Gwenna lit the bedside lantern, the golden glow spilling across the stone walls of her room. How many days had it been since Finn left? Five? Six? Each morning, she awoke wondering if today would be the day soldiers stormed the tower, swords drawn, ready to drag them back to the life she had no intention of returning to.
And Cedric—he was falling to pieces. She knew the signs too well, remembered the way he had withdrawn when they had first fled to the outpost, how he had moved through the world like a ghost of the man he had been.
This was worse. He was listless, his presence muted, as though his body remained while his mind drifted somewhere he couldn’t escape. He went through the motions—eating, speaking, existing—but the light in him had dimmed, smothered beneath guilt and something deeper, something heavier. And if he thought she was going to sit back and let him sink, then her idiot brother had clearly forgotten who he was dealing with.
Rolling her shoulders, Gwenna dressed swiftly. A soft wool blouse, a sturdy skirt that wouldn’t tangle at her knees, and her well-worn boots laced tight. She wrapped a thick shawl around her shoulders, tucking it close against the morning chill.
The aroma of bread greeted her as she descended. Her stomach tightened—not with hunger, but with worry.
In the kitchen, Cedric stood by the hearth, slicing a loaf of bread with slow, methodical movements, as if the simple act of cutting was the only thing anchoring him to the present. A tremor ran through his grip, slight but telling, before he tightened his hold.
The fire cast shifting light across his face, deepening the hollows beneath his eyes. He looked up as she entered, his expression carefully composed, a rehearsed smile curving his lips—but it was empty, a mask stretched over a broken man.
“Good morning,” he said, voice even but stripped of any real warmth. “I thought we could use something hearty today. Something to keep us going.”
Gwenna arched a brow as she dropped into a chair. “You mean something to keep you going when you inevitably forget to eat later?” Her tone was lighter than before, teasing but not unkind.
Cedric didn’t look up, his shoulders hardly shifting as he let out a breath—too heavy for a sigh, too empty for real frustration. He sliced another piece of bread like a man going through the motions of a life that no longer felt like his own.
“Good morning,” Gwenna said, circling back to his earlier greeting. “I’m thinking of heading into Duskridge today.”
Cedric hesitated mid-slice. “Why?”
“Because sitting here like anxious hens won’t do us any good,” she said, reaching for a slice of bread and a jar of jelly. “We need information, Cedric. We don’t know what’s happening in Mirathen, or if Finn made it back in one piece, or if there’s a bounty out for our heads yet. We can’t afford to be ignorant.”
Cedric’s lips pressed into a thin line, his posture tensing as though the mere mention of Finn shattered him all over again. He said nothing at first, his gaze unfocused. Gwenna watched his throat work as he swallowed whatever thoughts were clawing their way up, but the words never came.
She leaned forward, softening her tone just a fraction. “Cedric, I know you’re worried, but?—”
“I am worried,” he muttered, finally looking at her, his expression weary. “If something happens—if someone recognizes you?—”
“I’ll be careful,” she cut in, leveling him with a look before he could spiral further. “I always am. No one in Duskridge knows who I really am. As far as they’re concerned, I’m just a traveling trader.”
His fingers tightened around the knife again. “Gwenna?—”
She saw it then—the shadow of something close to fear, but deeper, more desperate. Not fear for himself. Fear of being left behind. Fear of losing her. She was all he had left.
He exhaled, slow and resigned. His resistance crumbled like ash in the wind. “Fine,” he groused. “But be quick. And cautious.”
Gwenna flashed him a smirk. “You do know who you’re talking to, right?”
Cedric blinked slowly, like it took effort to pull himself back to the present. His answer was delayed, and when it came, it was little more than a whisper. “Right.”
Cedric was sluggish as he placed a plate of toast and eggs in front of her. Gwenna dug in, but her gaze kept drifting to him. He sat across from her, food untouched, eyes fixed on the wood grain of the table. He was here physically, but his mind had already drifted again, slipping into the same place it had been for days—somewhere she couldn’t reach.
By the time she finished eating, Cedric had withdrawn completely. His shoulders slumped, his hands resting in his lap like he’d forgotten what to do with them. The bleak emptiness in his eyes made her fingers twitch with the urge to shake him, wake him up, but she knew better. He would only retreat further.
Gwenna sighed, pushing back from the table. “I’ll be back before sunset. Try not to mope yourself into an early grave while I’m gone.”
Cedric didn’t respond.
She didn’t expect him to.
Brushing crumbs from her skirt, Gwenna grabbed a satchel and began packing it with supplies: a few coins, some herbs she could trade, and a selection of Cedric’s wooden carvings.
“It’s time.” Cedric watched as Gwenna hefted the pack onto her back.
She knew he didn’t mean her departure. With a soft sigh, Gwenna wrapped her arms around him, and for a moment, he didn’t react at all.
