Secrets We Keep: Chapter Three

The second dinner began just as unpleasantly as the first.

Credence walked with John, her wrists bound, and she took her seat the moment they entered the hall, refusing to wait for her host to join them.

"Try to be agreeable," John urged.

"I don't have to do anything," Credence snapped.

John sighed and left the hall, closing the door behind him.

Bells announced the Collector's arrival shortly after John's departure, and he echoed Credence's informality by taking his seat without a proper greeting.

But Credence had come to dinner armed, and she was excited to test Ma's rules for besting an enemy.

Rule Five. If Possible, Don't Talk First.

It would be easy enough, she thought, to follow that tactic.

She looked at the feast within reach and her mouth trembled.

To punctuate her hunger, her stomach gurgled.

John had called this 'dinner' when he came to fetch her, which told Credence there would be no breakfast or midday meal offered.

"You're hungry," the Collector's voice boomed through the hall.

He was staring at her with a curious expression, his head tilted to the side and his dark hair falling over his eyes.

"The food is for eating, not staring at," he added.

"You first."

"You've seen me eat from this table."

"Perhaps the food on your end is safe."

"I could move closer if that would comfort you."

Credence snorted. "Lilith taught me that some enchantments can be crafted to ensnare a single mind while sparing others."

"A wise hag, for all her faults. Did she show you how?"

"No. But I know which herbs are used to mask the taste and smell of poison."

"Do you think I mean to poison you?"

"You've used enchantments on me before."

He nodded. "There's no need here. I thought John explained that to you."

He poured himself a drink, then raised his cup towards her.

"To Credence," he toasted. "To having you home at last."

"Your home."

"Yours, too."

He drank deeply, then set the cup down with a satisfied sigh.

"How do you like the world I built for you?"

Rule Six. If Questioned, Be Brisk.

"It's cold and empty. Just like you."

So much for being polite, she reprimanded herself. Ma's first rule instructed the appearance of amiability, but Credence didn't have the patience for that now.

Not when a monster sat before her.

The Collector ignored her rude evaluation.

"If you need company, I'm right here." His lips curled into a sly grin. "Or we could create life to populate our world. I could show you how."

She didn't like his tone.

"You've only seen a sliver of what I built for you. The towns, your home, the woods...all the places that shaped you are here. But there's so much more. I've taken the liberty of adding a few scenes from my own memories. The lake with the waterfall, for instance. Did you like it?"

Credence shrugged. "I've seen water before."

The Collector frowned and Credence felt a small victory.

"As for the places that shaped me," she continued, growing bolder, "why should I wish to revisit them? I haven't been to many nice places, so I don't have many nice memories."

To her surprise, the Collector nodded.

"We're alike in that regard," he said softly.

"Do not compare us."

"It's true, whether you acknowledge it or not."

There was no lie in his tone. Credence's jaw clenched.

"You don't know the first thing about me."

The Collector's expression turned grim.

"I know everything about you, Credence."

"What's my favorite color?"

He shook his head, amused by her question.

"I know everything important about you." He paused before adding, "Your favorite color is purple. But only the deeper shades."

"You think because you know my favorite color that we're destined to be married."

"No."

"But you believe something just as meaningless holds us together. A promise spoken by someone else."

"It is not meaningless, Credence."

"It is to me. Lilith told me about you and Ma. I assumed the witch was lying—she lied about everything else. But it's true. You really believe that someone else's words should be enough to damn me?"

"It's far more complicated than you imagine."

"Tell me then. Tell me why some words spoken before I was born should hold sway over my future."

"Galeia was...cruel and deceitful. She hurt those who loved her most, including me. Including you."

"That gives you no right to take revenge on me."

"Revenge? There is no revenge between us. We are bound by destiny, but more than that, we are bound by experience. You and I have faced the horrors of the world. We've felt loss and betrayal from those we put our trust in. We've been molded by cruelty—and come out stronger for it."

"And you imagine I was born to love you."

"You were."

She bristled. "I don't love you. I never will."

"Only time will answer that. Lilith said you were frightened of me—but also intrigued."

"I'm neither. I'm disgusted by you."

"No use in lying, Lilith saw your thoughts. And I can see your dreams. There is a part of you that will always be pulled to me."

"But—it's not fair."

"Fairness is a comfort for children, but it's not the way of life. You'll come to understand that. You'll come to accept it, I know you will."

It was insulting, the gentle way he handled her. Credence was tired of the whole world expecting her acquiescence. Demanding that she lived her life on someone else's terms.

Before dinner was finished, the Collector would know her words were unchangeable fact.

"We could spend a thousand dinners together, but I'll never find joy in the sight of you. I will never see you as anything but a beast."

She spat the words, her voice growing loud and venom-filled. The Collector's eyes narrowed, but he only nodded and began to fill his plate.

She had struck a nerve, however, and his mask of civility was slipping, showing in the way he all but slammed food onto his plate.

She'd broken the first rule in Ma's guide, to remain friendly as a means to confuse her opponent, but Credence found that riling his anger was far more rewarding, so she pressed further, hoping to grow his discomfort.

"Will you kill me if I refuse to marry you? Or will you put me in a cage to hang from your tree when you grow tired of me?"

"It's your tree, Credence."

"My tree?"

"I told you."

She searched her mind, trying to recall the instance where he had revealed such a secret. An image flickered across her memory:

Her back pressed into the dirt. The night lit by the blue glow of mushrooms. The Collector hovering over her, wrapping a length of her hair around his finger.

'It was made for you...'

When she found her voice, it was unsteady.

"What am I supposed to do with it?"

"Whatever you like."

The fire of hatred still burned within her, but confusion tempered its intensity, and she struggled to feed it.

