“Kassiel?” I whisper again.
As I crouch to get level with him, it’s then that I notice his tears. They’re few, but definitely there. My eyes linger on the one sliding down his cheek and I clench my hand into a fist, unsure if I should dare touch him.
The sight moves me to tears too. Even monsters can be felled.
Without another thought, I fall into the mud with him. I touch him, his body far too cold to withstand anymore of this harsh winter condition.
“We must move Kassiel, or you’ll catch your death.”
Slowly unbuttoning the brass buttons of my cloak, I throw it off and wrap it around the broken warrior and rub his back hoping to warm him.
Softly, I say, “I’ll wait until you’re ready, but you don’t need to face this alone.”
And so we wait.
Chapter 21
Alora
His form slowly crumples, his head hung low, his dark locks forming a veil over his face.
I settle in on the cold, frozen ground and watch the moons drift into the sky. Kina, Caym’s raven, flies gracefully in our direction.
“Tell me what to do.” The words I want to say get caught in my throat. The weight of them feels wrong.
Kina lands, perching on the distant wall of the stone alley. She just sits there, waiting, observing.
A sigh escapes as I watch the moons rise farther into the night sky, their dalliance in the stars the only escape from the moment.
“You know, my mother once told me a tale of two lovers, forced to flee from the one who was eager to snuff them out.”
I’ve lost myself to my turmoil more than enough times to recognize when it’s happening to others. I wish that had been my magic instead of the damned illusion.
His head lifts ever so slightly, his interest clearly piqued.
I begin again, “She would weave the tale so hauntingly beautiful it made my heart ache for the prospect of a love such as that. Devastating.”
I grasp the frayed thread on my sleeve cuff. I watch the gray fiber give way, not putting up much of a fight. Tossing it aside I begin to look around, not used to being open about my family with others.
When I look up, his green eyes are locked on mine. They’re not riddled with tears, but they lookweary.Exhaustion is etched into the very framework of his body.
His hypnotic gaze bounces around my face, searching for something. He inhales a shaky breath.
“When I complete the Mors Finalem, it has some unwelcome effects.” His words catch me off guard. He clears his throat and continues, “I canfeeltheir pain, their memories, as if they’re my own. So with every death, I grieve their life as if I were them. It’s unescapable. She had a particularly hard life, and so much hurt.”
“Oh.” It’s all I can manage. What else do you say to someone who’s dealt with lifetimes of pain?
His lips pull into a soft smile. “It’s hard to explain, but thank you.”
Shock tingles in my scalp. “For what?”
His whisper follows, “For treating me not as the monster you think I am, because I am not he.”
My lungs deflate with his harsh but true words.
“Not long ago, there were those who worshiped the mother goddess with such tales.” He changes the subject, a welcome reprieve because I’m not sure I want to criticize my complicated feelings just yet.
“I haven’t heard the goddess called that in a long time.” I eye him, waiting to see what he says next.
