his bony arm wrapping around her just as soon as she was in his reach, lifting her body slightly to relieve the stress on her wrists. He pressed her into his side, lingering in the moment for a brief second that she was in his arms and although tortured and hurt, she was alive.
“Valkyrie.” He spoke again, a slightly more apprehensive tone to it now as he looked over her body, seeing without eyes. “I’ve got you.” He said, comforting her as her head only lulled from side to side as he jostled her slightly. Where his hand held her, he felt a slight crunch at her ribs where bones had broken beneath her skin.
He pulled at the knotted cloth in her mouth that had held back her screams, freeing her mouth but she remained unsettlingly silent as he dropped the fabric to the ground. A gloved finger traced a line alone her jaw as he did so, hovering softly over bruised and bleeding lips. There were markings marring her mouth, where she had bitten her own lips and the rage built in him, that familiar untethered fury that he made no effort to dull down.
“Valkyrie. I’ve got you, you’re safe now.” He said again, repeating the words of comfort to her. Her blood was staining the white of his shirt, soaking through his charcoal grey three-piece suit. He raised a gloved hand, summoning a ball of fire with the snapping of the fingers of his free hand, still holding her carefully as if she were the most precious antique he would ever discover. Conscious with every move that he made to not hurt her, he raised the hand with the fire ball up, tossing it towards the wall where the shackles connected to a large iron loop, hearing a metallic thud as the iron expanded and the shackles fell open and had he not been holding her, her body would have folded beneath her into a heap on the ground.
He lowered her slightly, so she lay on floor as he knelt in her half-dried blood that had pooled beneath them and his gloved hand roamed over her clothes, searching for the most obvious injuries until he stopped, hovering over a deep wound where something sharp had penetrated the skin of her thigh. His hand settled, pressing firmly at her skin to stem the bleeding. He moved a hand to his neck, pulling tightly at the tie neatly tied at his neck, hurriedly freeing it from its knot and beginning to wrap it around her thigh, a makeshift tourniquet. It only then occurred to him to take a moment to look at her face again—to take in how pale she was. She was exhausted, exsanguinated and barely clinging to life where she lay. He brushed a strand of dark hair from her face softly.
Her brain was a fog, that even though she tried to wade through the darkness it seemed all-consuming and his words barely registered in the most distant parts of her mind. It was like she was swimming in a distant, deep and dark pool and as she kicked and kicked harder, she still didn’t resurface. She wanted to speak, but all she felt was pain and her breathing hitched for a moment.
Skulduggery immediately sensed the gentle change to her breathing, that one stifled breath. “Valkyrie, I’m here.” He told her.
The guilt churned at him. The plan had been her idea, for her to infiltrate the Neoteric’s order, trying to gain insight into their church and to gain influence on their most senior figureheads. As a Neoteric of sorts herself, she had convinced Skulduggery that she was the best placed person for the job, the one who could most relate to their way of thinking and although he’d been dubious and cynical, with the visions of the sensitives only escalating as the supposed end of the world drew closer and closer still, he had conceded to her. The plan wasn’t ideal, but it’s the best they’d had, yet now all Skulduggery felt was a muggy combination of guilt, anger and resentment as she lay unconscious against him.
They’d found her, held her as their prisoner and worse still they’d tortured her, perhaps even experimented on her magic judging by the look of a handful of sigils carved deeply into the flesh over her ribcage. He knew better than most what it felt like, to endure unending torture and to die by it. He wasn’t going to allow that, she wasn’t going to die here—if he had anything to do with it, she would die at a grand old age, surrounded by loved ones.
“Valkyrie, I’m going to move you now. I’m going to get you out of here.” He forewarned, gently placing his hands around her, scooping her into his arms as carefully as he could. Every single movement felt long and drawn out as he tried to lift her carefully, to not cause more pain. A barely noticeable moan fell from her injured lips as he moved her and he cursed, positioning her over his shoulder and he stood slowly taking a moment to adjust her position. He felt the way her arms flopped lifeless against bones. He kept expecting a smart comment, some sort of reassurance that she was okay but it never seemed to come.
When she first woke, the light seemed brighter than she had remembered it could be, or perhaps she had instead adjusted to the darkness of the cell she’d been kept in. The lights were hazy, but fluoresced and there was a welcomingly smell of cleanliness. She felt warm and comfortable, much unlike what her last waking moments had felt like. It sent a slight chill down her spine as she felt life come back to her limbs, starting with a tingle in her fingers and toes. Her mouth dry, she slowly turned her head, soon realising she was in a hospital bed, with perfectly pressed sheets and a perfectly fluffed pillow cradling her head.
“Hey.” She spoke softly, her voice barely more than a whisper. She saw Skulduggery sitting upright in a chair by her bed, his arms folded and his legs crossed. His head was slightly dipped— he seemed to be meditating or perhaps just lost in his thoughts. Her voice broke through to him, his head slowly rising for his gaze to fall on her.
“You’re awake.” He remarked.
“So it would seem.” She replied, stretching slightly now in the bed as the feeling returned to her. “I feel like someone stomped on my head.” She remarked.
“That’s not entirely out of the question.” He replied, she sensed a hesitation to his tone. Like he was carefully watching his footing with every word he spoke.
“I thought I was dead.” She spoke, her brain still foggy as she tried to piece together memories that all seemed disjointed and disconnected.
“I shared a similar concern.” She flexed her fingers as he spoke, a look of pain crossing her expression. He hesitated. “You should rest, Synedoche still has a handful of treatments lined up for you just yet. I daresay a few tests as well.”
A sweeping wave of exhaustion crested her. She shook her head slightly, feeling a persistent throbbing at her temples now. “I’m fine, really.”
“And you’ll be fine later too, rest easy for now Valkyrie. There’s nothing of importance right now.”
“There’s the end of the world.” She retorted.
“When isn’t the world ending? It’s never stopped us before. Rest.” He bid her. She wanted to argue, to disobey him, to listen to his voice and whatever it was he wanted to tell her. She wanted to tell him she wasn’t tired, but her eyelids were already drooping and her strength was leaving her again. She fought hard against it, with a heavy sigh. He felt the weight carried in the sigh, felt the burden of that weight on her shoulders.
She wanted to ask him how he’d found her, to ask what had happened to her. She wanted to ask him to stay a little while as she felt that familiar feeling of dread rising in her bones, that threatened to cut away at her breathing, leaving her breathless and afraid as the sinking weight of the world rested on her head. She opened her mouth to speak, but against her will her eyelids kept sinking shut and just as soon as she would open them again, the heaviness returned. The heaviness weighing more and more as it enveloped her.
“Stay a while?” She managed to mumble.
“Always.” He replied, taking her hand in the bed, pressing her fingers between his own gloved fingers.