“An arrow wound is very impressive,” Solena says as she finishes up. “And it will leave a scar that you can show off at taverns.”
I know what she’s doing—trying to joke, keeping her voice light, which is unlike her. She’s attempting to help me forget about Arax. But how does one forget a heart that is breaking? How do you reconcile the realization that you will never see someone again, never hear their voice, never feel their touch? How do you return to normalcy when the world is darker than it was the day before because someone you loved is gone?
No. Not gone. Taken from you, with no regard for the agony their absence leaves behind?
The Golden Son took Arax from me, and today I am a hollow shell.
There’s a knock at the door, and it creaks open. Keeper Enaria peers in, hesitant to enter.
“Jewel, the returning starts soon. But if you are too unwell…”
“She is weak and exhausted,” Solena replies bluntly.
I shake my head and push up on my elbows. “No. I’m fine. I will come.”
Solena looks at me, concern etched on her face. “Amara, you can barely walk.”
I fix my one functioning eye on her. “They are Tenders of the Grove,” I say, my voice ragged. “I must be there to send them home.”
She bows her head, lightly nodding, and I understand she doesn’t know our ways. But Iwillbe at the returning, even if I have to crawl there. I drag myself out of bed, stumbling when I finally get to my feet, unaware of just how damaged my leg is. I grit my teeth, fighting through the pain.
Solena frowns as she watches me stagger, banging into the walls as I try to pull on my green robe. She rises and snatches the garment from my hands, tugging it over my arms and shoulders.
“Thank you,” I mutter past my swollen lip.
Next, she tames my hair, stiff and dry from dirt and smoke, twisting it into a braid that trails down my back.
“There,” she says. “Now you don’t look as horrifying.”
I nod my thanks and take a step toward the door where Enaria waits, only to feel my knee buckle beneath me. Solena's groan is immediate, and before I can protest, she throws my arm over her shoulder and hooks me around the waist to prop me up.
“I can do it myself,” I grumble.
“Be quiet, Amara,” she snaps, startling me. “I’m going to help you, and that’s the last I want to hear about it.”
We fall silent for a moment, and I grip her shoulder, dropping my weight slightly to let her support me. My thigh appreciates the reprieve. But just before we take our first step toward the door, Solena mutters softly, “I miss him too.”
We leave the room, and it’s more difficult traversing the rope bridges and stairs with an aching leg than I expected. Solena farewells me at the bottom step. I’m sure she would come if I asked, but I don’t. I would rather spare her from the pain.
“I will see you later,” she says, and I nod in silent reply.
A stag waits to carry me from the village to the clearing, saving me from dragging my miserable, sore body through the forest.
A procession of survivors stands ready to join me—warriors who fought bravely, along with the elders and children who hid in the sanctuary. As I look down at them, I know each soul missing from our family, their faces etched into my memory forever. We are even fewer now, and I add that pain to the ever-mounting despair in my chest.
The vine wall opens before us, and we pass through. The hums begin—low and melodious—as we, The Tenders, with our headsbowed, move slowly through the brush, every cracking twig and rustling leaf echoing through the trees. As we approach the clearing, my heart tightens when I see them lying in the long grass, their bodies draped in moss and bright purple flowers. Rows upon rows of Tenders, their eyes closed forever.
My Sisters wait for me, their faces obscured behind thin green veils. The stag bows, allowing me to dismount and when I touch the ground, Lira places a veil over my face. I take a step and wince; her gaze flickers down to my injured leg.
“You need to be healed,” she says, concern lacing her voice.
I shake my head. “I need nothing. Please, I want to begin.”
We Sisters take our places before the still bodies, the soft breeze fluttering through their hair, sunlight dappling their pale skin, which was warm and brown just yesterday. We join hands, our power surging through us. The Souls of the Forest hum in the trees, their presence a faint comfort against the suffocating silence, but it isn’t enough to ease the ache threatening to consume me.
The Tenders drop to their knees, their gentle sobs lost to the wind as a green light pulses beneath the fallen. We Sisters chant, our words barely audible—echoing loss, love, hope, and the return of our people to the earth. The earth shudders in reply. Slowly their bodies sink into the soil, welcomed home as we continue our song. After a time, the bodies vanish beneath the ground and the glow subsides, the veins of light dimming to nothing until the earth is still and the soft grass sways silently in the breeze.
One by one, the villagers rise and somberly return to The Grove. We Sisters finish our song and embrace, sharing our pain. Even so, the ache inside me does not subside.
