He pins me with a knowing look. “You don’t need it. Not now, not ever.”
Anger cuts through my panic. What right does he have to decide what I do and don’t need? “That’s not true. If I don’t get my tincture, I’ll constantly be in danger, all because of my magic. It’s dependent upon my mood, remember? Do you have any idea of what kinds of things I’ve been through because of it?”
He releases a heavy sigh, one that bears more pity than I can stand. “You don’t need poison to control your magic. You can learn to allow others to see who you really are.”
Another wave of rage courses through me, so fierce that my fingers curl into fists and drive my nails into my palms.
It’s just like my father said during our last argument before he died.
It’s time you let someone other than me see you.
I narrow my eyes to a scowl. All softness I felt for the Huntsman during his story about his father is gone. “You think I havecontrolover my magic? You think it’s only a matter ofwantingto be seen? If what I wanted factored into my magic, would I have made enemies for my father and compromised his career time and time again? Would I have gotten myself trampled by a horse because another girl was jealous? Would I have made such a poor impression on my own mother that she abandoned me and left me to die?”
“No, Astrid, of course you couldn’t control your magic when you were younger.”
“It doesn’t matter how you think my magic works. I’m the one who really knows. I’m the one who’s had to deal with the consequences my whole life.”
“Then you can deal with them now too. No amount of poison is going to change what has happened to you. Refusing to deal with those emotions won’t help.”
“You don’t know—”
“Stop saying that,” he says, taking a step closer until only a few inches separate us. His chest heaves as he stares down at me. “Stop saying I don’t know what you’re going through, because I do. You know I’ve been through what you have. When my mother died, my father and I ran away and tried to start new lives instead of dealing with the sorrow we left behind in our old one. When my father died, I turned to gambling to drown out my pain, and look where that got me. Losing everything had one benefit, though. It gave me no choice but to face the pains of my past. Trust me, Astrid, grieving is better than pushing your emotions away and making a mess of your life. I’ve been where you are, and I’ve gotten to the other side. I’m still grieving everything I’ve lost. It hurts. I won’t lie and say that it doesn’t. I will continue to grieve for my father, my mother, and my estate, to honor them with the emotions they’re due. Don’t make me grieve for you too.”
His voice is so deep, so rich with agony, that it makes my knees quaver. I twist my face into a scowl to hide the way my lower lip trembles. “You would never grieve for me. You don’t even know me. Everything you see in me is just your reflection—”
“That’s kelpie shit and you know it. I’veseenyou. I’ve seen you lower your defenses and release your stranglehold on your magic. And I know you’re strong enough. So toughen up and let yourself break like the rest of us.”
“It’s not that simple. If you think I can control my magic…” My breathing turns too sharp, too shallow. I can’t bring myself to say the rest out loud. That if what he’s suggesting is true, then that would mean…
That would mean none of the worst parts of my life ever had to happen.
I never had to be targeted by a jealous girl. Never had to be shoved from a horse and injured so badly that only poison could help me recover.
I never had to make myself an enemy of the queen.
I never had to…
Had to…
Be the cause of my father’s death.
I lurch to the ground as my legs give out beneath me.
“No,” I say, the word coming out with a sob. “I can’t believe that. I can’t believe I’ve had control all this time. Nor can I feel this…this grief.” As the words leave my mouth, I feel it. The gaping pit of sorrow that’s been waiting this entire time. I feel it claw its way up my legs, my thighs, my stomach, my heart. Constricting my throat, flooding my mind. “I…can’t handle this feeling.”
“Too bad.” Torben’s tone is soft, as gentle as a caress. I can’t see him through my sheen of tears, but from the sound of his voice, he must be kneeling next to me. “That feeling is part of losing someone that you love. To ignore it is to dishonor their memory. You don’t get a free pass. You don’t get to run away and feel nothing. You will work through it. You’re strong enough, and every day you’ll get stronger.”
I’m not strong, I try to say, but my lips no longer move. My stomach churns as my heart continues to feel like it’s going to burst from my ribcage. Shadows whirl past my vision, obscured by the sheen of my tears. I’m vaguely aware of falling, of sliding to the floor, of cold marble pressed to my temple. Then arms. Strong arms lifting me from the ground.
The feeling of my head resting against Torben’s chest is all that keeps me from losing myself to the full weight of my emotional agony. The thud of his heartbeat against my ear is like a melody. It recalls another time, another place, another set of arms. Of my first experience of safety, when Father lifted me from the lakeshore and laid me against his apron-covered chest, soothing me with his heart’s lullaby the way Torben is doing now.
But no, that memory is wrong. I couldn’t have felt Father’s heartbeat through his apron. He’d wrapped me in fur. Wasn’t it through the fur that I felt the thudding pulse?
My mind empties again as I feel something soft beneath me. A mattress. Torben’s arms are no longer around me, no longer keeping me safe. I roll onto my side, but every part of my body aches. My skin is too hot, too cold, my sweat like needles. I continue to sob, to moan, but my pain refuses to relent. How much time has passed since Torben set me down? A minute? A second? A day?
The mattress sinks next to me, followed by a creaking sound. I’m barely able to cry out in alarm when the bed shudders beneath me, as if the frame has cracked. Then I realize why. An enormous warmth presses against my back, and I know at once it’s Torben in his bear form. An earthy aroma invades my senses, and I turn toward it, finding his soft pelt. My body continues to throb, and my mind continues to spin, but I manage to lift a hand and run it down Torben’s hide. The bed shifts again, and the bear rolls toward me. With one enormous paw, he presses me to his warm belly. Comfort unlike any I’ve felt settles over me. It doesn’t numb my grief, nor does it lessen the effects of the Crimson Malus leaving my body. Instead, it dances with it, puts space between the uncomfortable feelings where there was none before. Again, Torben’s heartbeat thuds against my cheek, this time coming from inside the body of a bear.
It brings me back to Father’s arms again, to his heartbeat and the pelt…
