She is wrong. I spend hours in bed, it’s true, but I am wide awake, my heart galloping despite my listless state. When the sun finally breaks over Carterhaugh, I wipe the crust from my eyes and go about my day. I think only of numbers. Ten knives, twenty, forty, more. Numbers do not lie. Numbers are absolute.
“I think you need closure.”
“What I need,” I growl, hands clamped around the arms of my chair, “is to be left in peace.”
“Is it peace you’re after,” she challenges, “or denial?”
I’ve half a mind to chuck a hammer at her head, though her skull is so hard I doubt it would leave even a dent.
With some effort, I pacify myself. I’m not angry at Harper. I’m angry because she asks all the right questions.
“So you don’t want this?” she demands. “You do not wonder why the roselight has dulled?” Another tap against the glass. When I fail to respond, her face falls. “Very well.” She heads for the door.
I’m halfway out of my seat before I realize I’ve moved. “Wait!”
Her pitying gaze weakens my knees, and I fall into my chair as Harper returns, offering me the roselight without judgment. As soon as I grasp the cool sphere, my heart begins to palpitate with increasing distress. There is a sluggish pulsing against the glass—a flagging heartbeat. “What happened to it?”
“I wish I knew,” she says. “It’s gotten worse since we returned.”
What would cause the West Wind’s roselight to change color? I recall Zephyrus’ cry of pain as the Orchid King assaulted him. Pierus, whose limbs gorge on blood.
I return the roselight to Harper. My palm stings where it touched the glass. “It’s no longer my concern.”
“Even if this roselight signals that he’s in trouble? You would turn from him in his hour of need?”
What of my needs?The West Wind didn’t care for them, only his own, and shattered my trust in the process. “I would. He doesn’t deservemy help, or anyone’s help, for that matter. The West Wind only acts out of self-interest.”
“I’m not so sure about that.”
A muscle pops in my jaw as my back molars grind together. Harper has no idea what she’s talking about.
“Remember when we arrived at that village after you saved me from the lake? The matriarch wanted something in exchange for aiding us.”
“What of it?”
“I overheard Zephyrus speaking to the matriarch. She wanted his eyes, Brielle. Hiseyes.”
Shock worms through me, though I give no outward sign of my distress. “He didn’t agree, did he?”
She gives me a knowing look, which I ignore. “No, but he did agree to gift his blood once a month for the remainder of his life.”
I hate the relief that stirs in me. “So he made a deal. It’s what he does, Harper. He sees what he wants, and he does whatever it takes to get it.”
“It wasn’t just that. He could have let me die. I was disposable. Oh, don’t give me that look. You know I’m right. You were the stronger candidate. You would have done whatever it took to reach Meirlach. Zephyrus knew this, yet he put his life on the line to ensure my recovery. He didn’t need to do that.”
The twinge in my chest returns. It feels uncomfortably like guilt. “It doesn’t matter. It’s done.”
Harper shakes her head. “Even to yourself, you lie.”
“Enough.”
“I know you want nothing to do with him—”
“I said enough!”
I blink, and the world comes into focus. I’m standing, fists raised, prepared to land blows.
Harper watches me steadily. “You care for Zephyrus.”
