Yet again, he hears me, but he doesn’t seem to understand. He withdraws. “I know. You’d have to kill me, hunter.”
“That’s not…” I try to say, but he’s gone, retreating back to his chambers.
“Not what you meant?” Winny finishes for me with a sad smile.
“You’re speaking the same language, but neither of you are hearing each other,” Callos aptly observes.
“And what do I do about it?” I look between them, hoping one of them have an answer for my problem.
“Give it time,” Callos says, finally. “Ruvan isn’t a man to be rushed. I think you’re similar in that way. You’ll both be ready when the time is right.”
Callos and Winny head for the giant doors that lead to the old castle, working to get them open. He’s right; I’m not ready yet.
But what happens if I never am?
That question haunts me as we descend into the void of the old castle. It lingers with me as we come upon a Succumbed and my sickle does nothing to it. The silver as harmless as plain steel.
* * *
You wouldn’t understand,he’d said. The words ring through my ears. I can still see his back to me, walking away. Fists clenched with determination as he’s always done since we were children whenever a task vexed him.
I sprint through the hallways and secret passages, heart pounding in my throat.Let me be wrong,I plead with myself. But I’m not, I know I’m not. I know him better than anyone and all the pieces have fallen into place.
I know what he’s done before I hear the screams rising to a quick crescendo and then, silenced.
Staggering, I grab the wall, clutching my shirt over my chest. Nausea fights for control of my body but I refuse to allow it. I have to see with my own eyes.Maybe, possibly, I’m wrong. I could be wrong, I repeat it over and over until I arrive at the first workshop we established—his workshop.
Bursting in, I come to another abrupt halt as the scent of blood assaults my nose. So much blood…so many bodies… They’d come here with me, because of me. They’d stayed because of me. I raise a hand to my mouth, keeping in a scream of my own as a pair of gold-touched eyes turn toward me.
A monster.
I run.
* * *
Every day and night,I try to sort through my feelings.
Hammer. Hammer. Hammer.
My thoughts are as relentless as my work. If I attack this problem with enough force, I can bend it to my will. I can make something useful out of it. Or the very least something I canunderstand, something I could explain when I’m inevitably confronted with Drew or Mother. Oh, old gods, how will I ever even manage to look them in the eyes after all that’s happened?
I don’t have an answer. For any of it. And I feel all the further from clarity as Ventos and I stand together in the receiving hall of the castle. It feels like I was just here with Ruvan, Callos, and Winny; it’s hard to believe the moon is already full overhead.
At least I havesomethingto show for all my struggles. Even if my mental state is worse for wear from my relentless hammering at my situation, Ventos has a new sickle on his hip—perfect in every way. No leather guards the silver of the hilt from his grasp.
“How long will you be gone?” Quinn asks.
“Only a few hours, I hope.” I readjust my leather armor. It’s been cleaned, but it shows signs of wear from the trials that I’ve been through to get to this moment.
“A fewhours?” Ventos is startled. I can already hear the rumbling working its way up his chest that comes out as a grumble. “I don’t want to risk being in the human world that long.”
“I saidat most.” I give him a small glare and hold firm on my original time estimation. “I hope we can move faster than that as well. The longer I’m there, the more time there is for someone to recognize me. And if someone recognizes me, they will ask questions that I don’t have good answers for.” I’ve already begun debating what I might say if I am caught and cornered, but none of the rationales or excuses sounds good enough in my mind. At this point I’ll be making up a lie on the spot and that is guaranteed to end badly. I am many things, but a good liar is not one of them.
“Be safe, both of you.” It’s a wish and a command from Ruvan. He truly wants us to be safe, me included. That much I’m certain of. Somehow the sincerity makes the sentiment all the worse. If he cared—cares about me, then why would he pull away as he has? If I truly care, how did I let him?
I’ll talk to him when we return, I vow. I don’t like how unfinished things feel. And if I’m his wife now—as hard as that still is to think—then we need to sort things between us.
But far more troubling than our still evolving relationship is how helooksnow. Ruvan is becoming haggard and thin. As the moon has grown, he has withered. His cheeks are gaunt and eyes sunken. I know he’s subsisting off ofsomeblood, and perhaps the strength of the moon. I worry how much they’re depleting their stores to sustain him. And that makes his determination not to touch me—to drink from me—all the more confounding. He’s putting all of them at risk to not draw from me.