"The first moment I laid eyes on you in the woods, I hated you."

"That's not the first time you saw me."

"No? You're referring to when I smashed your collection?"

His grip tightened around the knife in his hand. As quickly as it came, the tension washed away and the Collector relaxed.

"Your collection," he corrected, "and you're wrong again." He shoved food into his mouth, chewing through his next words. "We met before that, though I doubt you would remember."

"Do you mean...in my dreams?"

"Guess again."

Rule Three. Patience is Key.

"I'm out of guesses," Credence said indignantly. "I'm tired of your games."

Silence filled the hall. Credence studied her companion for a moment, watching him carefully cut his food into bite-sized portions, then chew the same number of times before swallowing. The more she watched, the more bitter she grew.

Patience is key. Appear friendly.

"It doesn't matter when our first meeting was. I remember that night in the woods, when I saw what you really are. You were going to kill me."

"I was?"

"You raised your hand to me."

He stopped eating and laid his fork and knife atop the plate.

"I did," he admitted. "I was...caught up in anger. I vow never to do such a vile thing again."

"Only time will answer that," she echoed his words.

His face fell, as if it hurt that she didn't believe him. "I must beg your forgiveness. I apologize for what I did."

"I don't accept your apology."

He slammed his fist onto the table, rattling the dishes around him. With great struggle, he calmed himself.

"Then I will strive to earn it."

"I had you bested before—"

"Someone else saved you?" Credence pursed her lips. "Yes, I remember the sting of Isolam's horns."

"What happened to Isolam that night?"

"He fought valiantly," came the ominous reply.

Credence had a sudden, strong desire to cry, to release the emotion building within her.

But not here. Not in front of him.

"I'm much changed from that night," she said. "I'm not the same frightened child. I won't be silent and obedient under your threats."

"I wouldn't have you be. I've changed, too. Lilith had—"

"What does Lilith have to do with it?"

"She...took something from me. I got it back."

"You killed her, didn't you?"

The Collector released a wicked chuckle. "She didn't fight as valiantly as Isolam."

The vague admission that he had done away with the foul woman should have brought her some relief, but Credence was horrified. He was so casual about it, like it had meant as much as swatting away a fly.

"How could you think I would ever accept what you are? The monster behind this...costume?"

"The monster is the costume."

His brow furrowed and for a moment he looked lost in thought.

"I cannot argue against what you saw. What I...became in my rage. When I came to you that night in the woods, I came as myself. The same as I sit before you now. I wanted you to see me, to know there was nothing to fear. That creature is a part of me. But it would—I would never hurt you."

Credence was dumbstruck at how blind he was to his own nature.

"You think to win me by building an empty world? Forcing me to eat dinner in your company, while wearing a handsome face? Hiding the truth until you complete this task—"

"This is not a task. This is a pleasure." He smirked. "You do find my face handsome then?"

"I prefer the monster."

A growl from her stomach tore through the hall, a perfectly-timed punctuation to their arguing. Credence thought she heard a snicker from the other end of the table.

"Please eat," her host said.

She didn't want to follow orders.

She didn't want to give him any reason to doubt her hostility.

But she was in pain and could not wait until the next dinner.

Begrudgingly, she began to fill her plate.

The only thing that mattered now was that the food tasted as delicious as it looked and smelled.

Credence caught a smile from the Collector when she took her first bite, and she wanted nothing more than to reach across the table and strike it from his face.

But how fantastic the food tasted! It took all her strength not to close her eyes as the flavors melted over her tongue. She devoured several portions, wanting to try everything in sight.

"Hungry, aren't we?"

She tore her eyes from her plate. "Because you starve me."

He could talk as much as he liked. It didn't matter what he said now that Credence had the glorious distraction of food. She grabbed a bowl of steaming broth and held it to her lips, tipping the contents into her mouth with a loud slurp. It was a graceless gesture that became downright rude when she allowed the liquid to pour down her chin. Her host grimaced, slightly unsettled by the display.

Credence didn't care. The Collector could eat with the slow manners of royalty, but Credence was not a noble. She was hungry.

When she was finally satisfied, she sat back and let out a sigh, just as Pa used to do after a good meal.

The Collector was staring at her, amusement dancing in his eyes.

"I don't like when you look at me," Credence snapped.

"How can I help it? You're wonderfully fascinating."

"There's nothing fascinating about someone eating."

"It's the same way—" The words died on his tongue.

"The same way—what?"

He didn't answer.

Credence tapped a finger against her empty plate, trying to decide if there was room enough in her stomach for a slice of frosted cake. It could wait, she decided, for she was ready to be rid of her host's foul company. She threw her napkin onto her plate and stood, promising herself that she would begin her next meal with dessert.

"I'm done eating," she announced.

The Collector bowed his head and the door to the hall opened.

"Goodnight," the Collector muttered. "Until our next dinner."

"Until I'm forced back," Credence countered, not sparing another glance at him as she moved to the door.

John was waiting with a scowl.

"You should thank your host," he reprimanded.

"That's not a host, that's a jailor."

Her first attempt to follow Ma's guide on enemies may not have been as successful as she would have liked, but Credence left with her head held high, confident she had wounded the Collector's pride.

Another dinner would come, and with it, another chance to test Ma's technique.

The Collector made sure of that.

He would regret it.

She had shown him how futile his attempts to sway her were, and how his foolish proclamations of love fell on uncaring ears.

But the battle was just beginning.

She would vex him until he gave up all effort. Then they would have a proper fight.

And there had been a victory earned in their second dinner, Credence realized, however small it might be.

Rule Five. If Possible, Don't Talk First.

The Collector had been the one to break the silence.

Credence was confident that the war between her and the Collector would be won quickly and easily.